Epitome Comics #2: “Of Laws and Supermen”



“Friday, one man brought down a forty year institution, literally and figuratively, in a stunning display of supernatural civil disobedience. This man is wanted by the police, the FBI, the District Attorney’s office, the Justice Department, the Pentagon, -- and me,” Mort Granderson looked imperiously at his assembled staff, “Find Mister Epitome and get him to come on the air. That is your mission, my little elves. Do not fail. The fate of the Republic depends on it.”


Winifred Winchell, as always, tried to reign her boss in, “Mort, I think this Mister Epitome story is too much to get the show involved in beyond your commentary. The stakes are too high. Parodiopolis hasn’t even seen a superhero since the Linear League.”


“Superhero?”


Winnie glanced with a disapproving eye to the oafish figure in the horn rimmed glasses, “Yes, Clancy, that’s what I called him.”


“I’m not sure the term applies,” Dominic Clancy countered, “He’s facing several counts of assault, reckless endangerment, destruction of property, leaving the scene of a crime-”


“It’s a hero’s job to stop the bad guys, Clancy. And that’s what Mister Epitome is trying to do,” ‘The Mort Granderson Show’s’producer fired back, “Do your job and look at the facts.”


Dominic ran a calloused hand through his hair, “Well, yes, but in my line of work its imperative one doesn’t confuse truth with conjecture or, um, opinion.”


“And that’s why we value you so highly, Dom. You’re my sophistic safety net. You allow me to peform my high wire stunts without fear of falling and looking like a stooge,” the voice of KPAL assured his personal fact checker, “That said, if you, Winifred, and Silent Sabal can’t land Mister Epitome for an interview, I’ll fire you all,” Granderson heaved himself up away from the table and lurched out of the room.


“You know, I’m getting a little tired of that joke,” Sabal Paspula admitted once his employer was gone.


“The alliterative term of endearment or the threat?” Winnie asked as she produced her phone and began searching for a number.


“Both. Really, how does he expect us to find Mister Epitome when every government agency in the country can’t?”


“We’re the private sector, Sabal. That makes us far more results oriented. Besides, we just want an interview. They want to lock him up.”


“Mister Epitome might not be interested in doing an interview, since coming out in the open like that could make it easier for the police to arrest him,” Dominic noted.


“This guy wants to be noticed. He scheduled his ambush of Davis until the SEED building’s official opening when the press would be there. And every report of Mister Epitome in action has him making some pithy statement to witnesses afterwards. Those are his sound bytes. We’re going to give him the platform to say his whole manifesto,” Winnie made her call, “Gavin? Yeah. Mort wants to score a sit down with Mister Epitome. Can you adjust the bumpers? Uh huh. And maybe a ten second spot at the bottom of every hour. Of course he listens to us, Gavin; who else in the city has been harping on Davis like Mort has? Thanks.


“Okay, done my part. Now, how do you two plan to contribute?” Winnie smiled as she snapped shut her cel.


“I could go through all the sightings, see if there’s some kind of pattern to them,” Dominic offered.


“Sounds good. Sabal?”


“I’ve narrowed it down to either trolling Off Central Park as mugger bait or becoming a supervillain and taking the city hostage, forcing Mister Epitome into a dramatic confrontation.”


Winnie made a sour face, “Put a lot of thought of this, huh?”


“Well, the second idea at least. Maybe too much.”


“Oh, please. You drive an Audi and have a personal line of credit at Wooster’s. Fat and happy. You’re not disgruntled enough to enough to become a supervillain. Dominic, on the other hand, I could totally see snapping.”


“I never thought myself as being particularly disgruntled,” Clancy mumbled into his lap.


“I’m with Dom. Plus, he has no flair for the dramatic.”


“Neither of yoiu have any flair period. That’s why we hired you. You’re just grey, faceless cogs in the Mort Granderson machine, and will remain so under the daily grind wears your teeth to nubs,” Winnie flippantly drew a circle in the air with her finger, “Start spinning, cogs.”




Next: “The Cluster”