Previous Post Epitome Comics #1 “Bad SEED” The masked man was big. Easily six foot five in his steel toed boots and, as Sergeant Loggia’s grandfather would have said, “as broad as a barn door”. The plainclothes detective could not figure out how this brute could have gotten so close to the hostage without anyone noticing. “You,” Loggia levelled his service pistol, “release Reverend Davis now! Then get on the ground and place your hands on top of your head!” The masked man didn’t even look back over his shoulder, “That’s not happening, Sergeant. I have a job to do here and prostrating myself at the feet of Parodiopolis’s most corrupt power-broker is not the way to go about it.” “Do it, or I will- aw shit!” there was a rush from the crowd as one of Davis’s bodyguards attempted to engage the attacker. He fared as poorly as the others flanking the podium, as the masked man simply waited until he was close enough to wrench the collapsible truncheon from his grip and drop him with a casual elbow to the face. “I admit your men are loyal, Davis. Or maybe they’re just as rotten as you and don’t want to be found out,” the masked man hoisted the community leader up by the collar of his $3500 suit high enough so that his $450 loafers dangled off the raised dais. Loggia and several of his uniformed brethren continued to hold the attacker at gunpoint. This was the worst possible circumstance for this to happen under, “This is your last warning! Let go of Davis or we will shoot you!” “Sergeant, your impotent threats have convinced me you’re a dumbass. I’m going to ignore you from here on out. As for you, Davis,” the masked man shook his hostage so violently he became a blur, “time to confess.” “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Ah! Ah! What?! I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Davis cried once he stopped spasming. The attacker adjusted his cowl’s chin strap with his free hand, “Yes you do. It’s not anything you haven’t heard before, only this time its coming from someone who can make you answer.” Heisting Davis over his shoulder, the masked man leapt off the platform and towards the structure that had drawn the crowds, the press, and presumably the masked man himself. “Strategies for Equal Economic Development,” Reverend Davis could see his attacker smirk as the identified the non-profit Davis headed, and was currently pinned against, “A lot of promise in those words. But what’s the truth?” The masked man swung a fist back and punched through the brick wall up to his elbow. “My god, what are you?!” the reverend’s face was ashen as he watched his assailant yank his arm free, dust from the broken mortar caking his glove and arm, “How are you doing this?!” There was the familiar pop pop pop of gunfire. Davis yelped as he saw the policemen’s bullets strike the back and shoulders of the masked man. The shots did nothing more than put several holes in his double breasted leather jacket. “I’m the solution to the problem,” he kept smiling. A quick pivot of his heel, and the man had swung Davis around so he was facing the police and the crowd once more. “Hold your fire!” Loggia ordered. “Don’t shoot! Jesus, don’t shoot!” Davis flung up his arms. “Own up, Davis, or next maybe it’ll be you that gets put through this wall,” the masked man cajoled. “I- I- All right! All right! I admit it! The slush funds, the kickbacks, the money laundering! Its all true. SEED is just a scam!” “Very good,” Davis’s attacker dumped him to the ground. Stepping over his quaking form, he turned his attention back to the police, “Save your bullets. The only thing they have a chance of doing is ricocheting and hitting someone who doesn’t deserve it.” “I need a tactical unit to Dubois Park, now! We are engaged with a suspect who is heavily armored and I don’t know what else!” Loggia screamed into his phone. “As for the rest of you, I hope you got the message. It does not matter where you rank in this city’s pecking order; play fair or become a target of MISTER EPITOME,” the Paragon of Power gave a wink to the cameras and charged through the SEED building’s exterior wall, then several interior walls, until the newly christened six story boondoggle collapsed on itself. Next: “Of Laws and Supermen”

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”