Staring down the barrel of a Quantum disrupter gun is not the way Flatfoot imagined his death would happen. Instead he rather hoped it would involve a large chocolate fountain. At least there were hot women. True, they were fully clothed in combat gear and masks, and trying to kill him, but he still assumed they were hot, so it could at least be rationalized that way.
He closed his eyes, preparing for the end, all the while wishing he was inside the reactor instead of on a rooftop.
Several seconds pass without Flat feeling anything remotely like dead. Cautiously, he opens his eyes. He is surprised to be in an empty corridor. The whirring of machinery is the only sound.
“What…happened?” Flat asks.
“Teleportation,” K!xt answers weakly. “One of the greatest powers available to a Warshade.”
“Cool! Do it again!”
“The energy expended for a teleportation of that magnitude is very taxing.”
“Ok…but can you do it again? Please?”
“No.”
“Dang,” Flat says. “Where are we?”
“Inside the bowels of the Terra Volta nuclear reactor.”
“Oh. Nifty. So now what do we do?”
“Is this the part where we pummel each other insensate?” Deadfoot asks.
“T’would appear so,” Flatbeard the Pirate says, getting into a Crane stance balanced precariously on his peg leg.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” Reverse Flatfoot demands.
“Heinous acts of villainy,” Invisibull answers. “You?”
“”Sabotaging the reactor.”
“Well that’s what we came here to do.”
“Says who?” Reverse Flat says, crossing his yellow-clad arms.
“Well…, says us,” the stalker answers.
“Thing is, guys,” Deadfoot says, “we were here first.”
“So? Its not like you’ve called dibs on the place,” Tecknique snorts.
“Dibs has nothing to do with it. We were already here!” Reverse Flat says.
“Uh, guys…?” Crank Shaft says.
“I mean, we’ve already gone and set it all up and everything,” Reverse Flat says.
“Yeah, about that…” Crank says, trying to get their attention.
“Pshaw, we could’ve done that,” Pizzocato Polecat says.
“With what? I don’t see you hauling around 8,000 kilos worth of explosives!” Reverse Flat yells.
“Well…” Tecknique says.
“Technically. We. Did. The. Hauling,” one of Crank’s robots chimes in.
“What were you planning on doing? Punching and kicking the reactor to death?” Reverse Flat rants.
“Hey, why couldn’t we’ve done that instead?” Deadfoot asks.
“Shut up,” Reverse Flat snaps.
“Well, to be fair, we’ve been a-hittin’ the rum pretty hard tonight,” Flatbeard says.
“Look, guys, there’s probably something you should be aware of…” Crank says.
“All right, fine,” Tecknique says, folding his arms. “If you kick us out, we’ll just go around saying that we blew up the reactor ourselves.”
“Oh please,” Reverse Flat retorts. “How’re you gonna prove it?”
“I’d say the smoking crater would be the first clue.”
“Yeah, but we’d just tell everyone that you didn’t have any explosives.”
“You do realize it would be your word against ours,” Reverse Flat says.
“Yeah, who to trust?” Deadfoot grunts. “Lying, sneaking stalkers with a man made of candy, or the lying yellow man who yells a lot and the armored guy going with the robots who tell terrible jokes?”
“Low. Blow. Man,” a robot says.
“Yeah. Words. Can. Hurt.”
“Where did he go?!” the Void Huntress demands.
“He appears to have vanished,” Sister Antigone answers.
“I can see that!!!”
“He’s never done that before.”
“Well find him! Find him now! I want his Kheldian head on a stick!”
“What, just like that?” Antigone asks.
“Yes!” the Void Huntress says furiously.
“Its not going to be that easy.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’ll take time, coordination, resources, money…” Sister Antigone says, counting on her fingers.
“What are you implying?”
“It will cost extra.”
“That’s ridiculous! I’m not paying you any more without results!”
“Fine then, it looks like we’re done here then.”
“Fine!”
“All right.”
“All right!” the void huntress yells and storms off the rooftop, cursing loudly.
“Well that went well,” a Knife of Artemis says after the void has gone.
“See Sister? That is why we charge in advance,” Sister Antigone says.
“Our policies are very wise indeed,” the subordinate agrees, then looks up and gasps. “Look! Up in the air!”
Sister Antigone and the Knives of Artemis look skyward and see hundreds of Rikti spaceships entering the atmosphere.
“Now would probably be a good time to leave, Sisters,” Antigone says.
“What do you mean, leave?” Tecknique says.
“I’m confused,” the Gingerbread Man asks. “Are we blowing up this reactor or not?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!” Crank shouts. “We can stand here arguing over who gets to blow up the reactor, but we can only do that for 47 more minutes, because by then, it’ll blow up anyway!”
“So ya mean it be set ta go off like a powderkeg in a bonfire?” Flatbeard asks, stroking his facial hair.
“Yes.”
“That’s what we wanted, right?” the Gingerbread man asks.
“Yes.”
“Just checking.”
“All right, tell you what,” Tecknique says. “We won’t fight you if we get equal credit for the explosion.”
“Blackmail?” Reverse Flat says in surprise.
“Think of it more like a super villain team up.”
“45 Minutes,” Crank says.
