"Geez, what’s with this place? First we had to jump through a portal made of glowing mushrooms, and now we have prove ourselves how many times before this witch lady helps us?" Enershia grumbles, firing off bolts of lightning.
"Nine so far by my count," answers Princess Mystic from within a mob of Cabalists.
"Nine?! Can’t she take a [censored] hint?"
"How’re the tanks doing?"
"Fine," rumbles Iron Dan.
"And Flat?"
"Trying to jump up to get at the flying ones," Darc Lady answers.
"Typical," Princess sighs.
Off to the side, Flatfoot is trying to leap into the air. "Land so I can hit you!" he shouts up.
"All hail the overlord! All hail the Great Pumpkin!" The pumpkin creatures, identifying themselves as Fir Bolg, have taken Teckstyle, pumpkin head and all, and planted him on a giant throne in the woods. Now they’re bowing before him reverently.
"Look, guys, I appreciate this, I really do, but this isn’t really necessary," Teck protests.
"What is your will great one?" Asks a particularly tall one standing by the throne.
"Well, if you put it that way," Teck thinks for a moment. "I am kinda hungry."
"A feast! A feast!" The Fir Bolg cry out.
"What do you desire?" asks the tall one.
Teck scratches his head. "Well…I’m looking around, and all I can think of is pumpkin pie."
The tall creature leans back, aghast. "My lord, that is cannibalism!"
"Now look…uh…"
"I am Streng."
"Look, Streng. As you say, I’m your overlord, and I’m mighty hungry. I don’t care how you get it, but I want pie."
The Streng hesitates for a moment, then says, "Yes, m’lord." Then he turns to the worshipping masses. "A sacrifice! A sacrifice!"
Teck taps him on the shoulder. "Oh, and some mead if you can manage that."
"Razza Frazza midgets," Iron Dan growls, wading through a pile of Red Caps around his knees.
"They’re not technically midgets," Darc corrects.
"Razza Frazza gnomes."
"Better."
"Hey," Flat says after punting a particularly small gnome. "We’re heroes, right? ‘Killing is wrong’ and all that? So how do you manage to keep in line with that with that katana?"
"Its called Skill, Flat," Princess says flatly (hey, look, a pun!)
"What is this skill you speak of?" Flat answers innocently.
"Just keep fighting, we’ve got a soul to save!" Enershia shouts as another wave of gnomes comes charging in.
"Do what now?" Flat asks.
"Didn’t you pay attention to the briefing?"
"Not…really. Beating up lawn gnomes is good enough motivation for me."
"Oy."
"Hey, did any of you just hear a loud explosion?" Darc Lady asks.
A few minutes earlier…
"I gotta admit guys, that was the best mead I’ve ever had," Teck says, rubbing his armored belly. He picks up a slice of pumpkin pie and examines it, then tries to fit it through the pumpkin on his head. "Hmm. This is a problem." He tries to pull off the pumpkin. "Yeah, definitely a problem. Hang on, I’ve got an idea.
The explosion can be seen from sub orbital aircraft.
Inside the clearing, Teck, with infinite relief, notices the pumpkin is gone from his head. "Ah, that did it, guys," He says, then looks around. "Guys? Streng?" There is no reply aside from a couple of Fir Bolg twitching in the distance. Somehow, the pie has survived the blast. Teck picks it up, a slot in his helmet opening up. "Well, no sense in letting THIS go to waste."
Later, at the monorail station…
"Check out this nifty hat, I bet you can’t beat that," Flat says as he runs up to Teckstyle, who is standing at the station, once again playing Pong.
"Hn? Oh, that’s nice…" he says absently, then looks up. "What is that?"
"Its just as I said, a covering for my head."
"Ok…"
"But I’ll be happy if I never see another gnome. Not on the street or in my home. By the way, I am starving, is there anyone around with a turkey they’re carving?"
"You’re…rhyming."
"Do answer my question, if you please, getting some food would be the bee’s knees."
"Um. I already ate, and you’re really starting to creep me out."
"There was a task force with the Bikini Patrol, I’m afraid the magic cast at us went out of control."
"Stop that."
"Here I sit, broken hearted-"
"I will smack you if you finish that!"
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
11 - The Pumpkin King
Flatfoot and Teckstyle are standing at the ramp of the train station in Salamanca.
"This is scenic Croatoa? I rode a train for three hours, with YOU, for this?" Teck growls.
"What?" Flat shrugs. "It’s a sleepy little resort town by a lake. I don’t see anything wrong with it."
"Look at it! There’s nothing to do here! Its farmland!"
The two watch a farmer wheel a barrow filled with gigantic pumpkins.
"Those are some big gourds," Teck says absently. A female controller nearby hears the remark, storms over to Teck, slaps him across the helmet, and storms off.
"What?" Teck protests. "I said gourds!" He rubs the chin of his helmet. "That didn’t even hurt," he mutters as an aside, then turns back to Flat. "Geez man, people are so touchy."
"I know, everybody always thinks its about Me Me Me nowadays."
"You heard me. I said ‘gourds’. Its not like I said ‘those are big melons’."
A female scrapper who was passing by at just that moment, turns, huffs and slugs Teck in the gut.
Teckstyle doubles over. "Ok. Maybe I deserved that one."
Flat pays him little attention. Instead, he’s still looking at the wheelbarrow. "I gotta wonder, there’s no way that someone can finish one of those up in one sitting. Maybe a team of tankers or something, but not normal people. Do you think they can them for storage?"
Teck thinks for a moment. "Those would be some mighty big cans."
A female tanker flying into the station hears this and lays into Teck with a mean right hook.
After regaining consciousness, Teck stands up, looks up to the sky and says "Oh come on! That’s it. I’m leaving."
"Whoa, easy there. Give the place a chance. They have a winery."
Teck pauses. "Really?"
"Not really."
"I hate you Flat."
"Oh come on, it’ll do you got to get out in the countryside."
"In case you haven’t noticed, I thrive on technology. If it doesn’t have neon lights, I don’t care."
"Suit yourself. Me? I’m going exploring."
With that, Flat speeds off into the city. Teck looks around. The only one left in the station is the man with the wheelbarrow. Teck sighs. "Well, let’s see what we’ve got in here." There is a beep from inside the helmet. "Pong it is, I guess."
Five minutes later, Flatfoot’s already explored most of the place. "Man, this place sure is nice. Quiet little village, some farmhouses, forests, a lake. I mean, I don’t really get those wolf guys with the antlers wandering around, but whatever. Maybe they’re jackalopes or something?" Flat looks over to the lake shore. A group of heroes are standing there anxiously. Some have binoculars.
"Hey, what’s going on over here?" Flat asks a giant glowing man.
"We’re looking for the lake monster."
"Lake monster? Cool. What’s it look like?"
"Er, no one’s really seen Sally. Mostly we’re going on rumors from the locals."
"Uh…great." Flat says, attention span wavering.
"You’re welcome to join us. We could use another pair of eyes."
Flat looks down at his wrist, where his watch would be. "Actually, I’ve gotta get going. Busy busy, you know."
The glowing hero has by now stopped paying attention to Flat. "What’s that moving over there?!" he shouts.
Immediately, a combination of every power imaginable flies out to the lake. Arrows bounce off of sheets of ice, which are cracked and melting from everything else. When the dust settles, one tanker goes in to the water to examine the target.
"No. No that wasn’t Sally," he calls back to the shore. "It was just a duck. False alarm everyone."
A collective groan issues from the shore.
Meanwhile, Flat’s already across the city, looking for ghosts to hunt.
And by that, he is totally lost in the forests outside of Salamanca. He rounds a bend in the trail, and comes face to face with four serious looking heroes.
"Flatfoot, you are needed," says the one in front, a tank by the name of Darc Lady.
"Oh…uh, hi guys…Long time no see," Flat stammers.
"You *do* remember your super group, right?" asks Enershia, the blaster hovering over the other three.
"Of course! Of course! I’ve just been, um, looking all over for you guys."
"We’ve got a situation," Princess Mystic, the scrapper says. "Where’s Teck?"
"Left him at the station." Flat shrugs. "He didn’t seem thrilled to be here."
"He’s not there," the other tank, IronDan rumbles.
"Well, maybe I can help?" Flat offers.
"We kind of need Teck for this."
"Why?"
"Range." Says Enershia.
"Oh." Flat says. "Well, maybe if I dressed up like him it would help? Just as good, right? No one’ll know the difference."
Teckstyle played pong for about an hour before beating it three times and got bored. Sadly, he didn’t find any other games in his suit's system, and rather than resign himself to a lifetime spent hitting a circle between two lines, he ventured out into the wilderness.
By now, Teckstyle had gotten himself deep in the forests to the south of Salamanca, and was also utterly lost.
The blaster flies round a bend and spies a group of creatures marching by. They have pumpkins for heads. Teck blinks and stifles a laugh.
They had pumpkins for heads.
He flies over to the lead creature. A scowl is carved into its face. It is taller than the rest.
The creature seems to ignore Teckstyle. The blaster lands and gently taps the head of the lead creature. It tips over, slowly at first, the arms flailing wildly, then at about 80 degrees, the whole thing falls over.
"Heh. This is fun," Teck says. By now, the creatures no longer ignore him, and rush forward to avenge their fallen leader. He starts pushing them over one by one as they come to him. "Is this some kind of joke?" He asks.
Soon, more and more of the pumpkin creatures swarm Teck, grabbing his arms so he can’t push them over anymore. Still, they don’t do anything to hurt him. Bored, he unleashes a nova to get them off of him.
"Well, that was fun while it lasted," he says, surveying the carnage.
Just then something big and round lands on his head, plunging him in darkness. His hands feel what it is, then rotate it so he can see out the eyes. "Well that’s just great," he mutters. "Now I’ve got a friggin’ pumpkin on my head."
He turns to see a bigger group of pumpkin creatures approaching him, they look bigger than the ones from before. On them, the faces actually look menacing.
"This is scenic Croatoa? I rode a train for three hours, with YOU, for this?" Teck growls.
"What?" Flat shrugs. "It’s a sleepy little resort town by a lake. I don’t see anything wrong with it."
"Look at it! There’s nothing to do here! Its farmland!"
The two watch a farmer wheel a barrow filled with gigantic pumpkins.
"Those are some big gourds," Teck says absently. A female controller nearby hears the remark, storms over to Teck, slaps him across the helmet, and storms off.
"What?" Teck protests. "I said gourds!" He rubs the chin of his helmet. "That didn’t even hurt," he mutters as an aside, then turns back to Flat. "Geez man, people are so touchy."
"I know, everybody always thinks its about Me Me Me nowadays."
