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killer shrike
Thu Dec 30, 2004 at 01:51:44 am EST
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Mr. Epitome #37 (has some cursing and potential continuity cockups)
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Mr. Epitome #37



“A Way With a Phrase”


This story has to take place post Untold Tales #201 and The Commission #7, at the minimum. Hopefully it doesn’t screw up any plans either HH or Nitz has for their work. If it does, it can be easily discounted.

If Ykraa was a cesspool before the Commission got here, it’s an open sewer now.

My boss, the President of Badripoor, wanted to help. Considering the country he’s running is no paragon of prosperity or puissance itself, we’re making quite a sacrifice. But that’s spiffy for you.

So here I am, in Ykraa’s capital, sitting in some bombed out discothèque being fed a line of bull by the extremely condescending leader of the People’s Revolutionary Forces (read: warlord).

“General Gyvatt’s men, they took the rice,” Zao Li tells me in his native tongue, which my translator unit deciphers for me, “They are trying to starve the people, and cause chaos.”

Which could have been true, I admit: Gyvatt is one of the few scumbags the Commission failed to kill during their invasion. But I took some precautions before heading over here with two freighters of food and medical supplies in tow.

“The rice is located in an abandoned bottling plant outside of the city,” I tell him, “We put tracers in some of the bags and my ‘Eyes in the Sky’ watched your trucks take them there.”

“No, no,” he says soothingly, “You are wrong.”

Zao Li’s angry though. Ykraa is a very misogynistic culture, just look at its traditions of bride- burning and its thriving sex trade, and the gents there don’t kindly when one of us ladies corrects them. The problem is, I have to deal with this mook because he’s got the transportation and the manpower to ensure the supplies can get to the people. If he wanted to.

“I have doubled security at our warehouses. Nothing like this will happen again,” he says with an air of finality. As far as Zao Li’s concerned, its case closed. He’s going to keep the food for his own men or to sell.

This is not what I signed up for when I first became a super villain. I imagined battles of wits against my arch nemesis, elaborate capers involving gigantic props, etcetera. Never in my right mind did I expect to be sitting in a Third World dance club being lied to by some jumped-up bandito who is seeking to profit from his country’s misery.

“You need to bring the food back, now,” I tell him from my chair.

“Stop this foolishness,” Zao Li raises his voice, and his bodyguards begin to rustle a bit, “It’s over. If you want to help the people of Ykraa, stop accusing me and get on with it.”

I’m not in any physical danger. My gauntlets are packing enough firepower to level half of this city, including a force field projector that would shrug off heavy artillery. What are at risk are the safety of the three dozen aide workers I brought with me and the tenuous alliance I have set up with one of the few people in this country that could be called an authority figure. So the question is: do I beat Zao like a drum to get him to return the food, or do I grin and bear it?

OK, the real question is, am I capable of doing either one?

Dominic comes along before I can solve any of those riddles, however. To them, he’s a blur of violence as he strips the men of their weapons and forces them to the ground. My reflex boosters let me watch him at what seems like normal speed. There isn’t any anger in his face as he works the men over, just thoughtfulness. He looks like an especially erudite hockey goon. He hoists Zao Li up by the throat and, in perfect Ykraari, delivers his sales pitch.

“You will return what you have stolen, or I will disarm all of your followers and dump them and you in the middle of your enemy’s camp.”

Zao nods enthusiastically.

“My hero,” I quip as Epitome drops his captive. What’s odd is that E isn’t dressed like in his star spangled commando wear, just regular hiking clothes, “I hope you didn’t have to blow your cover to save little ol’ me.”

E doesn’t rise to the bait, “Are you finished here? If so, then let’s discuss this somewhere else.”

Our discussion takes place at another trouble spot: the city’s main power station. My “Little Helpers” scurry about trying to make repairs, but there is so much damage to the building and the grid it may be a wasted effort. We watch as some of the drones cannibalize broken down cars for wiring.

“Since you don’t have the Union Suit on I’m guessing you’re not here in any official capacity?” I ask.

“I’m gathering information on the Commission’s activities. We’re looking to charge Stanng and his people with war crimes.”

“Great. So when is the President going to get off his duff and start sending over some humanitarian aid as well? I mean, if my guy can do it….”

“If you wish to compare the foreign aid budgets of the two respective countries be my guest,” he shoots back, but then softens, “It’s coming.”

