Previously: While Hallie and Sarah Shepherdson go shopping to outfit the AI’s new robotic body, Visionary and Mr. Epitome agreed to a reluctant team-up. Their goal: confront the Hooded Hood and find out if he played any part in Epitome’s memory loss and age regression (Hint: he didn’t, but our heroes don’t know that).
One never knew what to expect when entering the grounds of Herringcarp madhouse, since its appearance was determined by the whims of its master. The place could appear to the unsuspecting guest as the modern, sterile Herringcarp Institute for the Emotionally Fatigued. Or as a gothic anachronism: more bedlam than Bedlam. There were times the place seemed nearly vacant, except for its foreboding, brooding master. And then there was tonight, one of the rare nights that the Hooded Hood let the prisoners of Herringcarp out, and the inmates were truly running the asylum.
“Why are they called buildings when they’re already built?” the man who opened the front door seconds after Mr. Epitome let go of the brass knocker.
“What?!” Dominic snapped. He was already upset over the fact his enhanced senses were unable to discern anything about the interiors of Herringcarp. Now he was being confronted by strangely spectacled doorman who spouted Gallagher catchphrases.
“It’s a simple question… or is it?” the Quibbler prevaricated, adjusting the clunky black glasses whose frames resembled the seventeenth letter of the alphabet. He was a tall and gawky, and used his near seven foot frame to obstruct entry to the darkened foyer.
“Uh, well, I’m not much of a grammarian, but I think the answer to your question has something to do with verb tenses,” Visionary thought back to his high school language courses, “Past… past perfect? Does that sound right?”
Mr. Epitome turned to glare at his teammate, “Why are you humoring him?” he grumbled. The Exemplary Man raised his arm to push Quibbler back, but realized he was unable to will his muscles to complete the action.
Quibbler cocked an eyebrow, “I don’t think violence is going to resolve this, do you?”
Again Epitome tried to force his way into the asylum, but was again thwarted.
A second voice came from behind Quibbler, “You can’t use force in here unless you are attacked first,” it explained. The door opened wider, revealing the implacable countenance of Dana Palgrave, “House rules.”
“Poker Face!” Visionary recognized the disfigured stick-up artist.
Poker Face nodded slightly and then stared down the Quibbler, who meekly stepped aside to allow the two Legionnaires in to the dark hall.
“Why are you out? What happened to the staff?” Epitome demanded.
“The doctors are only here when he needs them to be here. To create a façade of normalcy, or provide necessary exposition,” Poker Face explained.
“And you’re all out to create an atmosphere of… abnormalcy,” Vizh speculated.
“What makes you think we’re abnormal?” Quibbler retorted, “Honestly, could you be more insulting?”
Another look from Palgrave and the Querulous Questioner backed down, this time picking up a kerosene lantern and slinking off to the shadows.
“Hey! Come back here! I still want answers,” Dominic shouted.
“Somehow, I don’t think that guy’s wired for answers,” Visionary observed, “Right, Poker Face?”
“Not anymore. Dr. Zbornak was an astro-physicist, attempting to come up with the Ultimate Answer.”
“A workable Unified Field Theory,” Mr. Epitome was familiar with the man’s case file.
“Correct. He spent millions of his own and tens of millions of others’ looking for it. Whatever he found turned him into the man he is today,” Poker Face shrugged, “Or he fried his brain on some really bad acid. Opinions vary on the subject.”
“Palgrave,” Mr. Epitome intoned, “We’re looking for the Hooded Hood. Help us find him and maybe the Legion can work out some kind of deal for you; have you transferred to another facility.”
Poker Face demurred, “No thanks, I prefer my odds here. Those of us who make it through the night are usually granted a boon.”
“What others? And what boon? And who grants it? The Hooded Hood?” Visionary asked again. He hoped he wasn’t starting to sound as annoyingly interrogatory as the Quibbler.
But Poker Face was walking off. If he prevailed this time he was going to ask for a new origin.
“Great. So we’ve come on a night where the Hood is playing games with the other psychos in this place,” Mr. Epitome groused after quickly losing track of the disappearing Palgrave.
“Yeah,” Visionary shifted awkwardly, “Maybe we should come back when his schedule isn’t full. During, ah, regular office hours. And with, say, Donar and Fin Fang Foom as back up.”
The Paragon of Power shook his head, “We’re not leaving until we get answers,” and he stalked off towards the far stairwell.
“Right. Of course. When in Rome…” the possibly fake man muttered before pursuing Epitome.
There was a creaking sound coming from the high ceiling of the entrance hall. Visionary glanced up and saw a lithe silhouette perched menacingly atop one of the room’s many unlit chandeliers. The figure crouched, and then pounced.
“Gah!” Visionary raised his arms in an effort to protect himself. It wasn’t enough: the assailant performed a triple backwards corkscrew dive and caught the Legionnaire by the waist. In moments Vizh was pinned, staring up into the face of the person who was straddling his chest.
A young woman in clown white and pigtails grinned back down at him, “Hey, Mistah V!!” Mary Prankstar enthused.
Next: Vizh catches up with an old friend he’s never met, while Mr. Epitome encounters more of the inmates of Herringcarp. Who are Putty Puss, the Mantikore, and Poison Okie? And where is the Hooded Hood? Out sometime this week
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