"You heard me. I said ‘gourds’. Its not like I said ‘those are big melons’."
A female scrapper who was passing by at just that moment, turns, huffs and slugs Teck in the gut.
Teckstyle doubles over. "Ok. Maybe I deserved that one."
Flat pays him little attention. Instead, he’s still looking at the wheelbarrow. "I gotta wonder, there’s no way that someone can finish one of those up in one sitting. Maybe a team of tankers or something, but not normal people. Do you think they can them for storage?"
Teck thinks for a moment. "Those would be some mighty big cans."
A female tanker flying into the station hears this and lays into Teck with a mean right hook.
After regaining consciousness, Teck stands up, looks up to the sky and says "Oh come on! That’s it. I’m leaving."
"Whoa, easy there. Give the place a chance. They have a winery."
Teck pauses. "Really?"
"Not really."
"I hate you Flat."
"Oh come on, it’ll do you got to get out in the countryside."
"In case you haven’t noticed, I thrive on technology. If it doesn’t have neon lights, I don’t care."
"Suit yourself. Me? I’m going exploring."
With that, Flat speeds off into the city. Teck looks around. The only one left in the station is the man with the wheelbarrow. Teck sighs. "Well, let’s see what we’ve got in here." There is a beep from inside the helmet. "Pong it is, I guess."
Five minutes later, Flatfoot’s already explored most of the place. "Man, this place sure is nice. Quiet little village, some farmhouses, forests, a lake. I mean, I don’t really get those wolf guys with the antlers wandering around, but whatever. Maybe they’re jackalopes or something?" Flat looks over to the lake shore. A group of heroes are standing there anxiously. Some have binoculars.
"Hey, what’s going on over here?" Flat asks a giant glowing man.
"We’re looking for the lake monster."
"Lake monster? Cool. What’s it look like?"
"Er, no one’s really seen Sally. Mostly we’re going on rumors from the locals."
"Uh…great." Flat says, attention span wavering.
"You’re welcome to join us. We could use another pair of eyes."
Flat looks down at his wrist, where his watch would be. "Actually, I’ve gotta get going. Busy busy, you know."
The glowing hero has by now stopped paying attention to Flat. "What’s that moving over there?!" he shouts.
Immediately, a combination of every power imaginable flies out to the lake. Arrows bounce off of sheets of ice, which are cracked and melting from everything else. When the dust settles, one tanker goes in to the water to examine the target.
"No. No that wasn’t Sally," he calls back to the shore. "It was just a duck. False alarm everyone."
A collective groan issues from the shore.
Meanwhile, Flat’s already across the city, looking for ghosts to hunt.
And by that, he is totally lost in the forests outside of Salamanca. He rounds a bend in the trail, and comes face to face with four serious looking heroes.
"Flatfoot, you are needed," says the one in front, a tank by the name of Darc Lady.
"Oh…uh, hi guys…Long time no see," Flat stammers.
"You *do* remember your super group, right?" asks Enershia, the blaster hovering over the other three.
"Of course! Of course! I’ve just been, um, looking all over for you guys."
"We’ve got a situation," Princess Mystic, the scrapper says. "Where’s Teck?"
"Left him at the station." Flat shrugs. "He didn’t seem thrilled to be here."
"He’s not there," the other tank, IronDan rumbles.
"Well, maybe I can help?" Flat offers.
"We kind of need Teck for this."
"Why?"
"Range." Says Enershia.
"Oh." Flat says. "Well, maybe if I dressed up like him it would help? Just as good, right? No one’ll know the difference."
Teckstyle played pong for about an hour before beating it three times and got bored. Sadly, he didn’t find any other games in his suit's system, and rather than resign himself to a lifetime spent hitting a circle between two lines, he ventured out into the wilderness.
By now, Teckstyle had gotten himself deep in the forests to the south of Salamanca, and was also utterly lost.
The blaster flies round a bend and spies a group of creatures marching by. They have pumpkins for heads. Teck blinks and stifles a laugh.
They had pumpkins for heads.
He flies over to the lead creature. A scowl is carved into its face. It is taller than the rest.
The creature seems to ignore Teckstyle. The blaster lands and gently taps the head of the lead creature. It tips over, slowly at first, the arms flailing wildly, then at about 80 degrees, the whole thing falls over.
"Heh. This is fun," Teck says. By now, the creatures no longer ignore him, and rush forward to avenge their fallen leader. He starts pushing them over one by one as they come to him. "Is this some kind of joke?" He asks.
Soon, more and more of the pumpkin creatures swarm Teck, grabbing his arms so he can’t push them over anymore. Still, they don’t do anything to hurt him. Bored, he unleashes a nova to get them off of him.
"Well, that was fun while it lasted," he says, surveying the carnage.
Just then something big and round lands on his head, plunging him in darkness. His hands feel what it is, then rotate it so he can see out the eyes. "Well that’s just great," he mutters. "Now I’ve got a friggin’ pumpkin on my head."
He turns to see a bigger group of pumpkin creatures approaching him, they look bigger than the ones from before. On them, the faces actually look menacing.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
10 - Crickey!
The sewers beneath Paragon City are fraught with danger. Gangs ranging from the lowly Hellions to the vicious Rikti all seek refuge there from the dogged pursuit of the heroes above. Occasionally, teams of heroes will go down to try and clear them out, but never with any permanent success.
"Oh man, this place is nasty," Flatfoot groans as he wades through the sewage of a bustling metropolis.
"Yeah, I know," Teckstyle says, hovering over the detritus.
"I mean, the water’s green. And not like natural, healthy produce green, but more like radioactive demon vomit green." A rat skeleton floats past the scrapper. He looks down without amusement.
"Yeah, when I first came down here, I thought the light was coming from the service lights, then I realized most of them were broken. I think some kind of radioactive algae is the cause."
"Well, that’s just convenient, isn’t it?" Flat grumbles.
"At least you’re not crawling around in the dark." Teck shrugs.
"I’m thinking that might be better actually, then you don’t get to confirm what just floated past your leg."
"So," Teck says, changing the subject. "What’s with the cape?"
"Oh that? I’m just experimenting with it for the time being. It certainly looks dashing in a fight, especially on camera, but it adds a lot of drag when I’m trying to get anywhere in a hurry. I was thinking of maybe getting a half-cape, but that just doesn’t fit into the whole image I’m trying to project."
"I see."
The heroes round a corner. A pack of skulking Skulls bolt as soon as they see Flatfoot.
"What was that about?" Teck asks.
"Well, after that whole "Kill Skuls" craze, they learned not to mess with someone who hunted them for sport," Flat says. A drowned Rikti monkey floats past flatfoot. "If the EPA ever got down here, they’d probably condemn the whole city."
Teck shakes his head. "EPA doesn’t come down here anymore. Not since the last team got eaten by the alligators."
Flat looks around nervously. "Alligators? No way, that’s…that’s just a myth…Right?"
"I’m serious. This place is crawling with everything else imaginable. If any sewer system in the world has alligators, it’d be this one."
"But isn’t Rhode Island a little bit…North for gators?" Flat asks hopefully.
"They’re probably mutated beyond normal recognition and as big as subcompacts."
"You sure?"
"Of course I am, I am a man of science."
A yellow glow emanates from below the water level. Teck looks at him expectantly.
"What?" The scrapper responds defensively. "Its in case I need to, um, scout ahead. Yeah. Or something."
Teckstyle shakes his head and flies down an incline. Flatfoot follows, and slides into a gathering of cadavers and reapers. Caught unprepared, Flat gets coated in zombie vomit before he can begin fighting back. Teck aims carefully and starts eliminating Reapers one by one while Flat disposes of the cadavers.
After the last zombie falls, Flat looks down at his costume. Some of the parts covered in thick vomit hiss and pop. "Oh, great. Zombie puke’s starting to eat through my suit."
"That’s not all," Teck says, pointing to the tatters of Flat’s cape.
"Oh for the love of-. Well, I guess that settles the question of whether or not I keep it." Flat begins to scratch his arms, where the vomit was particularly thick. "Crap, its through my suit now. What’s in that stuff?"
A beep from Teck’s helmet causes him to tilt his head to one side silently for a moment.
"Hydrochloric acid, silver nitrate, and cheese curls."
"Cheese curls?"
"Those are the chunky orange bits."
"How’d you know that?"
"I’ve got a little readout in my HUD that told me so."
"I didn’t know you had a chemical analyzer in there."
"I didn’t either. It just beeped and started feeding me information. Now I can’t figure out how to stop it. By the way, the closer we get to Dr. Vazhilok’s chamber, the more noxious the air gets. My filtration system protects me, but unless you can dodge air molecules, you’d probably best get one of your own."
"Nah, I don’t feel any different."
"The air’s mostly composed of carbon monoxide, nitrogen and methane. The temperature is 95 degrees Fahrenheit, with a humidity of 80 percent. The current time is 3:45 on a Wednesday. Tomorrow’s forecast calls for sun with temperatures in the 80s, cooler by the waterfront."
Flatfoot stares blankly at Teckstyle. "Where are you getting all this stuff, the farmer’s almanac?"
"I’m just reading what it says. You sure you don’t need an air filter?"
"I’m good. I’m hardcore," Flat says, itching furiously at the holes in his suit. "No, wait, I don’t feel so good anymore," he says and tips face first into the sludge.
Teck pauses for a moment, wondering if he should pull the scrapper out, then lands in the sewer water and yanks Flat out of the drink.
"Well," Teck says, "Looks like the sewage cleaned off the zombie vomit. You ok, Flat?"
Flatfoot nods silently, coughing up green water with chunky bits.
The duo continues onward, eventually coming to a very big door. Teck opens it as stealthily as he can, revealing a room filled with zombies dominated by the hulking form of Dr. Vazhilok.
Flat’s eyes go wide as he sees the mad doctor. "Whoa, that’s the biggest gator I’ve ever seen in me life!"
"That’s not a gator, that’s Doctor-"
"Boy, isn’t she a beauty. Probably in excess of 900 pounds, that one is. Crickey, look at those muscles! They could rip a man in half. Of course, wrangling one of these beautiful creatures can be tricky, and the utmost care should be taken not to hurt the Sheila."
"Uh…" Teck manages to say.
"Now, she’s surrounded by her young, so she’s going to be very protective of them, she will. Fight like a Tasmanian Devil, she will. Now, I’m gonna sneak up behind her while by assistant will get in place with the net. I’ll distract the Sheila by sticking my thumb up her cloaca."
"Flat?" Teck asks, but the scrapper is already in the room, speeding around behind the Doctor without being seen. Teck covers his eyes.
Doctor Vazhilok lets out a very, very angry scream. Teck opens his eyes to see the Doctor running around trying to pull the scrapper off his back.
