19 - Outsourcing

A warehouse in Independence Port shakes with the sounds of battle. A Tsoo sorcerer crashes through the loading doors and lands near the street. Teckstyle steps out, armored fists glowing.

“How’d you do that?” Flatfoot asks. “I mean, you just jumped up and then walloped the guy.”

“I can focus the energy of my suit into a concentrated aura around my fists and hit stuff with it,” Teck says.

“Ah,” Flat says, thinking. “So…is that why it looks different than your ranged attacks?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well when you shoot people, its…blue.”

“Right.”

“And when you punch people, its…pink.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“What’s up with that? Why the two colors?”

“Well, see, when I fire off blasts of energy, the air cools them down somewhat, and that’s why they look blue, and when I focus them around me, it glows, er, pink with the heat.”

“You don’t know, do you?” Flat says.

“Boy there sure were a lot of Tsoo in that warehouse, weren’t there?” Teck asks, changing the subject.

“…Yeah. It was one of their safe houses.” The scrapper shakes his head. “Man, there were more tattoos in there than the city of Sturgis has ever seen.”

“What?”

“They hold an annual biker rally? Bikers have…ah, forget it,” Flat says, shaking his head again. “They sure didn’t take well to the destruction of their priceless ancient relics.”

“Was it me who set them up on undersized pedestals without Plexiglas?” Teck asks. “No it was not. They’ve only got themselves to blame. By the way, what was going on with you and those ninjas?”

“Oh that? We were trading insults,” Flat says.

“You weren’t saying anything.”

“Ah,” Flat says, pressing his hands together wisely. “We were speaking the language of violence.”
“The what of the what?”

“It is an ancient way of communicating much older than spoken words. Hitting someone with a rock is the equivalent of hello, only without bothering about syllables and spelling.”

“…And you learned this where?”

“I had a ninja for a roommate for a while.”

“And he…taught it to you?”

“Nah,” Flat says. “We didn’t get along very well. I cribbed some of his notes when he wasn’t around though.”

“And…this ninja. What happened to him?” Teck asks.

“Oh, he failed to assassinate the head of a zaibatsu and had to commit seppuku.”

“You don’t say.”

“Made a hell of a mess too. I had to get new a new carpet after that. Man, that rug really tied the room together, too.” Flat says. “Well, that’s my ninja story.”

“Hey, wait,” Teck interrupts. “I just realized something. Aren’t ninjas Japanese?”

“Yeah.”

“But I thought the Tsoo were Chinese. Where’d they get the ninjas?”

“Outsourcing, maybe? It is a global economy after all. Trained ninjas are a valuable commodity in today’s crime syndicate world. I mean, I’d want some.”

“What’re you going to do with ninjas?” Teck demands. “I mean, other than speak your made up language?”

“Well…They could help with…chores and…if I ever wanted to learn Bridge, I’d have a team ready to go. Things of that nature.”

A shuriken flies past the two and imbeds itself in a wall. A group of Ink Men materialize out of the shadows.

“Look out, more of them!” Teck says, blasting at one of them.

“Their tattoos are moving…” Flat says, staring.

“Yeah, I know, they’re magical,” Teck says. “Now give me a hand!”

“Its like a screen saver…The one with the pipes…”

“All right, fine, be that way. I’ll take them myself.”



One zone away, a black and yellow clad figure stalks the streets of Talos Island. From the shadows, he sees a gang of Freakshow beating up a pair of cowering warriors.

A pair of glowing fists illuminate the alley next to the gangers. “Hiya boys, see these two glowing fists about to knock your teeth out? I call ‘em the molar express.” The figure then leaps out at the surprised Freakshow.

In the ensuing fracas, the warriors manage to beat a hasty retreat while the Freakshow aren’t so lucky. A crowd of horrified onlookers gathers, including some law enforcement members.

“What-what did you do to them?” a SWAT member yells. “You-you…brute you!”

“Yeah, that’s great, you’re welcome and everything,” the man in black says, tossing aside the remnants of a Swiper’s arm. “Look, screaming SWAT guy, why don’t you go call in a paddy wagon for these guys, ok? Or a garbage truck.” He turns and addresses the crowd. “All right people, I’ve got some bad news for you. The Flatfoot you’ve all known and loved is dead.” A few gasps are drowned out by people asking ‘who?’ “But the good news is, even in death I still serve the citizens of Paragon City, just call me Deadfoot from now on and we’ll get along fine.”

A few more police officers have gathered around, talking with themselves.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, mister,” one officer says. “Flatfoot just phoned in to a contact reporting another completed job, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to come with us…”

“What’re you talkin’ about?” Deadfoot asks. “I’ve saved this city more times than I can count. I gave my life for Paragon!! Is everyone here crazy? Did Nemesis work some kind of mind control mojo?!”

“I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable answer for this, but you’ll have to come down to the station…”

Deadfoot readies himself for combat. “Oh, Nemesis is gonna get it for turnin’ this town against me. I don’t want to hurt you, but I won’t be responsible if you leave me no choice!”

Soon, the stranger known as Deadfoot is covered in pile of police officers, but manages to throw them off. Just as quickly they pile on again.

“I don’t care! Anyone! Some police drones or something!” An officer yells into a walkie-talkie. A few more police are flung past him. “Better send Citadel too, just to make sure.”