“All right, fine,” Reverse Flat says, offering his hand. “It’s a deal.”
Tecknique shakes it. “Pleasure doing shady business with you.”
“Excellent,” the Gingerbread Man says. “With the force from this explosion, I’ll have enough energy to get back to the Candyverse!”
“Yeah, whatever, cookie man,” Reverse Flat says.
“Soon, all dimensions will-” The Gingerbread Man’s sentence is punctuated by two purple rays of light piercing through his crunchy ginger body, shattering into a million sugary pieces.
“Cool. Laser eyes!” a voice from the doorway says. “I mean, stop right there you naughty ne’er-do-wells!”
The villains gasp. Flatfoot steps into the reactor room and puts his hands on his hips, trench coat swirling dramatically, light reflecting off of his sunglasses. “Give it up Deadfoot, Crank Shaft and…a whole bunch of people I don’t know.”
“Wait a minute, Flatfoot?” Deadfoot asks. “Did you put on weight?”
“Let’s not focus on whether or not my eating habits have taken a turn for the worse, shall we? Let’s talk about you guys-”
“No fair blasting that weird cookie guy. We’re the villains, we’re supposed to take the first shot,” Invisibull complains.
“That’s just part of my edgy new image, just like the endless number of small, empty pockets lining my costume,” Flat answers. “Besides, I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
“So are we!” Pizzocato Polecat shouts.
“40 minutes,” Crank says.
“See!?”
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
45 - Girl Trouble
“What did you do to me?!” Flatfoot yells at K!xt, the Warshade merged with him. He hovers over the Terra Volta nuclear power complex, tentacles flailing in panic.
“We Kheldians retain an essence of the species we have merged with previously, and are able to call upon them at certain times of-”
“I don’t care about your crazy alien physiology! How do you undo it!?”
“That’s simple, all you do is relax and think of your natural form-”
With a flash of light, Flatfoot returns to his normal appearance, and immediately drops like a rock out of the sky. The hero sees the ground rushing towards him and desperately wishes he was standing on solid ground instead of rocketing toward it.
Another flash of light, and Flatfoot hovers upright three feet over a level rooftop. He opens his eyes carefully and gingerly drops to his feet safely.
“Ok… Now I’m really confused.”
“You weren’t supposed to transform back in mid-air!” K!xt shouts at Flatfoot.
On a nearby rooftop, seven shadowy figures observe Flatfoot bickering with the voice in his head. All are armed with an array of knives and guns and really big binoculars. One of the rooftop’s residents stands apart from the rest. She, a black-clad amazon of a female with glowing red eyes, hefts a large alien looking gun.
“At long last. My prey lies within my grasp. Your mercenaries have done their work well, Sister Antigone.”
“We’ve been observing this particular scrapper for weeks now. The Malta group have been…complaining about him.” This was true. Sappers were filing constant grievances about a blue blur that was kicking their heads and breaking their goggles before running away giggling. The change to a purple costume had thrown off the Knives, but only until for a few minutes.
“No matter,” the void huntress says leveling her gun. “One shot is all I need.”
Inside the bowels of Terra Volta, an air ventilation shaft opens and an small squad of stalkers silently excrete themselves into a hallway.
“Excellent,” the gingerbread man says, wringing his sugary palms in evil anticipation. “Yes. Yes. Something like this is exactly what I need.” He pauses, then looks around. “How do we blow it up?”
Sister Antigone reaches over and swats the Quantum gun down.
“No!” She hisses.
The Void Huntress fixes her with a burning glare. “You dare?”
“You don’t realize how fast he really is. Our snipers haven’t been able to get a clear shot on him in the entire time we’ve been tracking him.”
“Then what do you suggest we do about it?”
“Lure him into a trap of course.” If Sister Antigone were the kind to smile, and wasn’t wearing a full face mask, she would be smiling.
Even deeper inside Terra Volta, Deadfoot looks on curiously at the assembled Anti-Bomb.
“Does it have to be that big?” he asks.
“Of course,” the Reverse Flatfoot says, grinning widely. “With the explosion from this bomb, I can finally get revenge on all of the people on my list in one fell swoop.”
“Its not really a swoop, is it,” Crank Shaft says, looking up from a dice game he had been playing with his robotic minions.
“Shut up.” Reverse Flat says. “You should be more invested in this scheme anyway. After all, it was only with your work on your ‘Jaeger-Bomb’ that this was even possible.”
“Yeah. But the challenge was in building it. My part’s done.” The mastermind of the mechanical turns back to his dice game and rolls. He rolls a two. “Damn!”
A protect-bot rolls next. “Come. On. Baby. Needs. A. New. Pair. Of . Shoes.”
“Is…is he losing to his own robots?” Reverse Flat whispers to Deadfoot.
“Yes. Yes he is,” Deadfoot answers.
“Well a quick primer on what I can and can’t do now would be a big help, you know,” Flatfoot says bitterly.
“I have been telling you everything I can. You are the one who chooses not to listen,” K!xt
“Whatever. I’m running from now on-”
“Help! Help!” a voice cries from a nearby rooftop.
“Hark!” Flatfoot says. “A woman in danger!”
“I do urge you to look up some allies. What about those Grammar Guardians from earlier?”