"Strewth!" Flatfoot screams. "She’s feistier than I thought!"
Several minutes later, the arrest is complete, and Flat & Teck exit the sewers.
"That…was probably the most disturbing arrest I’ve ever seen." Teck says, keeping his distance from Flatfoot.
"Aye, she was a feisty little one. A shame we had to use up all the horse tranquilizers on her, but she just wouldn’t go down." Flat rubs his temples. "Crickey, I don’t feel so good."
Flat turns around and vomits against the wall of the sewer entrance.
"Oh, great, you’ve splashed some onto by boots!" Teck complains.
Flat turns back, slightly pale. "What happened? Why did we leave the sewers? What’s that smell?"
"You…you don’t remember?"
"From the tone of your voice, I don’t think I want to."
"Oh no, if I had to see it, then you’ll have to hear about it. I want you to feel the guilt of what you just did in there."
Before Teck can continue, a loud rumbling heralds a stampede of Devoured Earth granites. The rock creatures round a corner and run down the two where they stand.
After they’ve gone, Teck stands up painfully. He looks at the Nemesis Staff he’s been carrying around. Its broken in half. A spring flies off into the bushes. "Well, it was fun while it lasted," he says tossing aside the broken staff. "You ok Flat?"
"I fell on my keys."
09 - Brickhouse
Frankie was doing seven years in Zigursky Penitentiary for armed robbery. The robbery in question was a Mighty Mart holdup that was interrupted by a vaguely disinterested electric blaster who had stopped in for a slurpee. When the cops came and booked the gangers, they confiscated his sword, a 14th century antique given to him by Odysseus himself. Frankie was a Warrior, and no prison walls would hold him for long.
Frankie and a few others were fortunate enough to share a cell, and after months of stealthy digging, the small crew of thugs managed to break out of prison. An exultant Frankie looks out across the city, breathing in the fresh air for the first time in a long time.
A large furry shadow crosses over Frankie and his pals. Their eyes grow wide in terror.
"Is it really, really necessary to send the Warwolf after those escaped convicts?" Teckstyle asks, leaning over a guardrail overlooking the absolute trouncing of the thugs below. He and Flatfoot are standing on a bridge in sight of the looming penitentiary.
"Bismarck needs his exercise. This way, at least we get some crime fighting done at the same time," Flatfoot says calmly.
"Hey, I’m all about the crime fighting, but don’t you think this is a little…excessive?"
"Not my fault they escape and then stand around waiting for the cops to arrest them again."
A few growls and screams rise up to the heroes’ ears. "Yeah, but they get returned with fewer parts than when they left."
Flat regards Teck with a blank stare. "Ok, Mr. I Hit Everything With ‘Energy’ Whose Health Effects Have Not Been Fully Tested."
"Oh come on," Teck says. "My energy attacks have pulled your fat out of the fire more times than you can count."
"You still don’t know what that stuff is, do you?"
"How come you didn’t ride that radiation defender about his powers?"
"Radiation’s a respected source of super powers. Well known fact."
"Ok, what about those two dark powered girls we teamed with last week?" Teck demands. The screams from Frankie and his crew are growing fainter.
"Everyone knows the risks of teaming up with dark powered heroes. Its like cigarettes, people know its bad for you, but still do it anyway."
"Except cigarettes just ruin your health, not expose you to eternal damnation."
"Bah. Details."
"How is energy worse than those powers then?"
"Look, the risks are known for dark powers. The eldritch energies of the netherhells have a documented source and effect. All dark powers come from the same place. Energy? Heck, there’s all sorts of energy out there. Cosmic, electric, ionic, heat, etc. The fact that you aren’t sure which it is speaks volumes of your reputation as a scientist."
"I’m not a scientist!"
"Denial never helped anyone through their problems, Teck."
"Now this is just unfair."
"Hey, what do I know, I just kick the stuffing out of people at super speed."
"When they’re down."
"When they’re down," Flat agrees. "I haven’t leveled any buildings using my powers."
"This week."
"This week," Flat agrees again. "I think the screaming’s stopped down there."
"Yeah, looks like your dog ran off with the ringleader."
Flat shakes his head. "Probably going to bury him for later. Well, he’ll be gone for a few hours."
The two heroes stand in silence, looking around for something to do. Teck sees a scuffle in the distance.
"Flat, look over there, some Crey agents fighting the Council!"
"Really?" Flat asks, looking in the direction the blaster is pointing. "We’ve gotta help them!"
"Right, we’ve gotta--wait, what?"
"Help them," Flat says.
"Help who?" Teck asks, confused.
"The Crey guys."
"You’ve got to be kidding!"
"What?"
"They’re bad guys!" Teck shouts.
"What? No way. Crey Industries is one of this city’s most respected companies!" Flat says defensively.
"Look, that’s…I mean….Don’t you…Don’t you remember fighting through all those hidden labs and their hideous experiments?" Teck demands, getting flustered.
"Look, I realize that Crey may be having a little problem with greedy individuals within the company using the technology for their own nefarious purposes, but that does not reflect all the hard work being put in by all those proud and loyal employees."
"A little problem? Flat, just because there’s a lot of honest people working for the company doesn’t mean its not corrupt at the top."
"I find that just a little hard to believe."
"Why?"
"Because, when I saved that one lab from opening up a rift in the fabric of reality and sucking the entire city into oblivion, I received a very nice letter of thanks signed by Countess Crey herself."
"Flat, I got that same letter a week before you did. Its called a form letter."
"Well, she’s a busy woman, what with running her own multi-billion dollar company, and with her husband sick with a mysterious illness and all, she probably doesn’t have the time to write a new letter for every hero that saves her company."
"You are so in denial." Teck shakes his head.
"Look, how’s this for a deal. Let’s take down the Council goons first, and if the Crey agents do fight us, then they’re obviously the bad kind, and you can arrest them to your heart’s content. And if they don’t fight us, don’t you think you owe an apology to someone very close to you…yourself."
"What is wrong with you??"
"Looks like someone needs a hug."
"Flat, this isn’t the time for that kind of childish-- You know what, never mind." Teckstyle yells and flies off into the fight.
One nova blast later, Crey and Council forces lie groaning around the block.
"You know, Teck, its not healthy to work out all your frustrations through violence." Flat says patiently.
"You’re a scrapper! All you do is violence!" Teck screams.
"True, but I’m not the one losing my temper, now am I?"
Frankie and a few others were fortunate enough to share a cell, and after months of stealthy digging, the small crew of thugs managed to break out of prison. An exultant Frankie looks out across the city, breathing in the fresh air for the first time in a long time.
A large furry shadow crosses over Frankie and his pals. Their eyes grow wide in terror.
"Is it really, really necessary to send the Warwolf after those escaped convicts?" Teckstyle asks, leaning over a guardrail overlooking the absolute trouncing of the thugs below. He and Flatfoot are standing on a bridge in sight of the looming penitentiary.
"Bismarck needs his exercise. This way, at least we get some crime fighting done at the same time," Flatfoot says calmly.
"Hey, I’m all about the crime fighting, but don’t you think this is a little…excessive?"
"Not my fault they escape and then stand around waiting for the cops to arrest them again."
A few growls and screams rise up to the heroes’ ears. "Yeah, but they get returned with fewer parts than when they left."
Flat regards Teck with a blank stare. "Ok, Mr. I Hit Everything With ‘Energy’ Whose Health Effects Have Not Been Fully Tested."
"Oh come on," Teck says. "My energy attacks have pulled your fat out of the fire more times than you can count."
"You still don’t know what that stuff is, do you?"
"How come you didn’t ride that radiation defender about his powers?"
"Radiation’s a respected source of super powers. Well known fact."
"Ok, what about those two dark powered girls we teamed with last week?" Teck demands. The screams from Frankie and his crew are growing fainter.
"Everyone knows the risks of teaming up with dark powered heroes. Its like cigarettes, people know its bad for you, but still do it anyway."
"Except cigarettes just ruin your health, not expose you to eternal damnation."
"Bah. Details."
"How is energy worse than those powers then?"
"Look, the risks are known for dark powers. The eldritch energies of the netherhells have a documented source and effect. All dark powers come from the same place. Energy? Heck, there’s all sorts of energy out there. Cosmic, electric, ionic, heat, etc. The fact that you aren’t sure which it is speaks volumes of your reputation as a scientist."
"I’m not a scientist!"
"Denial never helped anyone through their problems, Teck."
"Now this is just unfair."
"Hey, what do I know, I just kick the stuffing out of people at super speed."
"When they’re down."
"When they’re down," Flat agrees. "I haven’t leveled any buildings using my powers."
"This week."
"This week," Flat agrees again. "I think the screaming’s stopped down there."
"Yeah, looks like your dog ran off with the ringleader."
Flat shakes his head. "Probably going to bury him for later. Well, he’ll be gone for a few hours."
The two heroes stand in silence, looking around for something to do. Teck sees a scuffle in the distance.
"Flat, look over there, some Crey agents fighting the Council!"
"Really?" Flat asks, looking in the direction the blaster is pointing. "We’ve gotta help them!"
"Right, we’ve gotta--wait, what?"
"Help them," Flat says.
"Help who?" Teck asks, confused.
"The Crey guys."
"You’ve got to be kidding!"
"What?"
"They’re bad guys!" Teck shouts.
"What? No way. Crey Industries is one of this city’s most respected companies!" Flat says defensively.
"Look, that’s…I mean….Don’t you…Don’t you remember fighting through all those hidden labs and their hideous experiments?" Teck demands, getting flustered.
"Look, I realize that Crey may be having a little problem with greedy individuals within the company using the technology for their own nefarious purposes, but that does not reflect all the hard work being put in by all those proud and loyal employees."
"A little problem? Flat, just because there’s a lot of honest people working for the company doesn’t mean its not corrupt at the top."
"I find that just a little hard to believe."
"Why?"
"Because, when I saved that one lab from opening up a rift in the fabric of reality and sucking the entire city into oblivion, I received a very nice letter of thanks signed by Countess Crey herself."
"Flat, I got that same letter a week before you did. Its called a form letter."
"Well, she’s a busy woman, what with running her own multi-billion dollar company, and with her husband sick with a mysterious illness and all, she probably doesn’t have the time to write a new letter for every hero that saves her company."
"You are so in denial." Teck shakes his head.
"Look, how’s this for a deal. Let’s take down the Council goons first, and if the Crey agents do fight us, then they’re obviously the bad kind, and you can arrest them to your heart’s content. And if they don’t fight us, don’t you think you owe an apology to someone very close to you…yourself."
"What is wrong with you??"
"Looks like someone needs a hug."
