Part 1:
Roughly the Middle of the Story
My name is Dr. Filth, and I am a cryptozoologist. I host and produce a series of webisodes called, “The Unnatural.” Rumors persist that I am the same Dr. Filth that was fired from the Superhero Gang for accidentally founding a terrorist organization responsible for starting what became known as the ‘Superhero War.’ These rumors have never been confirmed.
My best friend and co-producer, Nepotism Baldwin was allegedly also the superhero, Bureaucraticus, who did not participate in any fighting or take sides with either Lapis Exilis or Stupendous Guy and the Party Mayor. Bureaucraticus was fired as well. Under the terms of his contract, he could no longer use that name. Superhero Dr. Filth had the power to convince myself anything, and Bureaucraticus could convince everyone else.
Bureaucraticus was known as logic’s worst nightmare. He disassembled the most sound arguments as if they were the words of a fool. He knew every detail about everything in the entire world at all times. If he didn’t know, he could still sleekly trounce an opponent in under five minutes. I’ve seen wizards and wise men torn asunder by Nepotism’s dialogue.
“The Unnatural” investigates monsters, surviving dinosaurs, or the imminent threat of alien invasion. We may have released a number of esoteric secrets the public was not prepared to face. I’m fairly certain that’s is why Jack Kerouac is chasing us through the woods this morning, shooting at us with an AK-47.
I lead with my shotgun as we plunge into the dull crunch of pre-decomposition leaves and twigs. No movement in the skeletons of trees. Stepping lightly, aware of ears that may be listening. The sun is filtering down through the twigs, casting every detail a clear silhouette. We should have plenty of advance warning of approach.
“Where are we going?” Nepotism whispers loudly. Kerouac attacked us while we were searching the house of Eva Lorraine, who used to be St. Eva, until she became a villain during the Superhero War. Dr. Filth and St. Eva were lovers, which had a lot to do with his termination after the war. That raises a lot of questions as to why she is here, now, so far away from Metro City. Many of these questions would be answered if I were in fact the same Dr. Filth that had the same dreadlocks and same blue glasses as me and used the same icon, Mudflap Girl, as his symbol for the same reason. The symbol signifies my name relates to my loose moral sense, not my previous employment as a garbage man. To the commentators on the Internet, I insist this is simply coincidence.
“There’s a crick that crosses the road about a mile up,” I say. “From there, we can double back to your car,” I say, motioning ahead with the shotgun.
“It’s a ‘creek.’”
“What?”
“A ‘creek.’ There’s no such thing as a ‘crick.’”
“What are you talking about?”
“‘Crick’ isn’t a real word that applies in this context.”
“I don’t think this is an appropriate conversation for the moment.”
“You started it, with your bad grammar. You sound like you are from Upstate New York.”
“I am from Upstate New York.”
“What if they catch you somewhere else? They’ll know your point of origin within a ninety-mile radius because of your accent.”
“I don’t have an accent.”
“Seriously, dude, you have an accent. You should get some kind of speech-therapy. You’re going to want to drop that eventually.”
I scowl at Nepotism. “If there’s anyone out there, they are going to hear you jabbering.”
“I’m just saying, dude, it’s a problem, you should take care of it.”
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