“Pshaw,” Flat says. “Damsels in distress are routine. This’ll be a cakewalk.”
“Now,” Crank Shaft says, boredom creeping into his voice. “The timer is set to go off in 57 minutes. We should probably get going.”
“Why 57 minutes?” Deadfoot asks.
“Confuses people trying to diffuse it.”
A loud crash from the other end of the reactor room stops the conversation.
“Great! Just great!” Tecknique yells. “Stealthiest killers in the world. I can’t believe you!”
“Arr, that bucket ought not’ve been in the middle of the hallway,” Flatbeard says defensively.
“Uh, guys,” Invisibull says, pointing at the Reverse Flatfoot’s crew. “We’re not alone here.”
“Do you think they spotted us?” Pizzocato Polecat asks.
Crank’s robots snap to attention and Deadfoot’s fists glow with the promise of pink death.
“Now what seems to be the trouble here ma’m,” Flatfoot says, alighting on the aforementioned nearby rooftop. He spies a woman huddled against a chimney. “Was it the Circle of Thorns? They’ve got this crazy obsession with rooftops.”
The woman turns around, revealing a slim olive jumpsuit and a pair of military goggles and a pair of pistols leveled at the hero.
“Oh crap!” Flat shouts, raising a faint purple sphere around himself before the mercenary fires. The bullets bounce off harmlessly. “Ha!” he says.
Five more Knives of Artemis step out of the shadows. Flat stares in surprise at them. “Um. Hello ladies. Very nice, um, binoculars,” he says seeing the optical devices hanging from Sister Antigone’s neck. They open fire without responding.
Flat jumps and dodges around the rooftop, avoiding bullets and shurikens with ease. “Come on, ladies, you’ve got to put out more if you want to dance with the Flatster,” Flat taunts.
Sister Antigone reaches into a pocket and throws out a small canister that explodes in the air. A shower of tiny metal pyramids falls to the ground. Flat, concentrating on avoiding a hail of gunfire, runs directly onto the caltrops and immediately feels the effects.
“Owie! Owie! Owie!” Flat says, hopping around. The gunfire stops.
The Void Huntress emerges from the shadows and powers up her quantum rifle.
“Quantum gun? Ha! I’ve been hit by those all the time. I’m not afraid of your puny alien weaponry!”
“Yes we are!” K!xt shouts inside Flatfoot’s head. “One hit will likely kill us!”
“Oh,” Flat says watching helplessly as the Quantum gun glows angrily at him. He closes his eyes and wishes he were somewhere else.
“We Kheldians retain an essence of the species we have merged with previously, and are able to call upon them at certain times of-”
“I don’t care about your crazy alien physiology! How do you undo it!?”
“That’s simple, all you do is relax and think of your natural form-”
With a flash of light, Flatfoot returns to his normal appearance, and immediately drops like a rock out of the sky. The hero sees the ground rushing towards him and desperately wishes he was standing on solid ground instead of rocketing toward it.
Another flash of light, and Flatfoot hovers upright three feet over a level rooftop. He opens his eyes carefully and gingerly drops to his feet safely.
“Ok… Now I’m really confused.”
“You weren’t supposed to transform back in mid-air!” K!xt shouts at Flatfoot.
On a nearby rooftop, seven shadowy figures observe Flatfoot bickering with the voice in his head. All are armed with an array of knives and guns and really big binoculars. One of the rooftop’s residents stands apart from the rest. She, a black-clad amazon of a female with glowing red eyes, hefts a large alien looking gun.
“At long last. My prey lies within my grasp. Your mercenaries have done their work well, Sister Antigone.”
“We’ve been observing this particular scrapper for weeks now. The Malta group have been…complaining about him.” This was true. Sappers were filing constant grievances about a blue blur that was kicking their heads and breaking their goggles before running away giggling. The change to a purple costume had thrown off the Knives, but only until for a few minutes.
“No matter,” the void huntress says leveling her gun. “One shot is all I need.”
Inside the bowels of Terra Volta, an air ventilation shaft opens and an small squad of stalkers silently excrete themselves into a hallway.
“Excellent,” the gingerbread man says, wringing his sugary palms in evil anticipation. “Yes. Yes. Something like this is exactly what I need.” He pauses, then looks around. “How do we blow it up?”
Sister Antigone reaches over and swats the Quantum gun down.
“No!” She hisses.
The Void Huntress fixes her with a burning glare. “You dare?”
“You don’t realize how fast he really is. Our snipers haven’t been able to get a clear shot on him in the entire time we’ve been tracking him.”
“Then what do you suggest we do about it?”
“Lure him into a trap of course.” If Sister Antigone were the kind to smile, and wasn’t wearing a full face mask, she would be smiling.
Even deeper inside Terra Volta, Deadfoot looks on curiously at the assembled Anti-Bomb.
“Does it have to be that big?” he asks.
“Of course,” the Reverse Flatfoot says, grinning widely. “With the explosion from this bomb, I can finally get revenge on all of the people on my list in one fell swoop.”
“Its not really a swoop, is it,” Crank Shaft says, looking up from a dice game he had been playing with his robotic minions.