"Flat, this isn’t the time for that kind of childish-- You know what, never mind." Teckstyle yells and flies off into the fight.
One nova blast later, Crey and Council forces lie groaning around the block.
"You know, Teck, its not healthy to work out all your frustrations through violence." Flat says patiently.
"You’re a scrapper! All you do is violence!" Teck screams.
"True, but I’m not the one losing my temper, now am I?"
08 - You Say Striga, I Say Streega
Striga is a remote island off the coast of Paragon City. Situated on it is the small port town of Port Noble, and that would be that, if not for all the villain activity around the area. With all the shipping activity, the Family has brought its brand of graft and corruption there, along with the Warriors, a gang aspiring to the epic qualities of heroes of old, though nobody really takes them seriously. The remote location of Striga makes a perfect hideout for groups like the Council and Sky Raiders, who have both set up bases on the island.
"So who were the 5th Column?" Flatfoot asks Teckstyle. The two heroes are walking down the streets of Port Noble.
"A bunch of WWII relics trying to overthrow the government."
"Ah, that old chestnut," Flatfoot nods. "So Ratzis-"
"Er, yeah," Teck says hastily, looking around. "Only they got put down by some guys calling themselves the Council."
"And they are…?"
"Not exactly Ratzis."
"But they’re still into the whole world domination thing, right?" Flat asks.
"Oh, totally, and they have the same toys as the 5th, only with a new logo and slightly different uniforms."
"So…they got an extreme makeover?" Flat asks, scratching his head.
"Beats me," Teck shrugs.
The two walk on in thoughtful silence up a hill and out of town.
"So why do they do it?" Flat asks eventually. "I mean, with Ratzis, you know where you stand. Nobody feels bad about punching them in the face."
"Well, these Council guys have something to do with all of those aliens flying around."
"So…space Fascists?"
"Could be."
"Man, that’s enough to give a guy a headache. So where do these Council goons hang out."
Teck points to a very large, well fortified base looming in the distance.
"Ah. That would be it then." Flat says, whistling. "Man, they’re loaded. Are… are those vampires walking around out there?"
"Sort of."
"Sort of?"
"They’re genetically engineered into looking like that, and they’ve got some vampire-like draining powers, but they’re not undead or anything."
"I see." Flat says, looking around the island. He spies a hangar down a hillside, inside, idling, is a very large machine. "Wait, what’s that?"
"Sky Skiff. A big weapons platform for the Sky Raiders. Aw, crap. Get back here!" Teck shouts to a heedless Flatfoot, speeding down the hill.
He watches Flat jump onto the skiff and start punching the pilot in the face. A commotion rises up inside the hanger. The pilot of the skill starts to juke it back and forth, hovering out of the hangar, unable to shake off Flat. Various Sky Raiders rush out after it, firing wildly. The skiff’s pilot gets the craft airborne, spinning wildly with the extra weight of a flight-crazed scrapper. Teck sees the skiff rise high into the sky when a stray bullet hit’s a fuel tank. Black smoke erupts from the craft as it spins out of control toward the Council base.
Teck watches the trail of smoke descend into the Council base, followed by a gigantic explosion, followed by even more erratic gunfire for a long time. He sees a flash of golden light zigging and zagging through the base occasionally, up the volcano, down the volcano, and over the ramparts.
Flatfoot comes to a stop in front of Teckstyle, breathing heavily, but without a scratch on him. He’s holding something in a clenched fist. Several more explosions rock the facility in the distance.
"What just happened?" a bewildered Teckstyle asks.
"Well, we crashed in the Council base, the skiff blew up, which set off a chain reaction in the compound of more explosions, and I got chased by a lot of angry robots and fascists. Man, that place is huge! They’ve got a volcano! A VOLCANO! Off the coast of Rhode Island!"
"Yeah, its-"
"This island rocks!" Flat shouts with joy. "Anyway, I found this whistle in a crate in there." Flat holds up a small silver whistle.
"Careful, you don’t know what it could-"
Flat raises the whistle and blows into it. It makes no audible sound. Flat looks disappointed . "Oh man, I was hoping it would at least make a noise."
Suddenly the scrapper is bowled over by a large, snarling shaggy shape. It drools on him and tries to bite his shoulder.
Flat wrestles with the creature until he can stand up.
"What is this thing?"
"That’s a Warwolf. He probably came when you blew the whistle."
"So…its like a pet?" Flat asks, brightening.
"Well, I guess you could look at it that way."
"Awesome. I think I’ll call him Bismarck." The warwolf snarls and tries to claw him. "Aww, he tried to claw my face off."
"So who were the 5th Column?" Flatfoot asks Teckstyle. The two heroes are walking down the streets of Port Noble.
"A bunch of WWII relics trying to overthrow the government."
"Ah, that old chestnut," Flatfoot nods. "So Ratzis-"
"Er, yeah," Teck says hastily, looking around. "Only they got put down by some guys calling themselves the Council."
"And they are…?"
"Not exactly Ratzis."
"But they’re still into the whole world domination thing, right?" Flat asks.
"Oh, totally, and they have the same toys as the 5th, only with a new logo and slightly different uniforms."
"So…they got an extreme makeover?" Flat asks, scratching his head.
"Beats me," Teck shrugs.
The two walk on in thoughtful silence up a hill and out of town.
"So why do they do it?" Flat asks eventually. "I mean, with Ratzis, you know where you stand. Nobody feels bad about punching them in the face."
"Well, these Council guys have something to do with all of those aliens flying around."
"So…space Fascists?"
"Could be."
"Man, that’s enough to give a guy a headache. So where do these Council goons hang out."
Teck points to a very large, well fortified base looming in the distance.
"Ah. That would be it then." Flat says, whistling. "Man, they’re loaded. Are… are those vampires walking around out there?"
"Sort of."
"Sort of?"
"They’re genetically engineered into looking like that, and they’ve got some vampire-like draining powers, but they’re not undead or anything."
"I see." Flat says, looking around the island. He spies a hangar down a hillside, inside, idling, is a very large machine. "Wait, what’s that?"
"Sky Skiff. A big weapons platform for the Sky Raiders. Aw, crap. Get back here!" Teck shouts to a heedless Flatfoot, speeding down the hill.
He watches Flat jump onto the skiff and start punching the pilot in the face. A commotion rises up inside the hanger. The pilot of the skill starts to juke it back and forth, hovering out of the hangar, unable to shake off Flat. Various Sky Raiders rush out after it, firing wildly. The skiff’s pilot gets the craft airborne, spinning wildly with the extra weight of a flight-crazed scrapper. Teck sees the skiff rise high into the sky when a stray bullet hit’s a fuel tank. Black smoke erupts from the craft as it spins out of control toward the Council base.
Teck watches the trail of smoke descend into the Council base, followed by a gigantic explosion, followed by even more erratic gunfire for a long time. He sees a flash of golden light zigging and zagging through the base occasionally, up the volcano, down the volcano, and over the ramparts.
Flatfoot comes to a stop in front of Teckstyle, breathing heavily, but without a scratch on him. He’s holding something in a clenched fist. Several more explosions rock the facility in the distance.
"What just happened?" a bewildered Teckstyle asks.
"Well, we crashed in the Council base, the skiff blew up, which set off a chain reaction in the compound of more explosions, and I got chased by a lot of angry robots and fascists. Man, that place is huge! They’ve got a volcano! A VOLCANO! Off the coast of Rhode Island!"
"Yeah, its-"
"This island rocks!" Flat shouts with joy. "Anyway, I found this whistle in a crate in there." Flat holds up a small silver whistle.
"Careful, you don’t know what it could-"
Flat raises the whistle and blows into it. It makes no audible sound. Flat looks disappointed . "Oh man, I was hoping it would at least make a noise."
Suddenly the scrapper is bowled over by a large, snarling shaggy shape. It drools on him and tries to bite his shoulder.
Flat wrestles with the creature until he can stand up.
"What is this thing?"
"That’s a Warwolf. He probably came when you blew the whistle."
"So…its like a pet?" Flat asks, brightening.
"Well, I guess you could look at it that way."
"Awesome. I think I’ll call him Bismarck." The warwolf snarls and tries to claw him. "Aww, he tried to claw my face off."
07 - All The Wood's A Stage
Perez Park is a section of town crawling with warring factions. Hellions and Skulls fight on the streets, while Clockwork and Vazhilok wage war in the forest itself, and there are more sinister forces at work there too.
"No, no, no! Horatio, I thought I told you to stop making cogs when you’re off stage?" Flatfoot yells at an assembler prince.
"Uhhhh," moans an embalmed cadaver.
"Not now, Gertrude. Get back to your mark and fix that wig." Flat points over to a distant part of the stage.
"Uhhhh," the zombie repeats, but shuffles over to its mark.
"And Laertes?"
"What?" growls a bandana wearing Hellion.
"Stop spitting fire at me. Its good to get in character and all, but when I yell cut, that means its time to stop."
The Hellion makes an obscene gesture.
"That’s better, I suppose. Now, the gravedigger," Flat turns to a Bone Daddy. "Real nice job, but you’ve got to stop throwing the Yorik prop at Laertes. Its very fragile."
"Bite me!"
Flat walks over to a Headman sitting on a throne. "Claudius, what did I tell you about wearing that football helmet?"
The headman mutters something unintelligible.
"What was that?"
"That it ain’t very kingly." The Headman mumbles.
"Good. Now, I don’t want you wandering off again," Flat turns to a Man O War. "And Ophelia. Ophelia my dear. You smell like you just crawled out of the sewers, which only would work after you’ve drowned, and that’s not even on stage. Though I do applaud the effort." He turns to face the rest of the "cast". "Now, let’s try Act I again. Please, stop shooting at me Polonius, that’s very immature. Oh, and one more thing. Hamlet’s Father? Great job on the whole ghost thing, you’re really selling it." A spectral warrior seems to smile a little bit before fading out of view. "And…action!"
A bright flash of light and a hiss of steam blasts "Ophelia" completely off the stage, along with a few of "Horatio’s" Cogs. Gertrude looks around frantically, then hunches over, rumbles and explodes.
When the dust settles, Flatfoot sits up and looks around, blinking.
"Hey Flatso, long time no see." Teckstyle says, floating a few feet away, the nemesis staff whirring menacingly.
"What are you doing??" Flat shouts. "Look at this mess! Gertrude exploded, the surviving cast ran away, and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern really ARE dead."
"I’m doing my part to rid the city of evil," Teck says defensively. "What’re you doing?"
"Well, this WAS going to be Hamlet, until you showed up. Now we’ll never be ready for opening night."
"Wait, was that cadaver wearing a wig?" Teck asks.
