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!"