Tales of the Parodyverse

Mr. Epitome #17, Part One


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killer shrike
Sun Nov 09, 2003 at 04:18:47 pm EST
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Mr. Epitome #17


“Taking Liberties”


Presented without commercial interruptions thanks to the generous support of the CSFB! Foundation.

Previously: Mr. Epitome traveled to Sacramento to investigate the destruction of a mutate rights headquarters by terrorists. Upon his arrival he encountered the Pogroms of Purity, a racist group led by the powerful Aryan Ideal. When Ideal and his sibling the Supremacister interfered with Epitome’s attempt to capture mutant outlaw De Brown Streak, the hero decided to ruin the Neo-Nazi’s organization. To do so he sought a truce with the man he had been at odds with since coming to the West Coast: CrazySugarFreakBoy!.

The Odyssey Opportunities Challenger jet cruised above the cloud cover. There were only two passengers aboard the plane built to seat ten, but both were very special.

The tall man dressed like an overly patriotic Special Forces soldier was Mr. Epitome. Given incredible physical and intellectual abilities by a top secret government project, the Paragon of Power served as the in-house superhero for the Office of Paranormal Security, America’s meta-crisis response agency. Epitome sat straight in the jet’s bucket seat, speed-reading his way through a copy of The Japan Times.

Sitting on the opposite row was the restless figure of CrazySugarFreakBoy!. The Champion of Chaos was garbed in a fluorescent orange and green jump-suit reminiscent of the Cirque de Solei, and tried to coordinate the mutually exclusive tasks of eating microwavable s’mores and keeping the latest issue of Teen Titans stain-free. He soon gave up, and turned his attention to his guest.

“So, what did you bring me?” he asked.

Mr. Epitome looked up from his paper, “Excuse me; bring you?”

“Yeah,” CSFB! grinned, “You schmoozed my mom by getting her to sign one of her old Playboy spreads. What did you have in store for me?”

“I did not try to schmooze you mother.”

“Oh, please. You’re so obvious. Actually, you’re so obvious you’re almost devious.”

The Exemplary Man didn’t appreciate being called either. He went back to his reading.

“Come on, man. You must have planned something to get into my good graces,” Dream wheedled.

“If you must know, I wasted an afternoon reading six boxes of those,” Epitome gestured to the comic book in the Wired Wonder’s lap, “in order to have a dialogue with you about their supposed merits.”

“Really? That was nice of you, in an insincere sort of way. Well, we should get started then. The big one first: Marvel or DC?”

The Paragon of Power shook his head, “Sorry. The moment has passed.”

“There needs to be some kind of character interaction going on here; we’re having a team up!”

Epitome folded the Times and considered the ream of papers next to him, “Let’s try to keep the ‘team up’ interaction-free, shall we?”

“Nah, that’s no fun. Besides, you still want to me to retract some of the nasty things I said about you at our press conference, right?”

The Legionnaire was referring to a televised appearance by himself and De Brown Streak, where they inferred that Epitome was a eugenics-minded bigot planning on using government power to restrict the rights of American born mutates. It had been his original reason for coming. Epitome sighed.

“Very well. So tell me,” he said, his voice becoming more pedantic, “WHY is it that YOU do what you choose to do?”

CSFB! seemed surprised by the question, “Well… I mean, I just kind of, you know, came up with this batch of Impossibilitium, as a result of a freak lab accident, and turned it into the Silly Suit that gives me my superpowers-”

“No,” Epitome interrupted, “That’s HOW you became a superhero. What I’m asking is WHY you chose to become one.”

“Well, you know… to do good things. Help people, make the world a better place, all that stuff.”

“I see. And why would you choose to do THAT?”

“WHY would I choose to do that?” Dream was aghast, “Why WOULDN’T I choose to do that? Who the hell raised YOU?”

Mr. Epitome gave CSFB! a knowing smile, “You certainly thought things through haven’t you? No concrete plan or assessable goal, just a desire to do good.”

“What’s wrong with that?” CSFB! retorted.

“It’s destined to fail.”

“We’ve been doing all right,” Dream defended himself and his teammates.

”You’re doin’ alright as far as you got, but you ain’t got far,” Epitome’s Cape Cod accent surfaced as he repeated his uncle’s favorite colloquialism.

“Hey, that’s clever. I got one for you: what do you call the hero with a master plan?” CSFB! didn’t wait for an answer, “The villain.”

Mr. Epitome looked nonplussed.

Dream shook his head, “Obviously you didn’t read Watchman, otherwise you’d get it. Don’t worry, I got a copy at my place.”

*****


University of Washington, Seattle :

Being CrazySugarFreakBoy!’s roommate had some advantages, Christopher Kipling admitted. The state of the art entertainment center with digital cable allowed him access to BBC America and the fledgling Wolf News Group, a conservative alternative to the other media outlets. He had their channel on now, watching coverage of the Sacramento mutate terrorist attack.

Another benefit rested cross-legged on the foot of his sharply tucked bed (Kit, fearful of even the appearance of impropriety, sat nearby on a straight-backed chair). Anna Kensington was an increasingly frequent visitor to the dorm. She had stopped by to help Kit study for his calculus midterm, but both were swept up in the news of the day.