"Yeah. Dress rehearsal."
"…WHY?"
"As a show of civic pride. If these "villains" have something to be proud of, then they might not want to threaten the city as much."
"…But putting Hellions and Skulls in the same place?"
"Hmm. You’re right. Maybe Romeo & Juliet would’ve been better. The Skulls would make great Capulets," Flat says, thinking out loud. "I see you’ve still got that…staff…thing."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Look, you wanna go badge hunting on Striga Island?"
"Badge what?"
"See, if you arrest enough villains from a certain group, the city gives you a badge as a show of thanks. You’ve had to hear about this before."
"I think I heard someone talking about them," Flat asks, looking at a small collection of pins.
"So how about it?" Teck asks.
"I dunno… When I team with you, it usually hurts a lot."
"The Sky Raiders have a base there. They’re bound to have some jet packs lying around."
"You drive a hard bargain, mister."
06 - Yarr
Spanky’s Boardwalk used to be one of the premier hang out spots on Talos Island, but that was before the Warriors and Tsoo started fighting over it. Since then, most normal people shy away from it because of the gang violence.
Flatfoot is nothing close to an ordinary person. In fact, today, he’s about as far from ordinary as he can possibly be. Currently, he’s standing on the beach, feet in the water, looking out to see and doing his best to scowl.
A blaster flying overhead looks down, sees the scrapper doing an old man and the sea routine, and flies down. "Flat?" Teckstyle asks.
"Yarrr," the scrapper answers.
Teck pauses for a moment. "Ok. I’ll bite. Why the eye patch Flat?"
"Yarrr, I be Flatbeard the pirate," Flatfoot says, turning to scowl at Teck. "Now listen ye closely while a story I tell. T’was many a moon ago when, on a stormy night, much like this, I espied the Flying Dutchman from this very shore."
"Its not stormy. The only way we ever get any water is through Ice and Storm controllers. And you saw the ghost ship. So has everyone else."
"Yarrr, the ship, she glowed as green as a witch’es eye, and did ‘nae stop when it run aground. Nay, it passed right through me very body like it were a cloud."
"Yeah. It does that." Teck says, crossing his arms.
"Mock me not, ye, um, air lubber. Only then did the horror truly begin. Only then did the living dead walk among us!"
"Oh come on, Flat. The dead already walk among us. Ever been to Dark Astoria? Its crawling with them."
"Yarrr, do they glow as green as an empty bottle of rum pulled from Davey Jones’ Locker?" Flat asks, pointing a finger at Teck.
"Ok, now you’re just babbling like an idiot."
"Yarrr, I be seeing them with me one good eye, and I fights them off, well nigh four score of them, though me trusty parrot were not so lucky." Flat persists.
"You don’t have a parrot. Never did."
"Er, a small kitten sitting on me shoulder, firing beams of pure hellfire?"
"Those don’t exist."
"All right, a small panda sitting on my shoulder, firing beams of-""Now you’re just trying too hard. Its not even cute anymore."
"Yarrr?" Flat asks.
"No."
"Yarrr!" he tries again.
"Will you take that ridiculous eye patch off?!" Teck shouts, pulling out the Nemesis Staff and waving it in a threatening manner.
"You’re no fun anymore," Flat says, pulling the eye patch off.
05 - Freaks And Geeks
"So whatever happened to your plucky teen sidekick?" Teckstyle asks as he and Flatfoot walk through the streets of Talos Island.
"What him? Kid wouldn’t shut up. Kept babbling about this and that," Flat shrugs.
"You don’t say."
"Anyway, I wound up seeing him last in Faultline. There was, um, a bomb. Yeah. A bomb I had to diffuse. Right away. Fate of the city rested on it. Couldn’t wait for him to get out of the cracks. Very urgent." Flatfoot says quickly.
"Wait, wait." Teck raises a hand to shut him up. "You mean to tell me you ditched a rookie who can’t fly. In Faultline?"
"He knew the risks," Flat bristles. "It’s a dangerous business. And you, or anyone else, can’t prove otherwise."
Teck shuffles uncomfortably. "This disguise is really heavy, you know."
"What disguise? It’s a big pair of sheet metal shoulder pads and a collar! You’ve got a Mohawk taped to your helmet!"
"So?"
"So?! So what kind of idiot would fall for that disguise?" Flat demands.
"Well, we are talking about the Freakshow here." Teck says, pointing to a member of said group standing next to a door. "I mean, look at him. He’s replaced his arms with pneumatic hammers. You can’t hug with pneumatic hammers!""Or eat or take care of…you know." Flat adds.
"Exactly my point. Now shut up and get in character, we’re here."
"Who’s dere?" asks the Freak.
"My name’s SHAZB0T, this is W00t."
"W00t," Flatfoot says.
"Ok, in ya go," the Freak says, knocking on the door with one of his hammer arms. A latch opens it from inside. The two heroes stride in.
"W00t," Flat glares at a lowly thug.
"See? Cakewalk," Teck reassures.
"Sure are a lot of them in here."
"Hey, your collar looks a little loose…"
"What?" Flat reaches up and starts to adjust it. "Thanks, wouldn’t want it to-"
The twisted metal crashes loudly to the ground. The nearby Freakshow look up and glare. Some raise guns.
"This means we have to resort to violence, right?" Flat asks, turning to the Freaks.
"Yes."
"Good. I like resorting to violence."
Minutes later, all of the Freakshow lie on the ground in varying states of pain.
"Well, that went easily," Flat says, wiping his palms.
Teck doesn’t hear him. Instead, he’s looking inside a crate some of the Freaks were protecting.
"Hey Flat, check out this thing I found."
"What is it?"
"I dunno," Teck says, pulling out a large metal staff with a rotating disk on the end. It whirs and steam escapes from it menacingly.
Eyes on the staff, both heroes fail to notice a Freak Tank rising up from the ground.
"Look out!" Flat yells, dodging an explosive shell. Teck points the staff at the tank instinctively, and closes his eyes behind his helmet.
There's a loud whoosh of air, followed by the sound of metal making an unusual splatting sound.
"Oh," Flat says, first to look up. "Oh my. That-that tank just went through the wall."
"I’m keeping it."
"Is, uh, is there another of those in there?"
"No."
"Oh. Can I hold it for a second?"
"No! Get your own!"
"But you just said there wasn’t one." Flat pleads.
"I don’t care."
"Aww, come on," Flat says, taking a step forward.
"If you take one step closer, I swear I’ll use it." Teck warns.
"You’re serious aren’t you?"
"Step away from the weapon!"
"Ok. Fine. I didn’t wanna touch it anyway. Be that way."
"What him? Kid wouldn’t shut up. Kept babbling about this and that," Flat shrugs.
"You don’t say."
"Anyway, I wound up seeing him last in Faultline. There was, um, a bomb. Yeah. A bomb I had to diffuse. Right away. Fate of the city rested on it. Couldn’t wait for him to get out of the cracks. Very urgent." Flatfoot says quickly.
"Wait, wait." Teck raises a hand to shut him up. "You mean to tell me you ditched a rookie who can’t fly. In Faultline?"
"He knew the risks," Flat bristles. "It’s a dangerous business. And you, or anyone else, can’t prove otherwise."
Teck shuffles uncomfortably. "This disguise is really heavy, you know."
"What disguise? It’s a big pair of sheet metal shoulder pads and a collar! You’ve got a Mohawk taped to your helmet!"
"So?"
"So?! So what kind of idiot would fall for that disguise?" Flat demands.
"Well, we are talking about the Freakshow here." Teck says, pointing to a member of said group standing next to a door. "I mean, look at him. He’s replaced his arms with pneumatic hammers. You can’t hug with pneumatic hammers!""Or eat or take care of…you know." Flat adds.
"Exactly my point. Now shut up and get in character, we’re here."
"Who’s dere?" asks the Freak.
"My name’s SHAZB0T, this is W00t."
"W00t," Flatfoot says.
"Ok, in ya go," the Freak says, knocking on the door with one of his hammer arms. A latch opens it from inside. The two heroes stride in.
"W00t," Flat glares at a lowly thug.
"See? Cakewalk," Teck reassures.
"Sure are a lot of them in here."
"Hey, your collar looks a little loose…"
"What?" Flat reaches up and starts to adjust it. "Thanks, wouldn’t want it to-"
The twisted metal crashes loudly to the ground. The nearby Freakshow look up and glare. Some raise guns.
"This means we have to resort to violence, right?" Flat asks, turning to the Freaks.
"Yes."
"Good. I like resorting to violence."
Minutes later, all of the Freakshow lie on the ground in varying states of pain.
"Well, that went easily," Flat says, wiping his palms.
Teck doesn’t hear him. Instead, he’s looking inside a crate some of the Freaks were protecting.
"Hey Flat, check out this thing I found."
"What is it?"
"I dunno," Teck says, pulling out a large metal staff with a rotating disk on the end. It whirs and steam escapes from it menacingly.
Eyes on the staff, both heroes fail to notice a Freak Tank rising up from the ground.
"Look out!" Flat yells, dodging an explosive shell. Teck points the staff at the tank instinctively, and closes his eyes behind his helmet.
There's a loud whoosh of air, followed by the sound of metal making an unusual splatting sound.
"Oh," Flat says, first to look up. "Oh my. That-that tank just went through the wall."
"I’m keeping it."
"Is, uh, is there another of those in there?"
"No."
"Oh. Can I hold it for a second?"
"No! Get your own!"
"But you just said there wasn’t one." Flat pleads.
"I don’t care."
"Aww, come on," Flat says, taking a step forward.
"If you take one step closer, I swear I’ll use it." Teck warns.
"You’re serious aren’t you?"
"Step away from the weapon!"
"Ok. Fine. I didn’t wanna touch it anyway. Be that way."
Thursday, December 13, 2007
04 - Round Two, Fight!
"Welcome…to the Arena!" Flatfoot says, opening his arms wide, smiling broadly. The effect is slightly defeated by the bright blue hat on his head stamped with the Arena’s logo.
The Arenas of Paragon City were built for one specific purpose, for heroes to "test their skills" against their peers. In other words, it’s an officially sanctioned place for heroes to beat the tar out of each other.
"Um…thank you," says the scrapper standing in front of the front desk.
"How can I help you?" Flatfoot asks cheerfully, the smile on his face looks pained.
The scrapper scratches his head. "What are you doing here? I thought they only employed civilians here?"
Flatfoot’s smile falters for a bit. "Well, under, um, certain circumstances, exceptions can be made."
"Community service?"
"Yeah."
"Ok…I guess. I’ll have four catch-a-breaths and, oh what the hell, a hover pack."
