Tales of the Parodyverse

Post By

killer shrike goes back on his word and writes another Epitome story
Tue Feb 08, 2005 at 10:47:02 pm EST
Subject
Mr. Epitome #39, because I have too much time on my hands
[ New ] [ Email ] [ Print ] [ RSS ] [ Tales of the Parodyverse ]
Next In Thread >>

Mr. Epitome #39


“Gone, But Not Forgotten, Part One”



Quantico, Virginia: Fifteen years ago

New Agent Trainee Clarice Grackle jogged the trails of the FBI Academy’s obstacle course. The morning sun hadn’t made sufficient enough progress through the forest canopy to completely burn away the cold mist, so her sweats were drenched with a combination of dew and perspiration. Clarice ignored the soaking: her seventh week PT test was coming up, and she had to shave three-fourths of a second off her mile and a quarter running time if she wanted to feel comfortable about passing it.

There was a sound of heavy footfalls behind Clarice. She wasn’t surprised, as the course was pretty much in constant use as soon as day broke. Nor was she shocked when the runner’s pace slowed as he approached: the pretty redhead had had “gentleman callers” in the past as she trained.

Clarice observed the latest out of the corner of her eye as he slowed to fall in beside her. He had to be a foot taller than the diminutive young woman and with his build and close-cropped hair cut would have been mistaken for one of Quantico’s Marines if he didn’t wear an FBI Academy tee shirt of his own.

“Good morning, Agent Crackle,” he said, his breath surprisingly even.

“Morning… Agent Clancy,” Clarice replied as she finally recognized the man. New Agent Trainee Dominic Clancy was in several of her Academics class, though this was the first time she had ever heard his voice. Clancy never took part in class discussion, choosing instead to sit in the back and furiously scribble notes. The other time he had made an impression on Clarice was his poor showing on the firing range, another Academy requirement all were expected to pass. For Clarice, who had grown up around guns in rural West Virginia, such a lack of competence from someone who otherwise fit the rugged stereotype surprised her.

“Mind if I run with you awhile?” Clancy asked.

“Suit yourself.”

They jogged on in silence for half a minute before Dominic spoke again, “You’re from this area, aren’t you?”

“Kind of.”

“It’s beautiful country. I grew up in Boston, myself.”

“I’m sorry, Agent Clancy. I’m not going to be much of a conversationalist while working out,” Clarice said firmly.

“Later then?”

“Huh?”

Dominic explained, “Maybe we can have a conversation later?”

Clarice looked over and up at her jogging mate. He had pale blue eyes that were very similar to Clarice’s own, and a slight, earnest smile. She smiled back.

“Maybe,” she agreed.

“OK then. Have a good day, Agent Grackle,” and the big man accelerated his way past her and up the trail.

*****


Persephone, Virginia: Now

The Office of Paranormal Security’s Epitome Division was a three story concrete and steel building located in an industrial park well outside of the college town. There was a gated security checkpoint and a helipad, but other than those tip-offs one would mistake the facility for something far more mundane than it actually was: the home and headquarters for the U.S. Government’s top meta-law enforcement officer.

Deputy Director Clarice Grackle showed her identification to the sentry. After the gate swung aside she eased her car to the small parking lot, where another agent took her information and escorted her inside, past the reception area and to the elevators. Her meeting would take place on the second floor, in the office of the man who was the sole purpose this OPS Branch existed.

“Clarice,” Mr. Epitome met her at the door. He had on his tie and shirtsleeves, not his star spangled field uniform. Even his skull cap was absent.

“Dominic,” the two shook hands. It had been five years since the pair had last met, and both observed how the time had changed the other uncritically. They made their way to Epitome’s desk.

“How’s Charlie?” was how Epitome referenced Clarice’s three year old son.

“Good. Staying with his grandparents, who are sure to spoil him rotten,” she looked over at the photo of a happy Border collie perched on the corner of his table top, “He got a plush Glory doll for Christmas.”

“Glory will be pleased to learn that. All the proceeds for those go to St. Judes’s.”

Clarice nodded. After a few beats of silence she admitted, “This is very awkward.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Then why did you recommend me to Congressman Vajencz for his task force?” the woman had been plucked from the Chicago FBI Office on Counter-Terrorism to work as an investigator into possible ‘command failures’ in the Epitome Division.

“That’s not quite how it happened. Others made the initial suggestion. I agreed with their assessment that you would be impartial,” he sighed, “I know this position is an inconvenience, taking you away from important work and family, and it may open old wounds…”

Clarice found the explanation very familiar.

