Tales of the Parodyverse

Part 1 of Mr. Epitome #4 "Glory"


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killer shrike
Mon Jun 23, 2003 at 02:54:25 am EDT
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Mr. Epitome #4

“Glory”

The Homo Maximus Project was first conceived in the 1950s. The plan was for the United States government to create a superhuman of their own, instead of relying on the cooperation of the previous decade’s costumed mystery men, whose loyalty to the nation were always in question. There was real fear at the time America was behind the USSR in the “super race,” so a staff was put together to work out of a facility in the small town of Nickel Bath, Texas. The objective was to discover a reproducible process to grant carefully screened people superhuman abilities.
Homo Maximus went through several directors in its forty year history, many of whom tried a different tack to creating the ultimate soldier. Irradiation, forced evolution, cybernetic implants, and even synthetic DNA were all used, and all failed. In the mean time the tombs under the labs were filling with the bodies of hundreds who volunteered for the process; men and women who died for their country while other government programs went through sporadic success in creating their own metahumans. In the 1980s it appeared Homo Maximus would be shut down, until Aldrich Grey stepped in.
Grey, a Texas billionaire who had made a fortune off of government contracts in the 40s and 50s, soon became Homo Maximus’s most powerful patron. He used his political influence to keep the program running, even funneling millions of his own dollars into its budget. The cold war that was responsible for the project’s existence sputtered and died before Homo Maximus would achieve their first success.
That success was back in Nickel Bath after twelve years away serving his country as Mr. Epitome, the Exemplary Man. He was here to watch them try again.
“Place has changed a bit, hasn’t it, Epitome? More security, more funding. Hell, we’ve got our own nuclear pile now to power everything, instead of using the state’s grid,” Dr. Owen Kiper, the project’s current head, looked like he was going to rub his hands with glee. The two were standing on a catwalk that crisscrossed the subterranean base. Below them lab-coated workers sat in front of a variety of computers, checking and rechecking the necessary data to ensure the project’s success. Other men and women warily worked around what was the project’s centerpiece, the machine that was responsible for granting Mr. Epitome his powers and hopefully would bestow more on another after a dozen year lapse, The Divine Spark.
Epitome looked at the twenty foot high metallic orb that had destroyed his old body atom by atom and replaced it with something new.
“Say hello to junior, mommy,” Kiper laughed, “he’s come for a visit.”
“Doctor, please,” the Paragon of Power was ready to dress Kiper down, but changed his mind when he saw today’s test subject brought in, “That must be her.”
“Oh, yes, that’s Glory.”
Mr. Epitome rid himself of the doctor’s company by vaulting down the fifty feet to the lab’s floor. He then walked over to introduce himself. Bending down, he proffered his hand.
“Hello, Glory.”
Glory sniffed the stranger, and sensing no fear, yipped a greeting back.
*****
“She’s very well-behaved,” Epitome scratched under the Border collie’s neck while talking to her handler, a short, heavyset woman whose identity badge read Dr. Tokarz.
“Glory’s a sweetheart. We only hope the Divine Spark doesn’t spook her. We’ve read your accounts of the transformation. It, um, sounded intense.”
By now Dr. Kiper had made it down the catwalk and was rushing over to the gathering, “Oh, she’ll be fine. She managed to keep calm during the simulations. Took some training, but Dr. Tokarz here pulled it off.”
“Is she yours?” Mr. Epitome asked the woman, after standing up.
“She’s all of ours. Glory was born and raised here. I guess she’ll be yours, if everything works out.”
“Of course it will work,” Kiper said, bending down to pat the dog, “We’re going to start the Spark up in thirty minutes people, so if you’ve got any last words of encouragement for Glory, now’s the time. Remember, no treats.”
Epitome watched a crowd of scientists, technicians, and security guards circle around the animal and smother her with hugs. Some were crying. Even the usually obtuse Kiper seemed moved.
“OK,” he said after giving the dog one last hug, “Let’s get her strapped in.”
*****
The Divine Spark rested on four legs over a deep, narrow pit. Powerful robotic arms could temporarily lift the machine from its base; long enough for the gurney carrying the restrained Glory to be lowered down on a pneumatic platform. As the platform dropped the blast shielding around the Spark raised: forty feet of titanium plate designed to restrain the awesome energies of the mysterious orb.
“Five minutes to activation,” a voice said over the lab’s intercom. By now everyone had moved to a more secure control room. Cameras and sensor arrays covered the Spark and the bottom of the pit, capturing Glory’s distress.
“Charge her up,” Kiper said to one of the technicians seated at a console. A low bass hum filled the complex as millions of volts of electricity were pumped into the machine. The sound steadily increased in octave. By now the dog was thrashing wildly, attempting to free itself from its bonds.
Dr. Tokarz looked at the screen and wiped a tear, “Hang in there, girl.”
“The Spark is charged to capacity,” another technician said, nervously rubbing his jaw, “We are good to go.”
Dr. Kiper nodded, “Open the orb.”
The lower half of the Divine Spark peeled back and up like an upside down flower. It was within the machine the true power laid. Scientists did not know what to the make of the super dense “McGuffin Material”: all attempts to discern its molecular structure had failed. What had been learned was that if it absorbed enough power, the substance would emit strange wavelengths of energy that broke down and rearrange organic matter. As it had done twelve years ago to rookie FBI agent Dominic Clancy, as it did now to Glory.
The monitors went black seconds after the Spark opened. Sensors began blinking out of operation soon afterward. Kiper hollered over the alarms, “The stasis field! Is it intact?”
“There’s no way to tell, sir. Everything’s dead,” all present had left their disabled posts to watch the experiment from the enormous window that looked out into the lab. Bluish light streamed upward from the behind the shields around the Spark. It seemed to roll like smoke until it filled the room. Then, in an instant, it was gone.
Dr. Kiper started to say something to Mr. Epitome when the horrendous sound of tearing metal cut through the air. The housing of the Spark popped up over the blast walls and shattered off the ceiling. A moment later Glory herself bounded up over the containment unit, smashing what was left of the orb when she landed on it.
“Well, it worked,” Epitome said, looking at the doctor, who looked dejected.
“Yes, but we’ve lost the McGuffin Material,” he sighed, “Again.”
*****