Flatfoot nods and reaches below the desk, pulling out a large metal object with shoulder straps. It lands on the desk with a thump. Next to it, he puts a small blue box of what look like pills.
"Will there be anything else?"
With a grunt, he hefts the backpack. "No, that’ll be all. See you around, Flat," he says, taking the blues, and leaves.
"Then have a great day!" Flatfoot practically shouts to the retreating scrapper. As soon as he’s out of sight, the smile drops. He looks over to a clock, sighs in relief, and yanks the hat off. Then he speeds over to another side of the Arena, where another, identical desk complex sits. Standing behind the counter is Teckstyle. An identical hat is sitting on top of his helmet.
"Welcome…to the-Oh, its you." He says.
"Sup Teck. Man, this place is dead today."
"What’re you doing over here?"
"My shift’s over."
"How do you get a shorter shift?"
"I plead scrapperlock," Flat shrugs.
"Scrapperlock? You call refusing to return a jet pack, Arena property, and then running out of building screaming "Peter, I can fly" scrapperlock?"
"I didn’t know it wouldn’t work outside."
"They had to send Synapse after you, and he was none too happy to chase you down." Teck shouts.
"Guy’s got a mean right hook," Flat says. "Like you’re one to be pointing fingers, Mr. Spends All His Arena Time Trying To Pants Every Tanker You See. You’re a disgrace to the medical profession."
"I’m NOT a doctor!"
"Not with that attitude you won’t be."
"Look, for the last time-"
"Excuse me," says a new voice.
"What?" asks Flatfoot.
"Welcome…to the Arena," Teckstyle says, spreading his arms wide.
"I’m looking for Mr. Flatfoot," says the intruder, a short blond scrapper wearing a yellow and blue outfit, with big goggles and shoulder pads disturbingly similar to Flatfoot’s.
"Right there," Teckstyle says, pointing to Flat.
The shorter scrapper salutes. "How do you do, Mr. Flatfoot. I’m your official plucky teen sidekick!"
"My God, they’re multiplying…" Teckstyle says in horror.
Flatfoot’s mouth hangs open in shock.
"Foes of justice everywhere will come to fear the name of…Kid Flatfoot!" the sidekick says, raising a fist to the heavens.
Flat looks around the lobby. "Is this some kind of candid camera show I don’t know about?" He looks helplessly to Teckstyle, who is doubled over laughing.
Kid Flatfoot grabs Flat’s wrist and starts pulling him toward the door. "Come on, we can't dawdle! There’s a city out there that needs our help!"
"Help me!" mouths Flatfoot as he’s being dragged out the door.
"Hey, you wanna hear my secret origin?"
The Arenas of Paragon City were built for one specific purpose, for heroes to "test their skills" against their peers. In other words, it’s an officially sanctioned place for heroes to beat the tar out of each other.
"Um…thank you," says the scrapper standing in front of the front desk.
"How can I help you?" Flatfoot asks cheerfully, the smile on his face looks pained.
The scrapper scratches his head. "What are you doing here? I thought they only employed civilians here?"
Flatfoot’s smile falters for a bit. "Well, under, um, certain circumstances, exceptions can be made."
"Community service?"
"Yeah."
"Ok…I guess. I’ll have four catch-a-breaths and, oh what the hell, a hover pack."
Flatfoot nods and reaches below the desk, pulling out a large metal object with shoulder straps. It lands on the desk with a thump. Next to it, he puts a small blue box of what look like pills.
"Will there be anything else?"
With a grunt, he hefts the backpack. "No, that’ll be all. See you around, Flat," he says, taking the blues, and leaves.
"Then have a great day!" Flatfoot practically shouts to the retreating scrapper. As soon as he’s out of sight, the smile drops. He looks over to a clock, sighs in relief, and yanks the hat off. Then he speeds over to another side of the Arena, where another, identical desk complex sits. Standing behind the counter is Teckstyle. An identical hat is sitting on top of his helmet.
"Welcome…to the-Oh, its you." He says.
"Sup Teck. Man, this place is dead today."
"What’re you doing over here?"
"My shift’s over."
"How do you get a shorter shift?"
"I plead scrapperlock," Flat shrugs.
"Scrapperlock? You call refusing to return a jet pack, Arena property, and then running out of building screaming "Peter, I can fly" scrapperlock?"
"I didn’t know it wouldn’t work outside."
"They had to send Synapse after you, and he was none too happy to chase you down." Teck shouts.
"Guy’s got a mean right hook," Flat says. "Like you’re one to be pointing fingers, Mr. Spends All His Arena Time Trying To Pants Every Tanker You See. You’re a disgrace to the medical profession."
"I’m NOT a doctor!"
"Not with that attitude you won’t be."
"Look, for the last time-"
"Excuse me," says a new voice.
"What?" asks Flatfoot.
"Welcome…to the Arena," Teckstyle says, spreading his arms wide.
"I’m looking for Mr. Flatfoot," says the intruder, a short blond scrapper wearing a yellow and blue outfit, with big goggles and shoulder pads disturbingly similar to Flatfoot’s.
"Right there," Teckstyle says, pointing to Flat.
The shorter scrapper salutes. "How do you do, Mr. Flatfoot. I’m your official plucky teen sidekick!"
"My God, they’re multiplying…" Teckstyle says in horror.
Flatfoot’s mouth hangs open in shock.
"Foes of justice everywhere will come to fear the name of…Kid Flatfoot!" the sidekick says, raising a fist to the heavens.
Flat looks around the lobby. "Is this some kind of candid camera show I don’t know about?" He looks helplessly to Teckstyle, who is doubled over laughing.
Kid Flatfoot grabs Flat’s wrist and starts pulling him toward the door. "Come on, we can't dawdle! There’s a city out there that needs our help!"
"Help me!" mouths Flatfoot as he’s being dragged out the door.
"Hey, you wanna hear my secret origin?"
03 - Wing Night
"Well, that’s the last thing on the list," Flatfoot says, crossing off the final task on his and Teckstyle’s community service sheet. "Though I can’t really see what was so valuable about that piece of artwork."
"What do you mean," Asks Teckstyle. "It had to be. That’s why the Family stole it."
"I dunno, I guess its just the subjective nature of art, but I just can’t get excited about protecting a minimalist postmodern collection of scribbles."
"Would you prefer it had scantily clad women on it?"
"…Maybe."
"Well I would."
"I noticed," says Flat. "I saw you eying Luminary."
"Was it that obvious?" Teck asks.
"Definitely. Though I’d stay away from her if I were you."
"Why?" Teck asks defensively.
"Dude, she’s a robot."
"What? I don’t believe you."
"How do you not know this? She’s with that Citadel guy. He didn’t look too happy with the way you were acting."
"Wow, I never knew…"
"Sure," Flat says, then adds under his breath, "Robo-philiac."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Hey, look over there," Teck says, pointing to a group of uniformed men. "Sky Raiders."
"Who’re they?"
"Mercenaries. They fly around with jetpacks."
"Why do their helmets look like-?"
"Look at them, making some kind of dirty deal with one of the Family. We’ve got to stop it!"
Teckstyle takes aim at the Family member. A few seconds later, he lies sprawled on the ground, the Sky Raiders drawing their guns.
"Don’t worry, I got ‘em," Flat says, wading into the mercenaries. "Geez guys, who dresses you?" he asks them.
"Your mama!" their leader snarls.
"Oh snap!" Flatfoot shouts and immediately turns on him, reigning blow after blow on the Sky Raider. He’s so focused he doesn’t even notice Teckstyle taking out the rest with wave after wave of energy.
The Sky Raider captain, dazed and bleeding from the nose, takes to the air over the water in an attempt to escape. Flatfoot looks up at the retreating mercenary, a funny look in his eyes.
"I’m taking it," He says, jumping into the water after him.
"Take what?" Teck shouts after him.
"His backpack! Flat’s gonna fly tonight!"
"Wait," Teck calls. "It won’t work for you!" Too late, the scrapper is out of earshot. "Idiot," Teckstyle mutters and flies after him.
Naturally, Flatfoot fails to catch the flying crook, who has by now flown all the way across Independence Port. Flat stops swimming when he realizes he’s not going to catch the Sky Raider, then thinks about what to do next.
"Funny, the water doesn’t seem so deep around here," he says, feet touching something solid. "Hey, wait, that’s not right."
The water bubbles and boils around him as a gigantic shape rises out of the water, followed by four enormous tentacles.
One of the tentacles grabs Flatfoot off the octopus’ head and dangles him in front of one huge, black eye. "Um. Hi?" Flat tries. In response the tentacle begins shaking him violently.
"Oh God, its gonna eat me!" the scrapper shouts.
Teckstyle sees the octopus rising out of the water, sighs, and flies toward it. He can see other heroes flying, jumping, speeding and even teleporting to the monster.
"Octopus spotted in Indy Port!" calls one controller, the first one there.
"Roger, on my way," answers a defender.
"Hey, what’s that scrapper doing up there?" asks a tanker.
"What every scrapper should be doing, fighting like there’s no tomorrow," a scrapper answers. "You show him who’s boss!" she shouts up at Flatfoot.
"Actually, I think he’s screaming like a little girl," the defender says. "Oh, wait, he’s stopped now. Hmm, now he’s just dangling there."
Teckstyle and an army of other heroes arrive. "Right, take out the tentacle around the idiot first."
An incredible amount of firepower is directed toward the tentacle grasping Flatfoot connects, causing the octopus to cry out in agony, drop the scrapper, and sink back down to the depths.
"Quick, bubble him before he drowns," grunts the tanker. The controller nods and surrounds Flatfoot in a soapy green force field. Flat, for his part, floats unconsciously away from the fracas.
"Stay alert," the defender says. "That thing’ll be back"
A few minutes later, the octopus is down, the waters are still again, and Flatfoot’s bubble washes ashore. He wakes up, coughs, and looks around. A Hero Corp. field analyst stands near him, smiling.
"Um, hello," Flat says. "Why am I in a glowing hamster ball?"
"Oh, that’s a force field. Some controller must’ve put it on you."
"Is…is it permanent?"
"No, it’ll run out eventually. Here," she says, handing him a small metal disc.
"What’s this?"
"A badge for helping to save the city from that horrible monster. Its our little way of saying ‘thanks’. Positive reinforcement, and all that."
"Oh, thank you," Flat says, accepting the disc. The Hero Corp. analyst walks away.
Flat feels around for a pocket. "Hey wait, where do I keep this?"
02 - Mistaken Identity
"What’s he doing now?" asks Flatfoot. Just seconds ago, a golden blur heralded his arrival under the pavilion. Flatfoot wears a simple blue costume with yellow lightning bolts and shoulder pads, a large letter F emblazoned on his chest. He hands a coffee cup to Teckstyle.
