Chapter 75:

Dawn of Justice


When Bozo woke up that morning, he didn’t remember right away why he had a box of tissues next to him or why his face was so sore. The night’s dreams had been nothing but displays of his heroism, fantasies of saving people and being loved for it, sure- but also looking at children holding his comics. Not just in English, but in other languages too. Images of his rides, strewn about the whole globe. Some on the moon too, maybe? Yeah. It was a dream, after all.

He felt the urge to cry again only for a second as he remembered how much of a despicable failure he was. After that, nothing. As dry as the unused tissues still in the box waiting for him, he quickly felt pretty damn empty. Whoever did this, it was an inevitability. Nobody liked his ideas, and nobody liked him. Of course somebody would swat him out of the sky and slam him into the very pavement he himself owned.

His bedroom door opened, light spreading onto the postered walls and bookshelfs full of his favorite childhood issues. The visitor was another one of the marketing team members. None of them had gone home that night.

“S-Sir?” She bashfully addressed. “I’m so sorry to wake you, but something’s going on in the park and we don’t know what it is.”

He stood from his blankets. He didn’t need to change anything about his appearance- after all, he’d fallen asleep in his costume, and that’s all he would need. He had a job to do.

Following her out into the meeting room, the other fifteen were all there. His first instinct was to look out the window, but that didn’t help.

“You won’t see them from out there, sir. It’s over by the Missile Man.” The nerd issued.

“What is?” Bozo asked.

His loyal assistant turned his laptop to him, adjusting his rectangular glasses.

“This crowd of everyone living there.”

He stared wide-eyed at the screen. It was as if a horde of zombies was running away from an invisible dragon, huge numbers of residents and guests alike evacuating from the area.

“This…” he recollected from a recently seated memory. “This is just like what Ezra was talking about the other day…”

“What’s that, sir? Something about Ms. Pearlman of Makoasis?”

“Yeah, she- had a problem just like this, not long ago…” he watched the livestream intently, still shocked.

“What… what exactly does this mean, boss?” The rookie murmured.

“I don’t know. But it’s a problem to solve.”

Bozo suddenly aligned himself with the center of the room. The look on his face began to resemble the one he was portrayed with in the more serious issues of his comic, sternly looking to each ally as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Wheel Nicholson”

The glasses-wearing intellectual was shaken with the spitting image of the heroes he read and marketed for. Today, this was serious.

“Q Kanigher.”

Everybody took the opportunity to steal a glance at the team’s eye candy, watching the dazzling silver hair of this individual billow as if Bozo’s sheer presence had commanded it to.

“Oda Moldoff.”

She quickly jolted to attention. Not that the shy servant wasn’t paying any before, but she found it necessary to show her alertness. She couldn’t be afraid. Not now. Small hands clasped tightly, she steeled herself.

“Julie Siegel.”

The youngblood followed in the nervous woman’s footsteps. She found herself saluting, despite there being no precedent for such a thing. It was high time she proved her worth.

“Kent M. Kanefinger.”

He flexed. Somehow, he knew it- he was going to get to utilize that untapped strength of his, now rivalled only by Bozo’s own augmented power.

“Foxlam Moore.”

Somehow he knew he’d be called next. The punchable-faced stuck-up had only become that way due to the earned respect of his colleagues for his skill and intuition.

“Go Mayer.”

Out of all of them, the oldest should’ve been the least surprised. But the elder stroked his beard in excitement, proud of their young leader.

“Wilton E. Marston.”

“Uh, present, mista stackjack sir. What’s all dis for?” The Bostonian bruiser quipped.

“Katsuhiko Kirby.”

The mysterious mastermind of a man smiled as his name was announced, his plan for this next situation already completed.

“Denny Adams.”

He had planned to send some snark over to his boss when his name was called, but the resident rude dude of the assorted whackjobs didn’t feel like associating himself with Marston, so he kept his mouth shut for once.

“Happy T. Shuster.”

The steady soul was ready for anything. Her demeanor was, even in this heightened instance, as smooth as a polished opal wall.

“Tatsuki Miller.”

“LET’S DO THIS, SIR!” He cried out at the top of his lungs. He was going to need new ones soon, at this rate.

“Inio Nodell.”

Nodell kneeled, ready at the sound of his name. No matter the order, he would accomplish it.

“Ko Ditbert.”

She smiled. It was a rare sight, one only found when she found herself fully confident in her calculations. Today was a solved equation.

“Lee-Bryan Broome.”

He wiped a tear from his eye. This painterly moment had fallen upon him at just the right time.

“Let’s serve justice.” Coaster Bozo, Park Owner of Venge City and Public Mascot of Venge City KY, CEO of Tough Boys Comics, and local superhero spoke with absolute sincerity, in a tone so serious that, even if the whole world were to have heard him in that moment, not a single person would have laughed at the cartoonish statement. 

Pope Evaristus
Steward McOy
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