Thousands of miles away, across the Texas badlands and the Mississippi Delta, was another small town that housed another government facility. Unlike Homo Maximus, however, the Greentown Penitentiary of Greentown, Georgia was well known. It was one of the few prisons in the United States designed to hold only super criminals. Though originally wary of having the federal prison converted to holding such dangerous convicts, the people of Greentown soon warmed to the idea. The massive steel and stone structure was a macabre tourist attraction, bringing millions of dollars to the rural hamlet’s coffers. The generous government subsidies didn’t hurt either.
Greentown’s security system was state of the art. High tech motion and thermal sensors blanketed the facility, monitored by a crack staff of ex-military police equipped with top of the line protective gear and powerful restraining weapons to use against unruly prisoners. The warden, Mildred Hardcourt, was a former agent of the Office of Paranormal Security. She ran Greentown by the book; a book written by Mr. Epitome himself after he helped redesign the prison seven years ago.
To the Friendly Foes, this was just another reason to hate the man.
The villain team’s obsession with the Exemplary Man began innocently enough. Early on in their career this rogues gallery of scientists, alchemists, and ner’ do wells matched wits with the novice hero, determined to learn his secret identity. When the criminals were captured Mr. Epitome told them firmly that they had made a mistake: he had no secret identity to learn.
The Friendly Foes (Mirror Maiden, Kelvin, Hammer Toss, and Doctor Spin) thought this was all part of the game, and after engineering their escape the team harried the super patriot again. That’s when they learned that a man as driven as Mr. Epitome didn’t have much use for games, or would-be arch enemies either. In a climatic battle at the Booker County Country Fair, with local camera crews watching, the Friendly Foes had the piss whipped out of them by Epitome. He told Mirror Maiden before breaking her nose, “This never happens again. You fools need to find a more productive use for your talents than annoying me.”
A brief media scandal followed the battle, as the Friendly Foes threatened to sue Mr. Epitome for use of excessive force. The group settled with the hero and the United States government for an undisclosed amount. That was nine years ago. Since then, the four have been in prison, plotting for a chance to avenge themselves against the man who had made them the laughing stock of the super villain world.
It was difficult. The Friendly Foes were held in separate wings of Greentown. They had managed to petition the federal government to allow them thirty minutes a week to meet in one of the prison’s visiting rooms, but there were provisions. All glass or metallic objects had to be removed from the area, to avoid any chance of Mirror Maiden coming into contact with her reflection. Doctor Spin was outfitted with an anti-centrifugal straightjacket that nullified his ability to rotate himself or others at high velocities. Kelvin and Hammer Toss were normal humans, and did not require any power-dampening precautions; though both men were kept far away from any materials that might help them recreate any components of their Kelvin Gun or War Mallets, respectively. It was under these conditions, sitting around a long cafeteria table, that the villains made their plans.
“Gentlemen, how are you?” Mirror Maiden began.
“Good.”
“Good.”
Hammer Toss coughed and rubbed his neck, “Sore throat.”
“Sorry to hear that, Dwight. Have you been to the infirmary?” Kelvin asked.
“Man, I went Tuesday. Something bit me in my cell. Spider, maybe. That nurse, the one with the tattoo on her ankle, she’s gone.” Doctor Spin said, his voice muffled by the helmet he was forced to wear.
“Shit, she was a honey. The dreams I had about her…”
“Save it. We have work to do here,” Mirror Maiden leaned closer to whisper to her comrades, “I got word back from The Idiom about our offer.”
The Idiom was another villain captured by Mr. Epitome. She had spent the last three years in Greentown under circumstances similar to the Foes’.
“What did she say?” Hammer Toss managed to croak.
“She said, ‘No, I’ll only be a fifth wheel.’”
“Is that one?” Kelvin asked.
“One what?” Mirror Maiden looked annoyed.
“An idiom: is ‘fifth wheel’ an idiom?”
“No, man, idioms are like when it rains on your wedding day,” Doctor Spin explained.
“Jesus, is that helmet affecting your brain, Jurgens? That’s irony! And it’s not even really irony!” the Glasgow Glazier spat, “I can’t believe you two are fucking scientists!”
Doctor Spin looked hurt, “God, Amy, ease up.”
“Yeah, maybe that helmet is affecting his brain,” Kelvin said helpfully.
“Hey, another lawsuit,” Hammer Toss joked weakly. He looked pale.
“If all you’re going to bring to this discussion are stupid jokes, you could have stayed in your cell,” Mirror Maiden rounded her withering gaze on her short, powerfully built teammate.
“But I brought you something. Hold on, almost got it,” Hammer Toss leaned forward and coughed violently. His face turned beet red and phlegm and snot dotted the table.
“The guards are looking at us,” Kelvin said worriedly.
Finally, a tiny glob shot from his mouth. Dwight Bollinger quickly snatched it up and cleaned off the unsightly mash of gum, tissue paper and bodily fluids. Hidden within was the veritable pearl of the oyster: a thin sliver of metal rubbed to a mirror finish. He handed it to Mirror Maiden.
Amy Fulke held the shard up to her face. Her expression changed from enraged to beatific, “Why thank you, Hammer Toss. Look, I can see myself.”
And then all four disappeared.
*****














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