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killer shrike
Wed Dec 22, 2004 at 11:55:37 pm EST
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Mr. Epitome #36 (has some bad language)
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Mr. Epitome #36


“Hellraisers Descended”


This story takes place between Untold Tales #199 and #200

For his testimony before the Senate Metahuman Affairs Subcommittee Mr. Epitome chose to wear a dark blue suit with red tie. The only evidence the witness worked as a costumed crime fighter was the russet colored cowl that he wore strapped to his chin.

He opened with a statement:

“Ladies and gentlemen, I appreciate this opportunity to come here and answer your questions in regards to the December 17 assault on Herrincarp Asylum. Before you begin I wish to state for the record that I take sole responsibility for the failure of the operation, and the subsequent deaths of the members of the Office of Paranormal Security’s Special Tactical Unit. I had approved the mission without properly gauging the abilities of our opponents, and this lack of intelligence led to my men being completely unprepared. The fault lies with me and me alone.”

Senator Dobson nodded tersely from his seat on the dais. He was the Committee Chairman, and a valued ally of Epitome and the agency he represented. That didn’t mean, however, that the Paragon of Power could expect any leniency, “Your candor is appreciated, Mr. Epitome. I’m sure I speak for my colleagues when I say you have always handled yourself in a professional and forthright manner when it has come to fulfilling your responsibilities. But what we need from you now is a thorough accounting for what exactly led you to take the course of action you did in regards to the Hellraiser matter. Fourteen men died in that assault, and it is imperative this committee gets an opportunity to understand your reasoning for involving your men in what amounted to a failed diversionary tactic for you and your fellow meta agents in the Lair Legion.”

Dominic Clancy tried not to let Dobson’s words affect him. But given how harsh his supporter was assessing his failure, and how many other members of the Committee had been waiting for years to catch the Paragon of Power committing such an egregious mistake, Dominic knew he was in for a long day.

*****


Later, in Senator Dobson’s office, Epitome was subjected to an even more virulent critique.

“You fucked up. You fucked up big time,” the senior Senator from Wyoming told him.

“Yes, Senator.”

The man stalked from behind his desk and headed over to the office bathroom. He let the water in the sink run for several moments before splashing his face in an effort to remove the make up he was forced to wear during televised hearings.

“I’m no hater, Epitome. Herbert Garrick may want to round up every costume wearing buffoon who thinks he can make a difference, but not me. I know how much we owe them. Hell, during the Transworld Challenge, that fact was forced down out throats on an hourly basis,” the silver haired gentleman came out wiping his hands on office Capitol Building linen, “And I’m not so crass to ignore the recent hardships the Lair Legion has faced. But there is one thing the meta agents can do to royally piss me off: forget the regular heroes.”

Epitome knew what he meant by that. “Regular hero” was the term Dobson used to describe the non-powered law enforcement officer, the policeman, the soldier, the SPUD agent, the OPS investigator. Those men and women who attempted to help the “super hero” deal with the fantastic crises the world faced more and more.

“You are right, sir. I failed my men. What has happened is inexcusable.”

Senator Dobson sat in the chair next to Epitome and rested his head on his folded hands. For several moments he did not speak, and then, “We’re starting to think you’re taking on too much. Between OPS and the Legion and your extracurriculars (was how the politician described Dominic’s work for the Grey Eminence) you’re working three full time jobs.”

“Others would agree with you, Senator,” Epitome obliquely referenced his new partner in the conspiracy.

“You’ve let valuable resources slip out of our fingers, you have jeopardized the security of our organization, and, most importantly, you’ve let your men down. You agree with all of that?”

“Yes.”

Senator Dobson sighed, “The Committee is going to recommend that the Epitome Division of the Office of Paranormal Security undergo a full status review. It will be somebody Soames picks, so watch yourself.”

Dominic nodded. Aaron Soames, Director of the Office of Paranormal Security, was a good man, but not part of the Grey Eminence’s organization. He could never be completely trusted.

“I also expect you to lose your autonomy over this. Your team might wind up being brought back fully under the OPS’s jurisdiction. At least temporarily.”

“I understand. What about the Legion?”

“Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it?” the man said coldly, “Your teammate Lisa Waltz made sure Congress has no say on how they run that little club of elitist busybodies. And you damn well haven’t been able to do anything to bring them to heel. I would certainly suggest changing your relationship with the group. That would placate some of those “others” we were talking about earlier.”

“I’ll consider it, Senator,” Epitome said in all honesty.

*****


Mr. Epitome chose to wear his shirtsleeves and tie at his desk in Lair Mansion. He was composing a letter of condolence to the family of one of the deceased agents. It was written in long hand on official OPS stationary. The Man of Might took his time, making every effort to personalize the correspondence. Even with his vaunted photographic memory it was proving difficult.