“Shut up.” Reverse Flat says. “You should be more invested in this scheme anyway. After all, it was only with your work on your ‘Jaeger-Bomb’ that this was even possible.”
“Yeah. But the challenge was in building it. My part’s done.” The mastermind of the mechanical turns back to his dice game and rolls. He rolls a two. “Damn!”
A protect-bot rolls next. “Come. On. Baby. Needs. A. New. Pair. Of . Shoes.”
“Is…is he losing to his own robots?” Reverse Flat whispers to Deadfoot.
“Yes. Yes he is,” Deadfoot answers.
“Well a quick primer on what I can and can’t do now would be a big help, you know,” Flatfoot says bitterly.
“I have been telling you everything I can. You are the one who chooses not to listen,” K!xt
“Whatever. I’m running from now on-”
“Help! Help!” a voice cries from a nearby rooftop.
“Hark!” Flatfoot says. “A woman in danger!”
“I do urge you to look up some allies. What about those Grammar Guardians from earlier?”
“Pshaw,” Flat says. “Damsels in distress are routine. This’ll be a cakewalk.”
“Now,” Crank Shaft says, boredom creeping into his voice. “The timer is set to go off in 57 minutes. We should probably get going.”
“Why 57 minutes?” Deadfoot asks.
“Confuses people trying to diffuse it.”
A loud crash from the other end of the reactor room stops the conversation.
“Great! Just great!” Tecknique yells. “Stealthiest killers in the world. I can’t believe you!”
“Arr, that bucket ought not’ve been in the middle of the hallway,” Flatbeard says defensively.
“Uh, guys,” Invisibull says, pointing at the Reverse Flatfoot’s crew. “We’re not alone here.”
“Do you think they spotted us?” Pizzocato Polecat asks.
Crank’s robots snap to attention and Deadfoot’s fists glow with the promise of pink death.
“Now what seems to be the trouble here ma’m,” Flatfoot says, alighting on the aforementioned nearby rooftop. He spies a woman huddled against a chimney. “Was it the Circle of Thorns? They’ve got this crazy obsession with rooftops.”
The woman turns around, revealing a slim olive jumpsuit and a pair of military goggles and a pair of pistols leveled at the hero.
“Oh crap!” Flat shouts, raising a faint purple sphere around himself before the mercenary fires. The bullets bounce off harmlessly. “Ha!” he says.
Five more Knives of Artemis step out of the shadows. Flat stares in surprise at them. “Um. Hello ladies. Very nice, um, binoculars,” he says seeing the optical devices hanging from Sister Antigone’s neck. They open fire without responding.
Flat jumps and dodges around the rooftop, avoiding bullets and shurikens with ease. “Come on, ladies, you’ve got to put out more if you want to dance with the Flatster,” Flat taunts.
Sister Antigone reaches into a pocket and throws out a small canister that explodes in the air. A shower of tiny metal pyramids falls to the ground. Flat, concentrating on avoiding a hail of gunfire, runs directly onto the caltrops and immediately feels the effects.
“Owie! Owie! Owie!” Flat says, hopping around. The gunfire stops.
The Void Huntress emerges from the shadows and powers up her quantum rifle.
“Quantum gun? Ha! I’ve been hit by those all the time. I’m not afraid of your puny alien weaponry!”
“Yes we are!” K!xt shouts inside Flatfoot’s head. “One hit will likely kill us!”
“Oh,” Flat says watching helplessly as the Quantum gun glows angrily at him. He closes his eyes and wishes he were somewhere else.
44 - Flailing
Flatfoot runs down the streets of Independence Port at incredible speed. His new trench coat billows out behind him. His thickly gelled hair stays motionless. He skids to a stop at the edge of a wharf, looking up to the island in the center of the port, on which Terra Volta is located. A damaged, gang infested bridge leads up to the reactor entrance, but it frustrates the speedster because its not a straight line.
“You know,” K!xt the Warshade says inside his mind. “There is a more direct way.”
“But I don’t know any teleporters that are willing to talk to me a second time…” Flat says.
“I was talking about flying.”
“Oh, that,” Flat says dismissively. “In case you haven’t realized, That’s not how I roll.”
“Think about flying. Think about how much you want to, and how much you want to be able to fly over there.”
“Hey, I didn’t sign up for a self help lecture over here,” Flat says.
“Look, you want to fly over there, right?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Then visualize it happening!”
“Ok, ok.”
Flat closes his eyes and concentrates. He feels strange for a moment, then he feels no ground beneath him. He opens his eyes to see himself hovering 30 feet in the air.
“Whoa!” Flat says. “All right. Let’s do this!” He starts flying toward the reactor.
“Wait! What about that team we were looking at. We might need help.”
“Yeah, but that was before I knew I could fly. I wonder what else I can do?”
Flat thinks for a moment, then sees a group of Tsoo lurking in an alley. “Hey, I wonder if I can…”
Several dark purple tendrils of light fire down at the thugs, sending them flying when they connect.
“Yeah. We’re good to go,” Flat says and soars over to the Terra Volta reactor.
“So how are we getting in?” Deadfoot asks the yellow-clad Reverse Flatfoot.
“When you let revenge motivate you, you learn all sorts of valuable secrets and tricks from like-minded individuals,” the villain answers.