"Still standing there," the man in the red and yellow armor says. The subject in question is a solitary troll standing on a bridge over the Red River. The two heroes had decided to camp out in the pavilion on one end of the bridge, largely for the shade.
"Mind if I ask a question?" Flatfoot says after a moment of silence.
"What?"
"How do you drink coffee through that helmet?"
In response, a small circle opens up where the mouth would be, and a small metal straw pokes out. Teckstyle holds the cup up to the straw and takes a sip.
"Ah, clever."
A strange gurgling sound comes from within the helmet, followed by a fit of coughing.
"You all right?"
"Too…hot…" Teckstyle manages.
"Oh, sorry about that, see, moving at super speed is a really great way of warming stuff up thanks to friction, so your double shot latte there is hotter than it was in the spigot. I figured you’d know about that, being a scientist and all."
"What makes you think I’m a scientist?"
"Well you got that…suit there that flies around and shoots…stuff."
"Its called energy."
"What kind of energy?"
"Eh, you know, blue."
"…You don’t know do you? And you call yourself a scientist," Flat snorts.
"I never said I was a scientist."
Flatfoot scowls. "You aren’t very good at this ‘mentoring’ thing, are you?"
"I’ve only been at this for a month longer than you."
Flatfoot looks over to the troll, still standing there. "Hey, you wanna hear my secret origin?"
"No." Teckstyle says flatly, taking a sip from the cooling coffee.
"Well, I’m bored, so too bad. See, it all started about a month and a half ago. There was this one hero, guy calling himself Flatfoot who super speed and reflexes from a lightning strike, so he did the obvious thing, put on tights and go arrest people, right? So some scientist buddy of his hooks him up with a pair of shoulder pads," Flatfoot taps his own shoulder. "The pads helped him focus his speed powers better, so he could run really fast. Anyway, this guy fought crime for a while, right, then lightning struck twice, literally when he pushed me, a regular Joe out of the way of an oncoming car. One explosion later, all that was left of this first Flatfoot were his shoulder pads, and I got super speed. Are you even listening to me?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah. So you became a hero to honor his memory or something."
"Well, yeah, that’s one of the reasons. I’m also in it for the large free bags of cash."
"Large…free…bags…?"
Flatfoot offers him his license. "See, its all right there on my ID card."
"So why’d you even bother telling me all this?" refusing to take the card.
"Like I said, I’m bored, and its not like anything else is going on. So what’s your origin?"
"Top secret. If I told you, I’d have to kill you, and its not worth the red tape. Very complicated."
"Aw, c’mon. At least tell me why the name. I mean, when I think of "textiles" I think of flax."
"Can it, sidekick, someone’s going up to our mark."
"You…you just called me ‘sidekick’," Flatfoot beams.
"Yeah, yeah. See that, I told you this troll was a pusher, look at that, some fool in tights is probably trying to get an ‘edge’ in his fight on crime." Teckstyle shakes his head. "Shameful."
"Well, we’d better get over there and put a stop to it, right? We see crime and we stop it, that’s the procedure."
"Yep, power up, we’re going in."
A few seconds later, the two heroes charge out of the pavilion, a blast of energy flooring the confused hero and a swift kick to the head brings down the troll. "Just say no to Superadine, got it?!" shouts Flatfoot triumphantly.
"What you doing?" the troll grunts from beneath. A name tag on his vest reads "Hello, my name is Julius." "Me report this to your supervisor!" The nameless hero has by now fled screaming.
"Er, you mean you’re not pushing superadine on the unsuspecting heroes of Paragon City?" Teckstyle asks hesitantly.
"No! Me not like other trolls. Me hate Atta. Me hate Superadine."
"Oh," Flatfoot and Tecksyle grunt, not making eye contact with Julius.
Ten minutes later, after a police drone escort, the two heroes stand sheepishly in front of Lt. Dave Wincott, head of the trolls task force.
"And there you have it, Sir," Teckstyle says. "That’s what happened."
"We’re, uh, really sorry about the mix up."
"Gentlemen, I just don’t know what to say. Julius has been on of the Hollows’ most stalwart sources of information. I’m just relieved he’s decided to forgive this little ‘incident’." Wincott says, glowering through his sunglasses.
"Would a letter of apology help?"
"No." Wincott glares. "Besides, I don’t think Julius can read," he adds. "Of course, you realize, you’re going to be punished."
The two heroes nod slowly.
"Now, Flatfoot, You’re already in hot water for trying to arrest Flux-"
"He was dressed as an Outcast!"
"He’s supposed to, he’s undercover! And Teckstyle, you caused quite the ruckus by setting off an alpha strike under the Atlas Statue."
"Hey, I tripped-"
"Miss Liberty’s costume was almost blown off."
"Heh, that was pretty funny-I mean, um, sorry." Teckstyle says, stifling a laugh.
Wincott shakes his head. "Gentlemen, Freedom Corps. has asked that you two be put on double secret probation."
"Can they do that?" Flatfoot whispers to Teckstyle, who shrugs.
"Double secret probation!" Wincott says again, louder. "That means I’m remanding you to community service."
"Aww man…," Flatfoot groans. "…Wait a minute, isn’t that what we’re doing already?"
Lt. Wincott rubs his temples for a moment. "Together, I mean. Here’s a list of things to do. You will be monitored at all times. Get started, and get out of the Hollows."
As the two heroes walk away from the Hollows, Teckstyle looks at his new partner in crime fighting. "Remind me never, ever to go to the Hollows again."
Flatfoot looks at the list. "Oh no…"
"What?"
"We have to patrol Galaxy City for Vazhilok activity."
"You’re kidding…"
"Nope. Then we have to defeat five Hellions."
"Well that doesn’t sound so bad…"
"And then we have to do that again. For six pages."
"Ouch. How many pages is it, Flat?"
Flatfoot flips through the list faster than the normal eye can read. "A hundred and six."
Teckstyle begins to smack his fist against his helmet repeatedly.
"So, since we’ve got time now Teck, can I call you Teck? Howabout laying that secret origin on me?"
"Oh shut up."
"Still standing there," the man in the red and yellow armor says. The subject in question is a solitary troll standing on a bridge over the Red River. The two heroes had decided to camp out in the pavilion on one end of the bridge, largely for the shade.
"Mind if I ask a question?" Flatfoot says after a moment of silence.
"What?"
"How do you drink coffee through that helmet?"
In response, a small circle opens up where the mouth would be, and a small metal straw pokes out. Teckstyle holds the cup up to the straw and takes a sip.
"Ah, clever."
A strange gurgling sound comes from within the helmet, followed by a fit of coughing.
"You all right?"
"Too…hot…" Teckstyle manages.
"Oh, sorry about that, see, moving at super speed is a really great way of warming stuff up thanks to friction, so your double shot latte there is hotter than it was in the spigot. I figured you’d know about that, being a scientist and all."
"What makes you think I’m a scientist?"
"Well you got that…suit there that flies around and shoots…stuff."
"Its called energy."
"What kind of energy?"
"Eh, you know, blue."
"…You don’t know do you? And you call yourself a scientist," Flat snorts.
"I never said I was a scientist."
Flatfoot scowls. "You aren’t very good at this ‘mentoring’ thing, are you?"
"I’ve only been at this for a month longer than you."
Flatfoot looks over to the troll, still standing there. "Hey, you wanna hear my secret origin?"
"No." Teckstyle says flatly, taking a sip from the cooling coffee.
"Well, I’m bored, so too bad. See, it all started about a month and a half ago. There was this one hero, guy calling himself Flatfoot who super speed and reflexes from a lightning strike, so he did the obvious thing, put on tights and go arrest people, right? So some scientist buddy of his hooks him up with a pair of shoulder pads," Flatfoot taps his own shoulder. "The pads helped him focus his speed powers better, so he could run really fast. Anyway, this guy fought crime for a while, right, then lightning struck twice, literally when he pushed me, a regular Joe out of the way of an oncoming car. One explosion later, all that was left of this first Flatfoot were his shoulder pads, and I got super speed. Are you even listening to me?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah. So you became a hero to honor his memory or something."
"Well, yeah, that’s one of the reasons. I’m also in it for the large free bags of cash."
"Large…free…bags…?"
Flatfoot offers him his license. "See, its all right there on my ID card."
"So why’d you even bother telling me all this?" refusing to take the card.
"Like I said, I’m bored, and its not like anything else is going on. So what’s your origin?"
"Top secret. If I told you, I’d have to kill you, and its not worth the red tape. Very complicated."
"Aw, c’mon. At least tell me why the name. I mean, when I think of "textiles" I think of flax."
"Can it, sidekick, someone’s going up to our mark."
"You…you just called me ‘sidekick’," Flatfoot beams.
"Yeah, yeah. See that, I told you this troll was a pusher, look at that, some fool in tights is probably trying to get an ‘edge’ in his fight on crime." Teckstyle shakes his head. "Shameful."
"Well, we’d better get over there and put a stop to it, right? We see crime and we stop it, that’s the procedure."
"Yep, power up, we’re going in."
A few seconds later, the two heroes charge out of the pavilion, a blast of energy flooring the confused hero and a swift kick to the head brings down the troll. "Just say no to Superadine, got it?!" shouts Flatfoot triumphantly.
"What you doing?" the troll grunts from beneath. A name tag on his vest reads "Hello, my name is Julius." "Me report this to your supervisor!" The nameless hero has by now fled screaming.
"Er, you mean you’re not pushing superadine on the unsuspecting heroes of Paragon City?" Teckstyle asks hesitantly.
"No! Me not like other trolls. Me hate Atta. Me hate Superadine."
"Oh," Flatfoot and Tecksyle grunt, not making eye contact with Julius.
Ten minutes later, after a police drone escort, the two heroes stand sheepishly in front of Lt. Dave Wincott, head of the trolls task force.
"And there you have it, Sir," Teckstyle says. "That’s what happened."
"We’re, uh, really sorry about the mix up."
"Gentlemen, I just don’t know what to say. Julius has been on of the Hollows’ most stalwart sources of information. I’m just relieved he’s decided to forgive this little ‘incident’." Wincott says, glowering through his sunglasses.
"Would a letter of apology help?"
"No." Wincott glares. "Besides, I don’t think Julius can read," he adds. "Of course, you realize, you’re going to be punished."
The two heroes nod slowly.
"Now, Flatfoot, You’re already in hot water for trying to arrest Flux-"
"He was dressed as an Outcast!"
"He’s supposed to, he’s undercover! And Teckstyle, you caused quite the ruckus by setting off an alpha strike under the Atlas Statue."