Kit admired Anna greatly. At 23, she was the second youngest chief corporate officer in the country, a position earned not through nepotism or quotas but her own considerable talent. She was brilliant and witty and smelled like vanilla and said something to him while he was wool-gathering so he had even less of an idea what to say to her now.

“Er, what?” he managed to get out.

Anna smiled at Kit’s awkwardness. At least the embarrassment had brought some color to his face. The boy was even whiter than Dream, if such a thing were possible, “I said, ‘Scary world, isn’t it?’”

“Scary? I suppose. There are many evil people out there, but we must never forget that the decent outnumber the wicked and it is their actions that will carry the day,” the teenager replied in an attempt to make up for his previous ill eloquence.

A picture of the Aryan Ideal and his racist followers appeared on the screen. Braun was ranting about something. Chris made a noise of disgust.

“How can anyone take that fool seriously?” he wondered aloud, “Our countries fought a war to destroy his kind.”

“I think Aryan Ideal is sort of a racist fantasy figure. The Great White Hope for the Klan. If it weren’t for his powers he’d be just another kook.”

Kit ventured a personal question, “Does it bother you, to hear him talk about…. Well, you like that?”

Anna’s brown eyes narrowed, “How’d you find out I was a mutate?”

“What? No, I mean-”

The young lady laughed and stood up to stretch, “He’s a joke, Christopher. What do I care if he calls me a monkey?”

“That’s a positive way to look at it. You’re wonderful.”

“Well, thanks, Kit. I think you’re pretty wonderful yourself,” Anna laughed again, though it was her turn to feel slightly on the spot.

“Heh. Perhaps I should rephrase that,” Chris Kipling began, but a knock on the door denied him the chance. It was the familiar “two bits” staccato of his roommate.

“Put your clothes on, kids. I have the house warden with me,” CSFB! spoke through the door.

“Did you forget your keys again, deviant?” Kit shouted back.

The door opened and Dream walked in, “Aw, why are you busting my chops, Kit Kat? After I brought you somebody new to play with,” he gave Anna a friendly hug, “Hey, you.”

Anna Kensington was about to reply when she noticed a familiar figure looming in the doorway. CSFB! looked back at Mr. Epitome as he stood at parade rest in the hall. Dream snorted.

“What are you: a vampire? Come in.”

“I don’t understand what we’re doing here,” Epitome said after complying.

Chris Kipling stood and offered the man his hand, “Mr. Epitome, sir, it’s an honor to meet you.”

The Exemplary Man exchanged greetings with the obvious metahuman. Christopher Kipling may sound like a typical unsure teen, but Epitome’s senses and experience spotted the fluidity of movement that marked him as physically enhanced. The hero wondered if the young Royal Navy Midshipman was part of Britain’s own super agent program, and if the Legionnaire was aware he was sharing quarters with such a person.

“Thank you. That’s always nice to hear,” Epitome turned his attention to Anna, “How are you Miss Kensington?”

“Fine, Mr. Epitome. I’m surprised to see you here. I thought you’d still be in Sacramento.”

Epitome saw the picture of the decimated GAAMP brownstone on the television, “Yes. Perhaps I should be.”

“Wait, you two know each other?” CSFB! asked as he tore through his closet.

“Hammers of Hephaestus does some contracting work for the Office of Paranormal Security,” Anna said of her company.

“Invaluable work,” Epitome rejoined, “Miss Kensington is evidence that America’s future is in good hands.”

“As if you needed more proof after spending half a day with me,” Dream quipped, “OK. We’ve got two DSL lines here for you to do your research, plus snacks in the fridge. Here’s my Watchmen trade. That should set you up for whatever you have in store for the Pogroms.”

“Pogroms? You’re going after the Aryan Ideal?” Kit asked.

“Not in an official way, no. Technically, until I reinstate myself, I have no authority to to investigate Braun or the mutate attack.”

“That’s why he’s using our internet connections. You’re doing all this as a private citizen,” CSFB! reasoned, “Smart.”

I don’t have to use these particular computers. It doesn’t make sense for me to be here,” Epitome protested.

“I’m inviting you to share my space. You should be polite and accept.”

“It’s not just your space though, is it?”

Kit picked up on the cue, “Please, stay. It would be a privilege to have you here.”

CSFB! made smooching sounds, which brought unkind stares from both Kipling and Epitome, “OK, then it’s settled. Just stay out of my files,” Dream warned as he got up to leave.

“Wait, Dream, where are you going?” Anna asked. She didn’t know Epitome well enough to feel comfortable in this situation without the Wired Wonder present. And Kit looked befuddled as well.

“To find the bad guys, Anna,” he winked at Mr. Epitome, “With a little help on the QT.”

After the hero left, Epitome apologized, “I’m sorry. This is putting too much of a burden on you. I can go.”

“No. You stay. We’ll, uh, go study in the library,” Anna offered. After the couple left the Star Spangled Splendor sat at one of the room’s cheap pressboard desks and unfolded his laptop.