“He knows a guy in maintenance,” Crank Shaft says, arms crossed.
“Nobody asked you!” Reverse Flat snaps. “Is the Anti-Bomb ready?”
“Yeah, sure,” Crank says.
“Where is it?!”
“My people are installing it.”
A pair of robots walk by carrying a large crate. “Boy. Is. My. Back. Killing. Me,” one of them says.
“That’s. What. She. Said,” the second one says. “Ha. Ha. Ha.”
“I’d. High. Five. You. If. I. Could.”
“Did you have to give them personalities?” Reverse Flat says.
“I find that it makes them more productive to have an interest in what I do,” Crank answers.
Deadfoot listens to Reverse Flatfoot’s berating, know-it-all tone and starts thinking that there is something uncomfortably familiar about his new employer.
“This-This is incredible,” Flatfoot says, flying over the pipes and girders of the Terra Volta complex. He buzzes past a gaggle of Sky Raiders, laughing.
“Yes, the power of flight is one of the great new benefits of the merging,” K!xt says. “But remember, there is more power to be revealed.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Flat says. “I’m overwhelmed. I feel… I feel… I feel like I could…Sing!”
Flatfoot opens his mouth to sing and catches a reflection of himself in a skylight. He sees a hideous purple squid-like monster flying though the air with glowing eyes and an array of tentacles protruding from its back.
“Ahhh!!” Flatfoot screams. The reflection waves its tentacles around frantically.
“You know,” K!xt the Warshade says inside his mind. “There is a more direct way.”
“But I don’t know any teleporters that are willing to talk to me a second time…” Flat says.
“I was talking about flying.”
“Oh, that,” Flat says dismissively. “In case you haven’t realized, That’s not how I roll.”
“Think about flying. Think about how much you want to, and how much you want to be able to fly over there.”
“Hey, I didn’t sign up for a self help lecture over here,” Flat says.
“Look, you want to fly over there, right?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Then visualize it happening!”
“Ok, ok.”
Flat closes his eyes and concentrates. He feels strange for a moment, then he feels no ground beneath him. He opens his eyes to see himself hovering 30 feet in the air.
“Whoa!” Flat says. “All right. Let’s do this!” He starts flying toward the reactor.
“Wait! What about that team we were looking at. We might need help.”
“Yeah, but that was before I knew I could fly. I wonder what else I can do?”
Flat thinks for a moment, then sees a group of Tsoo lurking in an alley. “Hey, I wonder if I can…”
Several dark purple tendrils of light fire down at the thugs, sending them flying when they connect.
“Yeah. We’re good to go,” Flat says and soars over to the Terra Volta reactor.
“So how are we getting in?” Deadfoot asks the yellow-clad Reverse Flatfoot.
“When you let revenge motivate you, you learn all sorts of valuable secrets and tricks from like-minded individuals,” the villain answers.
“He knows a guy in maintenance,” Crank Shaft says, arms crossed.
“Nobody asked you!” Reverse Flat snaps. “Is the Anti-Bomb ready?”
“Yeah, sure,” Crank says.
“Where is it?!”
“My people are installing it.”
A pair of robots walk by carrying a large crate. “Boy. Is. My. Back. Killing. Me,” one of them says.
“That’s. What. She. Said,” the second one says. “Ha. Ha. Ha.”
“I’d. High. Five. You. If. I. Could.”
“Did you have to give them personalities?” Reverse Flat says.
“I find that it makes them more productive to have an interest in what I do,” Crank answers.
Deadfoot listens to Reverse Flatfoot’s berating, know-it-all tone and starts thinking that there is something uncomfortably familiar about his new employer.
“This-This is incredible,” Flatfoot says, flying over the pipes and girders of the Terra Volta complex. He buzzes past a gaggle of Sky Raiders, laughing.
“Yes, the power of flight is one of the great new benefits of the merging,” K!xt says. “But remember, there is more power to be revealed.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Flat says. “I’m overwhelmed. I feel… I feel… I feel like I could…Sing!”
Flatfoot opens his mouth to sing and catches a reflection of himself in a skylight. He sees a hideous purple squid-like monster flying though the air with glowing eyes and an array of tentacles protruding from its back.
“Ahhh!!” Flatfoot screams. The reflection waves its tentacles around frantically.
Monday, November 3, 2008
43 - Now With 90% Less Teck
Flatfoot holds the helmet of Teckstyle in his hands, staring in stunned silence.
“Teck? Speak to me buddy. I know you’re in there!” Flat shakes the helmet violently. A few charred circuits crumble out. Flat curses and throws the helmet to the ground.
The helmet bounces and lands with a beep.
“If you can hear this, then I’m dead,” the pre-recorded voice of Teckstyle says. “Flat, I just wanted you to know…that I hold you entirely responsible for this, and that whatever it was, it was a stupid idea.”
The helmet beeps again and goes silent.
Flat kicks the helmet angrily across the street, then hops around on one foot, crying out in pain.
Crank Shaft enters the kitchen.
“Yo, Deady. Its time.”
“Whu-?” Deadfoot asks between crunchy mouthfuls.
“What are you eating?”
“Milk.” Deadfoot holds out the rancid carton. “Want some?”