This particular man, Ivan Mendes, was a recent addition to the Tactical Squad. Dominic knew his professional background: four years in the Army Rangers, including two tours in Afghanistan. He had the names of Mendes’s immediate family and his hometown, and even could identify his high school’s mascot, but he couldn’t recall ever speaking to the man beyond a cursory greeting at his induction ceremony.

Three months ago such an ignorance of his subordinates would have been inconceivable.

There was a knock at his door. Epitome opened it. Outside stood a pretty, green skinned woman in borrowed clothes.

“Can I come in?” Hallie asked.

“Of course.”

She sat on the table’s edge and gave Dominic a cursory smile, “I just wanted to check up on you.”

Epitome nodded, “I’m well.”

“You’ve been making a deliberate effort to avoid the rest of the team,” she pointed out.

“You are grieving. It would be inappropriate for me to inject myself into that process.”

“Why?”

“Why?” the Exemplary Man stood to retrieve some envelopes from his filing cabinet, “Because I am a relative newcomer to the Legion. I don’t share the group’s history.”

“You don’t share the group’s history?”

“That’s correct.”

Hallie’s tone grew severe, “And you have no interest in making an effort to become part of that history? To be part of the family?”

Mr. Epitome paused from addressing his letter. When he spoke his voice became surprisingly soft, almost reluctant, “While I concede there are extremely close-knit relationships within the Legion, you overstate matters by labeling them a family.”

“Friends, then. What about friendship?”

“I didn’t come here to make friends, Hallie. I joined out of a sense of duty. To make things better. And that hasn’t happened. My tenure with the Lair Legion has been tumultuous and difficult for both sides.”

“Sides,” she nodded angrily, “I didn’t think there were any sides here.”

“Clearly, there are factions that-“

“So, what are you going to do? Are you going to leave? Because your leaving would make things so much better for us,” the woman spat.

“My responsibilities have to take precedence over any relationships I may have cultivated here,” Dominic explained solemnly.

“And that’s how you want it, right? No strings, no attachments, everyone held at arm’s length.”

“That’s correct.”

Hallie was shocked by how casually the admission came, “That’s a pathetic, cowardly, lonely way to live.”

“I was not aware you had become such an expert on living,” Epitome shot back with surprising venom, “that you could critique the efforts of others. You may not agree with the choices I’ve made, but be assured I am not unhappy with them. Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to do.”

Hallie stared at the Paragon of Power for several moments, looking for any hint of emotion besides cold anger. Finding none, she retreated.

*****


The perfectly wrapped box contained a thin, rubbery body stocking imbedded with wires and circuits. Charlotte Ouk eyed it dubiously.

“It’s a Homeostasis Sheath. Acts to maintain regular body temperature in cold climates. SPUD agents use them. I thought something like this would be useful for you,” Dominic Clancy explained to his former ward, “I’ve included the general care and maintenance instructions.”

“It does get nippy on stakeout,” Artemis conceded, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” the big man rose and inspected Charlotte’s apartment. There were plenty of Christmas decorations visible: cards from co-workers and friends, including the one Epitome had charged her with keeping an eye on, “How is Miss Morningway?”

“Haley’s fine,” she replied without elaboration. She went to her desk and withdrew a bus ticket, “Since you were zero help with getting you a present, I decided on this: I’m going to take a week a go visit the Donahues in Scottsdale,” Charlotte referenced the family that raised her, and in who’s care Epitome left her in nearly a decade ago.

“I’m happy to hear that. Though I could have made arrangements to fly you there.”

“It wouldn’t have been much of a present for you, if you have to pay.”

“I suppose not.”

He turned to consider Charlotte. It wasn’t too long ago that he nearly lost her: he would have lost her, if the Legion did not help in her rescue. Just as they helped him secure the freedom of Letitia Gahagan and acclimate Glory to a strange and dangerous world. Thinking of his partner reminded him of a quote by Josef Stalin, a man Epitome certainly did not admire but who understood the nature of power:

Gratitude is a sickness suffered by dogs.

“So what are your plans for Christmas? Working?” Charlotte broke him from his reverie.

“I’m going to England. Sir Mumphrey has invited the Legion to take part in a Christmas Feast at his ancestral home.”

“Sounds very figgy-puddingy,” Artemis quipped.

“Heh: I’m sure my colonial sensibilities will be outraged. If you wish I could inquire about you attending.”

Charlotte shook her head. She had plans. Besides, she noted, “I wouldn’t feel comfortable there.”

Mr. Epitome understood perfectly.














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