*****


Los Angeles, California: Fourteen Years Ago

The conference room had three tiers of long tables with chairs bolted to face a dais. Agent Clarice Grackle found the spot where her dossier had been placed. It was a slim folder stamped with the FBI insignia and a cryptic label identifying it as property of the “Epitome Task Force.” Before she could investigate further a man spoke from the room’s podium.

“Good morning. I’m Special Agent Roger Mancuso, and I’ll be conducting the briefing. You have all come here to LA because you’ve accepted a position in a special operations unit whose purpose, until now, has been kept classified. It’s time to break the good news, ladies and gentleman: the United States government has developed its first super-powered law enforcement officer. And the Bureau’s got him.”

With that dramatic announcement Mancuso signaled for the light’s to be dimmed and activated a projector set on a table next to the podium. On the screen Clarice saw the “ETF” logo once again, then a man in a garishly colored Army field jacket and cowl. He was standing at a distance from the camera, on what appeared to be some kind of firing range. She watched as a tank opened fire on him, scoring a direct hit with no discernable effect. The scene changed and the next shot was of the man raising the armored vehicle over his head and hurling it a great distance.

“That tank weighed seventy five tons and Epitome tossed it a half mile,” Agent Mancuso commented, “They gave him a 5 pound shot-put just to see how far he could throw it: thing’s still in orbit.”

The next test had Epitome racing a rocket-powered streamliner across the same desert, winning easily.

“Our boy can top out at 730 mph, not quite the speed of sound, but he’s working on it. His standing broad jump was measured at two and a quarter mile. Epitome’s the ultimate interdiction and capture agent. But wait, there’s more.”

There was a montage of scenes identifying visual and audio cues at long distances, even when behind obstructions.

“Enhanced vision, hearing, and olfactory capabilities. Even that old chestnut “X-ray Vsion,” even though no real X-rays are involved, so don’t go worrying about your sperm count, gents. With these abilities and his training Mr. Epitome can function as a one man crime lab.”

The film finished, though Mancuso didn’t, “The best part for us, though it’s not exactly photogenic, is that Mr. Epitome’s mental faculties function at a level beyond science’s ability to calculate. He’s got an eidetic memory and a comprehension and retention rate that’s off the charts. In the six weeks Epitome has had his powers he’s taught himself forty languages and eleven different martial arts. The Bureau is putting him through crash courses on everything from forensic medicine to Constitutional law.”

“Sir, why is he assigned to the FBI? I mean, shouldn’t he be working through the Pentagon?”

“Epitome would be, except for various treaties banning the use of meta-weapons,” Mancuso shrugged, “The army’s loss is our gain, though. I know these super types have a reputation for being flighty, but not this guy. He’s one of us: real police. You’ll see.”

There was a pause, “Which, I guess, is a good a cue as any to bring Mr. Epitome in here.”

The door opened, and the Exemplary Man entered, clad in his uniform. He smiled self-consciously.

“Sorry about the dramatic entrance, but I can’t stand to watch that film. But I wanted to introduce myself before Special Agent Mancuso started going into detail about how the Epitome Task Force will operate. After the briefing I’ll be happy to answer what questions I can, though to be honest, this is all pretty new for me as well. I just want to say now that I’m looking forward to…”

Clarice Grackle recognized Epitome’s voice and modest grin. She hadn’t seen the man for two months, but in the eight months she had known him they had been exceptionally close.

She lowered her voice to that it was a murmur, “Dominic, is that you?”

Still speaking, and from a dozen yards away Mr. Epitome heard Clarice’s nearly silent query and nodded.

*****


It was hours later, after the meeting, that Clarice and Dominic finally got a chance to talk.

“Can I come in?” he asked her outside her hotel room.

“Sure,” Clarice let him in and closed the door, “So, what’s new?”

“I got superpowers.”

She nodded, “I noticed. And a spiffy costume too.”

“Uniform,” he countered.

“What’s the difference?”

Dominic sighed resignedly, “Semantics, mostly.”

Clarice chuckled and walked to her mini-fridge, “I’m having a beer. Want one? Or does drinking violate the superhero code?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he accepted a bottle and collapsed on the couch, “It’s good seeing you again, Cissy.”

“How’d it happen? Your powers?” she plopped down beside him.

“Can’t tell you. Classified.”

“What does it feel like?”