“Hell no!” Crank recoils. “Get in gear. It’s revenge time.”
Flat sits on the curb, quietly holding Teckstyle’s helmet. Occasionally traffic swerves to avoid hitting him. A small red butterfly flutters by and lands on Flat’s face. He yells out in alarm and waves his hands around like a little girl trying to shoo it away, then he goes back to staring at the helmet.
“You are Flatfoot?” a voice asks.
“Eh,” Flat answers.
“Please stand up,” the voice continues. “The city is in grave danger.”
“Who are you?”
“I am a luminous being, come to help-”
“Go away, I’m not in the mood.”
“Will you get up off your duff you big idiot!”
Flat looks at the helmet closely. “Teck?”
“Sure. Why not. It is I… Teck.”
“Did you shrink or something?”
“There’s no time to explain everything. We have to get to Terra Volta to stop the reactor from overloading.”
Flat jumps up. “City in danger? That means all those hot Carnies in their corsets and jester hats too, right? We can’t let that happen!”
“Wait,” the voice says. “You can’t stop it on your own. You…We, will need help. Do a scan for any local heroes.”
“Um, how?”
“Put the helmet on, it should do the rest.”
“I’m not sure I want to do that. I’ve never really, you know, seen you clean it out or even take it off.”
“There’s candy inside.”
“Well, that changes everything,” Flat says, popping Teck’s helmet onto his head.
As he stumbles around trying to orient himself, a purple cloud swoops down and surrounds Flat.
“Can I ask a question,” the cloud asks. “How would you like to have your powers greatly advanced?”
“Yeah, sure,” Flat says, bumping into a wall. “How do I see out of this bucket?”
There is no answer. The purple cloud flashes brightly then disappears.
Flat yanks the helmet off. “All I could find are three guys calling themselves the Grammar Guardians. Sound like Chess Club types to me. Hello? Invisible voice of Teck?”
“You’ll forgive the deception, but time is short,” the voice, now inside Flat’s head, says. “I am K!xt, what you humans would call a Warshade. I have merged with you so that we may save the city.”
“Um, wha-?”
“By merging, we have access to vast stores of cosmic power.”
“I keep hearing ‘merging,’ did I miss something?”
“See for yourself,” K!xt says, drawing Flat to his reflection in a window.
“Oh. My. God.”
Forty-five minutes later, Flatfoot steps out of the Icons store in Independence Port.
“Yeah. This is more like it,” he says, folding his arms. His old blue and gold uniform has been exchanged for a purple and amber version. Over it, he wears a dark purple trench coat. Over his eyes sit a pair of wraparound sunglasses (also purple and amber) and his hair has had enough gel put in it to protect him at low speed collisions. He looks at his reflection in the Icons doorway and strokes a brand new soul patch.
“Was this really necessary?” K!xt asks.
“Oh yeah. Totally. Let’s go stop some nuclear…whatever it was you said.”
Just outside the Terra Volta reactor, five heads peek out of an air duct leading into the center of the facility.
“There it is, just like I told ya,” Tecknique says. “Time to go blow it up.”
Sunday, November 2, 2008
42 - Boom
In the lower Atmosphere, Teckstyle struggles to slow his ascent. At the rate he’s going, it will only be a few seconds before he enters low orbit, and he’s not sure his suit is space rated. He’d rather not find out.
With the benefit of hindsight, he can confidently say that taking on those five Zeus-class titans was a mistake. He’d have to remember that for next time.
If there was a next time.
The suit’s propulsion systems won’t shut down and their fuel cells won’t run out any time soon. Teck curses the decision to fill up this morning. He curses a lot of things at this moment. Most of them are unprintable. Even more of them involve Flatfoot.
With time running out, he positions his arms straight ahead and prepares to try and redirect his flight path, takes a deep breath and starts counting down.
As he does, he sees the stars stretching out into beautiful infinity. In that instant, somewhere between "Three" and "Two," life, the universe, and everything make sense to him.
Of course, then he reaches number one, and fires off a massive blast of energy from his fists that sends the tranquility of the moment into complete chaos.
Before blacking out, Teck realizes four things. One, the gambit paid off because it drained enough of his power supply to short out his engines. Two, he was now spinning helplessly back down to Earth. Three, he was probably going to die, and four, this was all Flatfoot’s fault.
Down in the Kitchen of the Reverse Flatfoot’s Secret Lair, Deadfoot opens the fridge and looks inside.
"Hey! There’s no lemonade in here!" he says.
The fridge is empty save for a carton of milk. Deadfoot takes the carton out and shakes it around. It rattles. He opens it up and peers inside, then shrugs and tilts the contents into his mouth.
"Mmm, crunchy," he says. Then he remembers that he’s a technologically reanimated corpse powered by a kinetic energy generator and no longer has any reason to eat, drink or sleep. Then he shrugs again and swallows. He closes the carton and puts it back on the fridge shelf. Just as he does, the rear of the fridge slides down and a bearded, eye-patched face stares out at him. Deadfoot stares back.
"I knew it! Pirates DO live in refrigerators!" the brute says after a while.
The pirate scowls. "Arr, this ain’t the exit we’re lookin’ for." Then he points behind Deadfoot and shouts "Look! A three-headed monkey!"
