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Post By Hatman does his part to help break that story record Ian is so keen on breaking Wed Jan 31, 2007 at 05:45:20 pm EST |
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Fear and DupliKate in Parodiopolis | |
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NOTE: This story takes place during UToLL #301 My name is Kate, and I have a secret. I can do something that nobody else can. I can split myself into identical duplicates of myself. I don’t know how many I can make, I’ve never really tried to test my limits, but I daresay that I could make my own football team if necessary, including the practice roster. It’s why I like to call myself DupliKate. I found myself facing a difficult choice recently. I admit to being embarrassed at how scared I was, how close I came to making the wrong decision. I’ve sat myself down a few times to talk it over, but I still can’t seem to shake my feelings of guilt. I’m hoping that maybe if I go over things here Diary I’ll work out my problem. Even though I often like to pop out a few duplikates to talk about things that are bothering me, sometimes I just need some time to think. When I write things here, in my Diary, there’s only one voice, no matter how many of me are running around. It’s a wonderful exercise in clarity. Recently almost all of the armed forces in the world mounted an all-out offensive on this dimensional overlord called the Parody Master. The Lair Legion and most of the world’s superhumans lead the charge, taking the battle off of Earth to the Parody Master’s territory. There was quite the party before they left. The party mood didn’t last though. We got word from the leader of the world’s defense forces, some old British guy called Mumphrey, that our boys and girls were stranded, the world literally crumbling around them. He put out a call. He called on all of us to save our champions. To step through to the enemy stronghold and bring our people home. He gave a pretty good speech about proving what it meant to be human and having our chance to be a hero. It was very inspiring. Except not all of us want to be heroes. I’m sure I’ve suggested to myself once or twice the notion of putting on some needlessly tight costume and fighting for truth and justice. And I’m very sure I shot that notion down very quickly. I may be different, but that doesn’t mean I want to battle it out with deranged steroid cases on Saturday night. And let’s be realistic here. I’m not a fighter. I’m not an exceptionally brave person. I hate the thought of guns and the sight of blood makes me sick to my stomach. So when Sir Mumphrey asked us all to stand up and prove ourselves, I’m ashamed to admit the first thing I thought of was to hide. Pretend I didn’t hear the message, feign ignorance when asked about it later. Two of me felt the same way, but number 4 felt differently. She laid a tongue-lashing down on the rest of us, gave us her own speech but one that hit the most to home, seeing as I know just what buttons to press to get through to me. So I forced myself out of my apartment and made my way to downtown Parodiopolis. It was pandemonium as volunteers attempted to organize the volunteers. Already some of the wounded soldiers had returned, being tended to by what I assumed were doctors, nurses, and plain old well meaning folk. I spotted the Commissioner Graham, the Big Banana’s chief of police, directing the chaos as best he could. I’d heard on the news that he’d had a rough go if it recently, and he had to have been almost dead on his feet. But I saw that fire in his eyes and I realized then why he refused to sit in the chair that had been provided for him. He wasn’t going to rest until every one of those soldiers got home. I wove my way through the crowd until I got close enough to call out to him. All things considered he was rather polite when he told me rather bluntly where I could go to help, but I insisted on speaking with him. I could tell he wasn’t going to put up with me unless I demonstrated a damn good reason for taking up his time. So I introduced him to me a couple more times. I could almost see the light bulb go off over his head when he realized what I was capable of. He spoke to me quickly, explaining how we were going to accomplish our goal. I was more terrified than I had ever been in my life, but I swallowed my fear and popped off some more duplikates to head over across the dimensional gulf. I lost count of how many duplikates I created, even though I normally can sense all of them. Not all of them went over to bring back our armed forces. Some of us went to help with the first aid efforts. All of our stomachs were sick from the wounded those few duplikates saw. I brought back a lot of soldiers, though not nearly enough. The Commissioner thanked me for all that I had managed to do, and as the duplikates returned I felt glad that I could help. But something happened that’s never happened before Diary. Like I said, I was scared before sending the duplikates over to bring back our soldiers. I got over that fear because I had to. But I’m not sure if all of me came back. I’ve never lost track of a duplikate before. And I’ve especially never lost one in another dimension before. Did I lose a little piece of me? Is every duplikate a carbon copy of me or do they all represent different thoughts, different aspects of me? I’ve never really thought about it before, but now I’m forced to wonder. If I did lose something, would I even be able to tell? I still feel guilty about not going to help sooner, but that guilt is quickly becoming overwhelmed by my dread over what may have happened to me, even without my knowing it. I had no idea the Parody Master was so scary.  |
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