“At first, it was hard dealing with the fact everyone seems to be moving in slow motion and processing all the extra stimuli, but I’ve adapted. It’s only a problem when I sleep,” his voice grew grave, “I try not to sleep.”

Clarice looked at her friend with some concern, “You’ve told someone about this?”

“They know. We’re working on it.”

She thought for a moment, “Do they know you’re here?”

“They’ll know when I tell them,” he smiled, “And to answer your next question, they know about us.”

“That wasn’t my next question, Dominic. I figured as much, with the security checks I had to go through to get cleared for the assignment.”

“Makes sense.”

“So why didn’t you contact me sooner about being your sidekick?”

“Will you please stop with the superhero references?” he rubbed the back of his neck, “I didn’t want to influence your decision one way or the other. You sorry you signed on now?”

Clarice thought a moment, “No. It’s a good opportunity to do some real police work. But we need to establish some boundaries. Things can’t be like what they were before. We keep this professional.”

“I understand.”

“Good,” she leaned back.

Mr. Epitome watched her, “I’m seeing someone anyway. Some one far a field from the work we do.”

“Well, good.”

“She’s a model.”

“Not a supermodel?”

“Not yet, but we’re working on it.”

“Best of luck to you both.”

He reached over with one arm and gave the petite woman a friendly shake, “It really is good seeing you again, Cissy.”

Clarice Grackle couldn’t help but smile.

*****


Back to Now



“Forget about that. I think you’re in real trouble here, Dominic. Some of your recent actions are very troubling.”

“Such as?”

“The whole Legion fiasco. Badripoor. The Idiom.”

The Paragon of Power shifted in his chair, “I don’t quite see my tenure with the Legion as a fiasco. If anything, it broadened my perspective towards addressing certain issues this country faces. And as for Badripoor and the Idiom, well, off the record, our national security is better served by having Miss Gahagan free to work on finding practical solutions to Badripoor’s multitude of problems than having her locked away in Greentown Penitentiary.”

Clarice could tell Dominic was doing his level best to put positive spins on bad situations.

“I hope you’re right.”

He shrugged, “It usually works out that way, believe it or not. I appreciate the courtesy call, Clarice. When will you and your team begin your formal review?”

She reached into her briefcase and handed the Man of Might her itinerary, “The Congressman hopes this can be done quickly without too much disruption on your agency’s operations.”

“Tell him hello for me, won’t you?”

“I will.”

The two stood

“Tomorrow, then?” Dominic asked, extending his hand.

“Tomorrow,” Clarice affirmed.

*****


Later, But Not Quite Tomorrow

“The type and formula of most schemes of philanthropy or humanitarianism is this: A and B put their heads together to decide what C shall be made to do for D. We are C, and we have had enough.

“It has been said that we never can annihilate a penalty. We can only divert it from the head of the man who has incurred it to the heads of others who have not incurred it. Our actions will prove that assertion to be false The horrors of this day are a response to your pitiable attempts at governance, America. Every atrocity a reaction to your imperious press of rules and reformations. In other words, you have no one to blame but yourselves.

“We make no demands, yet. It has taken close to three hundred years for this nation to reach its current predicament, and we know you will be unwilling to reject such narcotic ideologies in such a short amount of time. But our exactions will come when we feel you have been educated, and are disposed to cast aside the old order in favor of the new.”

His manifesto thus recorded, the Forgotten Man rose to make good on his promises.



Next: More flashbacks. More on the Forgotten Man. And maybe a little lovin’ just in time for Valentine’s Day.

Footnotes:

Clarice Grackle: first appeared in Mr. Epitome #38 when she was asked to help coordinate an investigation into our hero’s organization, which was mentioned back in Mr. Epitome #36.

How did Mr. Epitome get his powers anyway?: We have to go all the way back to Mr. Epitome #4 for that story, but in short he was a test subject for one of the government’s secret super-soldier programs, this one called Homo Maximus.

A preemptive apology: as we’ll see in more detail next time, the Forgotten Man’s rant has its roots in a fairly well known ideology, and I don’t mean to imply that just because he is a crazed mass murdering freak that all the people who believe in said ideology are.






cache-dtc-ac10.proxy.aol.com (205.188.116.139) U.S. Company
Microsoft Internet Explorer 6/Windows XP (0 points)
[ New ] [ Email ] [ Print ] [ RSS ] [ Tales of the Parodyverse ]
Follow-Ups:

Echo™ v2.4 © 2003-2005 Powermad Software
Copyright © 2004-2005 by Mangacool Adventure