"Hey, I tripped-"
"Miss Liberty’s costume was almost blown off."
"Heh, that was pretty funny-I mean, um, sorry." Teckstyle says, stifling a laugh.
Wincott shakes his head. "Gentlemen, Freedom Corps. has asked that you two be put on double secret probation."
"Can they do that?" Flatfoot whispers to Teckstyle, who shrugs.
"Double secret probation!" Wincott says again, louder. "That means I’m remanding you to community service."
"Aww man…," Flatfoot groans. "…Wait a minute, isn’t that what we’re doing already?"
Lt. Wincott rubs his temples for a moment. "Together, I mean. Here’s a list of things to do. You will be monitored at all times. Get started, and get out of the Hollows."
As the two heroes walk away from the Hollows, Teckstyle looks at his new partner in crime fighting. "Remind me never, ever to go to the Hollows again."
Flatfoot looks at the list. "Oh no…"
"What?"
"We have to patrol Galaxy City for Vazhilok activity."
"You’re kidding…"
"Nope. Then we have to defeat five Hellions."
"Well that doesn’t sound so bad…"
"And then we have to do that again. For six pages."
"Ouch. How many pages is it, Flat?"
Flatfoot flips through the list faster than the normal eye can read. "A hundred and six."
Teckstyle begins to smack his fist against his helmet repeatedly.
"So, since we’ve got time now Teck, can I call you Teck? Howabout laying that secret origin on me?"
"Oh shut up."
01 - The Lost in Kings Row
Paragon City, the bright shining jewel of Rhode Island. The City of Heroes. In the Kings Row district of the city, a lone scrapper doesn’t seem to be feeling the full majesty of a city filled with superheroes.
In fact, he’s not happy at all. He’s just spent the last hour looking for members of one of the city’s many villain factions; in this case, the Lost. The trouble is, he’s never seen them before. In the mean time, he’s run around fighting Skulls, Circle of Thorns, and Clockwork, all the while interrogating them for the wherabouts of the Lost. So far, all he’s managed to find out is that the Lost were basically a street gang of homeless people who liked to wear trash can lids and stop signs over their flannel shirts.
Somehow, Flatfoot didn’t envision that when he first got into costume. He figured he’d be out, oh, saving the world from cosmic threats or something.
When he first got this mission, he decided to go to the local trainer, Blue Steel and ask him if he knew where the Lost were in Kings Row. The veteran, while polite, made it clear he felt the best way to do that was through good old fashioned leg work. So he went over to a group of heroes standing around nearby.
"Hey, uh, I hate to bother you, but can you tell me where the Lost are in Kings Row?"
The first of those heroes to stop laughing long enough to respond was a giant fiery mountain of a tank. "Don’t delude yourself, kid. Nobody knows where they are, that’s why they’re called ‘Lost’."
"Don’t listen to him," said a willowy blaster crackling with electricity. "You first have to go over to the northwest corner of the zone, right by the war wall, then climb to the top of the tallest building of the closest block, then jump off. Repeat five times and they’ll show up. Don’t ask me why, but they will."
Flatfoot gave them a polite little salute, thanked them, and hurried over to do as the veteran hero suggested. After two trips to the hospital, he decided that maybe he should leave that Circle of Thorns coven alone on top of that building.
So after kicking out a few thugs to make him feel better, Flatfoot sits at the bus station near the Independence Port gate, sulking. From over a wall, he hears the sound of somebody ranting about the time being nigh.
Curious, because nobody in their right mind uses the phrase "the time is nigh," Flatfoot peeks over the wall to see a large lumpy man with a bad rash and a broken television set on his head standing on a worn old box. He is surrounded by three smaller men in ratty clothes, all paying reverent attention to his words. One of them happens to look his way.
"Hi guys, you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions for me, would you?" Flatfoot asks, vaulting over the wall.
"Intruders!" their leader shouts. "Get him!" Immediately the three followers charge the hero, swinging pipes and hammers.
"Well, since you’re dressed like the less fortunate members of our society and your first words were ‘Get them!’ and not ‘Hey bub, got a quarter?’, I’m going to assume that you’re the Lost."
Flatfoot easily dodges the clumsy swings of the smaller thugs, taking them out with a few well-placed kicks. "Oh come on, guys, I’ve got super reflexes here. You’re gonna have to try harder than that." He turns to see their leader, who is now brandishing a very large single edged sword. The edge glows green with energy. "How did I miss that earlier?"
The headman swings, Flatfoot miscalculates his dodge, the blow connects, and the hero goes flying over the wall and into the bus stop.
Flatfoot struggles to his feet. "Oww!" he says, watching the headman jump over the wall.
"Hey, punk, watch where you’re landing," says a blaster standing by the bus stop. "You’re getting dust all over." This other hero wears a suit of red armor with a lightning bolt on his chest. His face is covered by a helmet. He looks over to the Lost member. "Need help?"
"Nah, I got him," Flatfoot says, dusting himself off and charging back into the fray.
A few seconds later, the scrapper goes flying across the street and into the side of a dumpster. The blaster sighs and raises his fists, sending a torrent of blue energy flying at the headman, who obligingly goes flying into the wall behind him, then slumps to the ground.
"Told ya I coulda’ taken ‘im," Flatfoot slurs from the dumpster. "Just gotta clear my head first."
"He’s down."
"Oh. Well. That works too," Flat says, his senses clearing quickly. "Thanks, I guess."
"No problem. Name’s Teckstyle."
"Flatfoot."
Teckstyle looks at the scrapper for a few seconds as though making up his mind. "Say, I’m looking for a meat shield, er, sidekick to help me out with a few missions. Interested?"
"What’s in it for me?"
"Long range fire support."
"Hmm. Deal."
"Sucker."
"What?"
Teckstyle gives him a lollipop. "Sucker?"
"Oh. Thank you." Flatfoot says, unwrapping it.
"Yeah, some crazy lady gave it to me after I rescued her from some rock monsters."
"So where too?"
"Ever hear of the Hollows?"
"Yeah, big hole in the ground filled with things that hate me."
"Ever hear of a thug named Frostfire?"
"I think so. A big name in the Outcasts. Has a base swarming with followers."
"Its also got an ice slide inside."
"Ooo! A slide!"
In fact, he’s not happy at all. He’s just spent the last hour looking for members of one of the city’s many villain factions; in this case, the Lost. The trouble is, he’s never seen them before. In the mean time, he’s run around fighting Skulls, Circle of Thorns, and Clockwork, all the while interrogating them for the wherabouts of the Lost. So far, all he’s managed to find out is that the Lost were basically a street gang of homeless people who liked to wear trash can lids and stop signs over their flannel shirts.
Somehow, Flatfoot didn’t envision that when he first got into costume. He figured he’d be out, oh, saving the world from cosmic threats or something.
When he first got this mission, he decided to go to the local trainer, Blue Steel and ask him if he knew where the Lost were in Kings Row. The veteran, while polite, made it clear he felt the best way to do that was through good old fashioned leg work. So he went over to a group of heroes standing around nearby.
"Hey, uh, I hate to bother you, but can you tell me where the Lost are in Kings Row?"
The first of those heroes to stop laughing long enough to respond was a giant fiery mountain of a tank. "Don’t delude yourself, kid. Nobody knows where they are, that’s why they’re called ‘Lost’."
"Don’t listen to him," said a willowy blaster crackling with electricity. "You first have to go over to the northwest corner of the zone, right by the war wall, then climb to the top of the tallest building of the closest block, then jump off. Repeat five times and they’ll show up. Don’t ask me why, but they will."
Flatfoot gave them a polite little salute, thanked them, and hurried over to do as the veteran hero suggested. After two trips to the hospital, he decided that maybe he should leave that Circle of Thorns coven alone on top of that building.
So after kicking out a few thugs to make him feel better, Flatfoot sits at the bus station near the Independence Port gate, sulking. From over a wall, he hears the sound of somebody ranting about the time being nigh.
Curious, because nobody in their right mind uses the phrase "the time is nigh," Flatfoot peeks over the wall to see a large lumpy man with a bad rash and a broken television set on his head standing on a worn old box. He is surrounded by three smaller men in ratty clothes, all paying reverent attention to his words. One of them happens to look his way.
"Hi guys, you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions for me, would you?" Flatfoot asks, vaulting over the wall.
"Intruders!" their leader shouts. "Get him!" Immediately the three followers charge the hero, swinging pipes and hammers.
"Well, since you’re dressed like the less fortunate members of our society and your first words were ‘Get them!’ and not ‘Hey bub, got a quarter?’, I’m going to assume that you’re the Lost."
Flatfoot easily dodges the clumsy swings of the smaller thugs, taking them out with a few well-placed kicks. "Oh come on, guys, I’ve got super reflexes here. You’re gonna have to try harder than that." He turns to see their leader, who is now brandishing a very large single edged sword. The edge glows green with energy. "How did I miss that earlier?"
The headman swings, Flatfoot miscalculates his dodge, the blow connects, and the hero goes flying over the wall and into the bus stop.
Flatfoot struggles to his feet. "Oww!" he says, watching the headman jump over the wall.
"Hey, punk, watch where you’re landing," says a blaster standing by the bus stop. "You’re getting dust all over." This other hero wears a suit of red armor with a lightning bolt on his chest. His face is covered by a helmet. He looks over to the Lost member. "Need help?"
"Nah, I got him," Flatfoot says, dusting himself off and charging back into the fray.
A few seconds later, the scrapper goes flying across the street and into the side of a dumpster. The blaster sighs and raises his fists, sending a torrent of blue energy flying at the headman, who obligingly goes flying into the wall behind him, then slumps to the ground.
"Told ya I coulda’ taken ‘im," Flatfoot slurs from the dumpster. "Just gotta clear my head first."
"He’s down."
"Oh. Well. That works too," Flat says, his senses clearing quickly. "Thanks, I guess."
"No problem. Name’s Teckstyle."
"Flatfoot."
Teckstyle looks at the scrapper for a few seconds as though making up his mind. "Say, I’m looking for a meat shield, er, sidekick to help me out with a few missions. Interested?"
"What’s in it for me?"
"Long range fire support."
"Hmm. Deal."
"Sucker."
"What?"
Teckstyle gives him a lollipop. "Sucker?"
"Oh. Thank you." Flatfoot says, unwrapping it.
"Yeah, some crazy lady gave it to me after I rescued her from some rock monsters."
"So where too?"
"Ever hear of the Hollows?"
"Yeah, big hole in the ground filled with things that hate me."
"Ever hear of a thug named Frostfire?"
"I think so. A big name in the Outcasts. Has a base swarming with followers."
"Its also got an ice slide inside."
"Ooo! A slide!"
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