“Do you think he’ll send troops?”

“No.”

“There’s a way to sell him on it, you know. Ykraa was trying to genetically engineer super powered soldiers. Play the WMD card.”

“The Commission was very thorough in documenting their destruction of said facilities,” Dominic replies.

I’m close to calling bullshit on him. The U.S. had less evidence of Weapons of Metahuman Design existing in Sybia, another country Epitome invaded. Of course, the obvious explanation is that the government doesn’t want the labs found.

“Sloane Chemical was involved in the meta program, wasn’t it?”

Dominic glances away, “That’s Stanng’s justification for butchering Sloane, at least.”

Stanng also mentioned a conspiracy. I wonder if Epitome’s connected to this. Maybe he isn’t here gathering evidence, but erasing it. No sense asking for the truth, he won’t give it to me. At this point I’m not sure it really matters.

“I was surprised you did not attend Christmas at the Wilton Estate,” E says, probably to deflect what he thinks is an upcoming round of questions about Sloane.

“Somebody had to stay behind to mind the store,” I reply, then smirk, “Though I’m disappointed to have missed your performance, Bold Slasher.”

“You would have enjoyed it,” he admits ruefully.

There are no words for a while, as we watch my anthropoid minions try to make lemons into lemonade, “How long do you plan on staying in Ykraa.”

“A few more hours. I need to be in Washington to brief the Justice and State Departments on my findings, and then work out a strategy for dealing with the Commission,” Dominic explains.

“I hope your plan involves kicking their asses.”

“It will. But I want to be thorough. Their defeat will be a lesson that such unsanctioned forays into geopolitical hegemony will not be tolerated.”

He doesn’t have to tell me who that lesson is meant for.

“You’re big on trying to teach people things,” I find myself saying. He’s confused by the declaration and so am I a little but the facts are I haven’t slept in two days and I’m tired and stressed and sickened by what I’ve seen here and back in Badripoor and I just need to vent, “Its been your plan for a while, to get me in a situation like this. Where I have to deal with people at their worst. The greed and stupidity. Because then, maybe I’ll start to see your side of things. You’re trying to show me why you haven’t had any choice when it comes to the decisions you’ve made.”

“Yes. Has it worked?”

I stare at him. Dominic’s exhausted. Who knows how long he’s been awake doing his job. No- his calling. When I first met him I treated E like he was a superhero, but he firmly rejected that title. Soldier and detective don’t really describe him either. Politician comes close, but really Dominic’s a zealot, and he’s looking for conversions.

“Maybe,” I finally answer.

He smiles, but it’s a very sad smile, “I’m almost disappointed to hear that.”

It’s a somewhat condescending thing to say, since it sounds like he’s trying to protect me from the Big Bad World, but I suck it up and ignore it.

I reach out and take Dominic’s fingers. Even though mine are encased in steel his are still harder. In fact, one of the first things that attracted me to Epitome was his hands. I remember thinking at the time that those were the mitts of a man who knew how to take care of business.

“Take care,” I say.

“And you as well.”

After the awkward handshake/caress he charges off. I go back to my work. We both have a lot to do, if we want to save the world. But I’m starting to think we’re getting there.

Idiom 101:

Though she’s never mentioned by name, the narrator of the story is meant to be Letitia Gahagan, aka the Idiom, an inventive genius who sparred with Mr. Epitome several years ago. He finally captured the woman after her crusade to humiliate America’s military/industrial/entertainment complex failed. The Idiom was convicted of multiple crimes and sentenced to life in prison. She turned down an offer to reduce her sentence by performing “consulting work” for the US government, who coveted her technological achievements.

Epitome, himself, was impressed with Letitia, and the pair shared detailed correspondence. When Mr. Epitome helped steer the United States into invading the Mid Eastern nation of Sybia, he used weapons designed by the Idiom, breaking a promise to her that he would destroy all of her inventions after she was captured. Later, the two reconciled, and eventually became lovers.

An enemy of Epitome’s, Factor X, helped set up a jail break for the Idiom, after which he told some unpleasant truths about how the Paragon of Power acted on his mandate to protect America from its enemies. Even worse, Factor X turned Leititia over to the then leader of Badripoor, Count Armageddon, who corrupted her with his kaos energies. Eventually she was freed from the Count’s power and took on the job as scientific adviser to the current President of Badripoor: Mark Hopkins, aka spiffy.





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