"Where?!" Deadfoot turns around but sees nothing. "Aww man, he’s fast." He looks back to the fridge and sees everything back to normal. "Huh. I don’t remember what I was thinking about before, yet I feel strangely placated. Hmm."
Back in the stratosphere, something strange is happening. No, its not the costumed blaster plummeting back to Earth. That happens more often than you’d think. Rather, it is what is now surrounding said blaster that is of interest. Sparks jump from circuit to circuit as a failsafe system tries to boot the system back online. Nanobots swarm across the surface of the armor patching up damage. If he were awake, Teck would probably wonder when the nanobots were installed.
Down on the streets of Peregrine Island, Flatfoot is squinting up into the sky.
"Huh," he says. "That doesn’t happen normally. He’s usually back by now."
Several hundred feet above solid ground, two glowing clouds are speaking urgently.
"The time grows near," the blue one says. "We will only have one chance to complete the melding."
"I understand your crazy plan. You’ve only explained it every day that we’ve been on this rock," the purple one says. "I take the red one, and you join the blue one and the universe gets saved. It is not complicated."
Suddenly the swiftly descending form of Teckstyle whooshes through the clouds. The purple shape spins around briefly before stabilizing and looks around.
Down below, Teckstyle has a bright blue glow surrounding him as he plummets to the ground.
"Now…now its complicated," the purple cloud says.
Flatfoot continues looking into the sky. He sees a red battle suit surrounded by a blue aura hurtling down.
"Ah, there he is," Flat says. "Things’ll be back to normal any minute now."
The blue aura around Teck flashes, expands and obscures the blaster, causing the scrapper to look away. Seconds later, the shockwave reaches Flat’s ears, nearly deafening him.
When he looks back to the sky, Flat sees nothing except for a wisp of smoke. A small object shoots into the ground, leaving a small crater in the concrete near Flat’s feet. It’s Teckstyle’s helmet.
"Teck!!"
With the benefit of hindsight, he can confidently say that taking on those five Zeus-class titans was a mistake. He’d have to remember that for next time.
If there was a next time.
The suit’s propulsion systems won’t shut down and their fuel cells won’t run out any time soon. Teck curses the decision to fill up this morning. He curses a lot of things at this moment. Most of them are unprintable. Even more of them involve Flatfoot.
With time running out, he positions his arms straight ahead and prepares to try and redirect his flight path, takes a deep breath and starts counting down.
As he does, he sees the stars stretching out into beautiful infinity. In that instant, somewhere between "Three" and "Two," life, the universe, and everything make sense to him.
Of course, then he reaches number one, and fires off a massive blast of energy from his fists that sends the tranquility of the moment into complete chaos.
Before blacking out, Teck realizes four things. One, the gambit paid off because it drained enough of his power supply to short out his engines. Two, he was now spinning helplessly back down to Earth. Three, he was probably going to die, and four, this was all Flatfoot’s fault.
Down in the Kitchen of the Reverse Flatfoot’s Secret Lair, Deadfoot opens the fridge and looks inside.
"Hey! There’s no lemonade in here!" he says.
The fridge is empty save for a carton of milk. Deadfoot takes the carton out and shakes it around. It rattles. He opens it up and peers inside, then shrugs and tilts the contents into his mouth.
"Mmm, crunchy," he says. Then he remembers that he’s a technologically reanimated corpse powered by a kinetic energy generator and no longer has any reason to eat, drink or sleep. Then he shrugs again and swallows. He closes the carton and puts it back on the fridge shelf. Just as he does, the rear of the fridge slides down and a bearded, eye-patched face stares out at him. Deadfoot stares back.
"I knew it! Pirates DO live in refrigerators!" the brute says after a while.
The pirate scowls. "Arr, this ain’t the exit we’re lookin’ for." Then he points behind Deadfoot and shouts "Look! A three-headed monkey!"
"Where?!" Deadfoot turns around but sees nothing. "Aww man, he’s fast." He looks back to the fridge and sees everything back to normal. "Huh. I don’t remember what I was thinking about before, yet I feel strangely placated. Hmm."
Back in the stratosphere, something strange is happening. No, its not the costumed blaster plummeting back to Earth. That happens more often than you’d think. Rather, it is what is now surrounding said blaster that is of interest. Sparks jump from circuit to circuit as a failsafe system tries to boot the system back online. Nanobots swarm across the surface of the armor patching up damage. If he were awake, Teck would probably wonder when the nanobots were installed.
Down on the streets of Peregrine Island, Flatfoot is squinting up into the sky.
"Huh," he says. "That doesn’t happen normally. He’s usually back by now."
Several hundred feet above solid ground, two glowing clouds are speaking urgently.
"The time grows near," the blue one says. "We will only have one chance to complete the melding."
"I understand your crazy plan. You’ve only explained it every day that we’ve been on this rock," the purple one says. "I take the red one, and you join the blue one and the universe gets saved. It is not complicated."
Suddenly the swiftly descending form of Teckstyle whooshes through the clouds. The purple shape spins around briefly before stabilizing and looks around.
Down below, Teckstyle has a bright blue glow surrounding him as he plummets to the ground.
