20 - Are You Not Entertained?!

Deep inside an abandoned warehouse, somewhere in Paragon City, the sounds of movement are heard. A door slides open and three Outcasts enter, holding baseball bats and knives. They look around, and wait.

Across the room, another door slides open and three trolls enter the room, then stand in a line, and glare at the outcasts.

Then, as if on cue, the Outcasts all begin snapping their fingers rhythmically and start forward. The Trolls, after a few false starts, manage to do the same. The two gangs start circling each other.

“When you a troll, yeah you troll, uh…don’t you know,” says a Caliban.

“Get cool, crazy boy,” an Outcast says to a blue comrade, who nods and starts flinging ice at the Trolls. Then the two gangs rush at each other, stabbing and dodging, all while still snapping their fingers in time…


“That was awesome!” Teckstyle says, raising his arms in triumph. “I still can’t believe they agreed to it.”

“Hmp,” Flatfoot grumbles. “Only because you won.” The Outcasts didn’t do as well as he’d hoped.

“Oh, what are you complaining about? It was your idea.”

Flat frowns for a moment. “Rematch!”

“What?”

“I said rematch. Council vs. Freakshow. Let’s go. I pick Council.”

“All right, your funeral,” Teck says.

“Not this time, buddy,” Flat says. “Bismark finally came back from…well wherever it is he was. I’m entering him, and another warwolf I saved from the kennel.”

“Wait, you’ve got two warwolves now?” Teck asks.

“Yeah. The one in the black fur and brown shorts is Garibaldi.”

“You’ve named your warwolves after 19th Century European nationalists?”

Flatfoot shrugs. “I figure if I get a third I’ll call him Disrali, although that one’s a bit of a stretch since he was 18th Century.” The scrapper’s phone rings. “Excuse me,” he says, answering it. “Hello?…Yes…Yes, that’s right…No…Never heard of that…All right, fine, be that way!”

“Who was that?” Teckstyle asks.

“It was the Commissioner. He says they’ve got someone in custody that was impersonating me and want us to come down to the station to talk to him. Guess Garibaldi doesn’t get to taste Freakshow blood today after all.”



Down at the station, Flatfoot and Teckstyle are following Blue Steel down a corridor to the holding cells.

“And this guy just showed up in Talos using excessive force and saying he was Flatfoot, but died and became Deadfoot. It took five whole SWAT teams to hold him down long enough for Citadel to clock him,” Steel says, handing Flat a data folder. “We’ve been keeping him under a protective force field until we can process him at the Zig.”

The three walk up to a cell, where Deadfoot is busy hammering away at the force field surrounding him with his fists.

“Give it up, Dead,” Steel says. “You’re only wasting your breath.”

“Ha, that’s where I’ve got you!” Deadfoot says, taking a pause from his pummeling. “I stopped breathing years ago! Wait, who’s this?” he asks, seeing Flatfoot. “Ohhh. Real slick, Nemesis. Digging out my old costume and putting it on one of your automatons and sending it over to mess with me.”

“What’s he talking about?” Teck asks.

“We were hoping you’d know.” Blue Steel answers.

Flat stares at Deadfoot. “Its not an old costume, I just bought a new mask. Who are you?”

“I’m you! Well, I mean, me. You’re the one who looks like me, only not, since you’re wearing my old outfit, from back when I was alive,” Deadfoot says.

“He sounds like you,” Teck says.

“Look buddy,” Flat says. “I think if I were dead, I’d be the first to know about it.”

“Great,” Teck says. “First Kid Flatfoot, now this.”

“Kid Flatfoot?” Deadfoot asks. “What’d your sidekick say about Kid Flatfoot?”

“Sidekick!? Why you!!” Teck shouts, lunging for the cell, only to be stopped by the force field.
“Kid Flatfoot, some kid who tries to hang out with me all the time, thinks he’s my sidekick. Why do you care?”

“Because Kid Flatfoot’s the man who killed me!!”