“Follow him,” he said aloud in the empty room.

Glory, watching CSFB! leap off campus from her vantage point atop the Space Needle, readily complied.

*****


There is a network of hostelries in America that cater to a special client: those members of the homo peculiaris race. The businesses tend to match the décor of the neighborhood they are located in. Corduroy Joe’s, for example, fit right in to the dockyards of Portland, Oregon, a rough and tumble bar where people kept to themselves and made a special effort to ignore the circumstances of others. So when William Delachaise was whisked from his stool by a force unseen not a figure in the bar gave any notice.

“Long time no see, Bill,” De Brown Streak smiled as his hoisted his captive by the collar and slammed him into a brick wall behind the bar.

Delachaise, also known as Recycla-Bill, winced and clutched the back of his head, “Ow! What the hell!?”

“Tell me about the Race Warriors, Bill,” DBS ordered after bouncing him off the wall again.

“Help me!” the man pleaded to the fluorescently attaired figure hanging from a nearby fire escape.

“Sorry. I’m blind and deaf cop. You have to speak with crazy and violent cop there,” CSFB! spun his Wowie Zowie Yo-Yo absently.

“I know your powers are too lame to let you join Loki’s group of nut jobs, but I bet you know where I can find them.”

“No way! I’ll never betray a fellow mutate.”

Recycla-Bill was shaken to the point where he nearly swallowed his tongue. DBS continued, “A mutate who has no problem murdering his own kind and playing right into the government’s hands. Coyote Loki is going to get us all killed, Bill.”

“Coward,” Bill spat, “I knew you feared the humans!”

“Dude, your power consists of eating beer cans and shitting out aluminum nuggets. If anybody should be scared of them, it’s you.”

“So that’s what he does. Very Tenzil Kim,” CrazySugarFreakBoy! chuckled.

Josh Clement wasn’t laughing anymore, “This is your last chance. Tell me what you know or I’ll drag your sorry ass all over the Pacific Coast.”

Recycla-Bill paled, “I don’t know what the Race Warriors are up to! Loki was talking crazy last time I saw him. He said he was going to destroy the GAAMP, Herbert Garrick, the Evolutionary Revolutionaries, you…”

“Man’s got confidence,” CSFB! interrupted.

“Who’s helping him?”

“Cacophony, of course. And a new guy, calls himself Big Mo. He can steal and redirect kinetic energy.”

De Brown Streak nodded, “I know Maurice. He doesn’t seem the type to join a cult.”

“I’ve never heard of any of these people before today, and I thought myself hip to the mutate culture,” Dream admitted.

“Coyote Loki’s a shape shifter. He might have some telepathic abilities too. He’s been behind the scenes for a while, trying to set himself up as the heir apparent to Magnetic TechBird. I guess he’s finally making his play. Cacophony can turn herself into sonic force. Powerful, but she’s Loki’s little doormat. She does whatever he tells her. And Mo’s smart and tough. They aren’t going to make it easy for us.”

“What do you think they’ll go after next?” CSFB! somersaulted to the ground.

De Brown Streak dropped Bill into the squalor that lined the alley, “Coyote Loki likes symmetry. He hit the GAAMP first. Best guess, he’ll strike against a human target.”

“We wouldn’t be so lucky that the Race Warriors would attack Braun and they’d all kill each other, would we?”

“Maybe. Or maybe your new partner is in trouble.”

*****


Mr. Epitome had two computers going at once, typing his brief with his left hand while researching online with his right. It was here he was in his element, investigating and building cases against those who needed to be held accountable for their actions. This motive was what compelled him to join the FBI, and later part of a government program that granted him the powers to become even better at fighting crime. The inhuman strength and invulnerability were nice side effects, but it was the genius and heightened senses he took the most pride in using, because it was these things that would serve him in bringing down those who endangered America.

Epitome finished typing and saved his work. He logged off, and took a few moments to read the comic book Mr. Foxglove was so keen on him seeing (good realistic art and muted colors, but he found the rampant symbolism tedious and distracting. But then, Epitome was never a fan of fiction of any type). Then, he picked up the room’s portable phone to make a long distance call.

It was after five on the East Coast, and she would be home, not at her office. He knew they were notoriously delinquent at taking calls, so Epitome let it ring a while. After thirty someone finally picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hello. This is Mr. Epitome of the Office of Paranormal Security. Is this Lisa Waltz?”

“Indeed it is,” the voice said.

“Miss Waltz, good afternoon. I would like to set up an appointment at your earliest convenience to discuss a possible opportunity for your firm.”

“Sure,” the phone went dead.

Mr. Epitome felt his surroundings changing. He now stood in the cluttered but functional living room of his hosts. The one who summoned him sat comfortably on the couch and gave him a Cheshire grin.

“Welcome to my parlor, Mr. Epitome,” she said, “Let’s see if everything they say about you is true.”


Next: Part Two of “Taking Liberties,” where Mr. Epitome makes his case to the First Lady of the Lair Legion and the Race Warriors resurface. Coming hopefully by mid-week.



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