"Now…now its complicated," the purple cloud says.
Flatfoot continues looking into the sky. He sees a red battle suit surrounded by a blue aura hurtling down.
"Ah, there he is," Flat says. "Things’ll be back to normal any minute now."
The blue aura around Teck flashes, expands and obscures the blaster, causing the scrapper to look away. Seconds later, the shockwave reaches Flat’s ears, nearly deafening him.
When he looks back to the sky, Flat sees nothing except for a wisp of smoke. A small object shoots into the ground, leaving a small crater in the concrete near Flat’s feet. It’s Teckstyle’s helmet.
"Teck!!"
41 - The Stink Of Destiny
A quartet of stalkers stalk through the alleys of the Rogue Isles.
"So…where are we going?" Tecknique asks.
Their leader, a two-dimensional fugitive from the Candyverse, turns around suddenly. "Didn’t we go over this already?"
Four heads shake as one.
"Funny, I thought we did. Anyway, I’ve been flung into this pathetic world by an incredibly violent explosion. It stands to reason that the best way to get back there is the same thing."
"What about Portal Corp.?" Invisibull asks.
An elbow jabs him in the ribs. "Shhh, we be havin’ a chance at some major mayhem here. Don’t spoil it," Flatbeard the Pirate says.
"Best place to do that is Terra Volta," Pizzocato Polecat says, grinning a feline smile.
"What’s that?"
She points a claw at a column of smoke rising from a nuclear power plant in the distance. "That."
"Ohhh…kay…." the visitor says. "What’s it do?"
"It be a nuclear power plant."
The visitor doesn’t respond.
"It generates energy like a beached whale generates stinkflies."
The same response.
"It’ll blow up real good."
"Well, why didn’t you say so!"
"Arrr, it be one of those days."
"How…how do we get there?" the sugary visitor asks.
"I know a tunnel network," Tecknique says. "But you’ll have to be extra quiet."
"Hey Teck?" Flatfoot asks.
"What," Teckstyle answers.
"You ever feel like you were destined for something? Like, special birthmarks, and being a Chosen One and stuff like that."
"If I say yes, will you stop talking?"
"I could totally be a Chosen One. I mean, what do they have that I don’t?"
Teckstyle sighs. "The fact that they were chosen, maybe?"
"That’s my point. The only way you can be a Chosen One is if there’s someone to do the Choosing. Otherwise, they’re just another goofball off the street."
"Like yourself."
"Exactly. Hey!"
"So what do you plan to do about it?"
"I’m gonna find the guy who’s been choosing all these Chosen Ones and kick him in the promised land."
"How…enlightened of you."
"The path to wisdom takes many roads," Flat says sagely.
"That doesn’t make any sense," Teck says, scratching his helmet.
"The noisy cricket gets the grease."
"And there it is. I just had an aneurysm."
"So…is this like, a revenge thing or a mid-life crisis kind of thing?" Deadfoot asks.
"Flatfoot ruined my life!" the Reverse Flat says.
"So its revenge. Gotcha."
"You don’t seem to be taking this seriously," Reverse Flat says.
"No, no. I’m down with it. I just wanted to be on the same page."
"Look, I have a lot of calculations to do right now, so just sit down over there and be quiet."
"Can do chief," Deadfoot says.
The brute watches Reverse Flat for a while and twiddles his thumbs.
Hey," he asks two minutes later. "Can I go get a soda?"
"There’s lemonade in the kitchen. Please. Help yourself," Reverse Flat says through gritted teeth.
"The time grows close," the blue cloud says.
"You said that a week ago," the purple cloud answers.
"Well, the time is growing closer then. Every day draws the moment nearer, and we must be ready-"
"You don’t know, do you."
"The visions are not clear on that, no."
"Then this is a fool’s errand."
There is a long pause from the blue cloud. "Perhaps you are-"
Teckstyle rockets past the two energy clouds. A Doppler shifting scream accompanies him. Sparks crisscross his battle suit.
The two clouds give the impression that they are looking at him while he soars out of view.
"Now that…that WAS in the vision," the blue cloud says eventually.
"So…where are we going?" Tecknique asks.
Their leader, a two-dimensional fugitive from the Candyverse, turns around suddenly. "Didn’t we go over this already?"
Four heads shake as one.
"Funny, I thought we did. Anyway, I’ve been flung into this pathetic world by an incredibly violent explosion. It stands to reason that the best way to get back there is the same thing."
"What about Portal Corp.?" Invisibull asks.
An elbow jabs him in the ribs. "Shhh, we be havin’ a chance at some major mayhem here. Don’t spoil it," Flatbeard the Pirate says.
"Best place to do that is Terra Volta," Pizzocato Polecat says, grinning a feline smile.
"What’s that?"
She points a claw at a column of smoke rising from a nuclear power plant in the distance. "That."
"Ohhh…kay…." the visitor says. "What’s it do?"
"It be a nuclear power plant."
The visitor doesn’t respond.
"It generates energy like a beached whale generates stinkflies."
The same response.
"It’ll blow up real good."
"Well, why didn’t you say so!"
"Arrr, it be one of those days."
"How…how do we get there?" the sugary visitor asks.
"I know a tunnel network," Tecknique says. "But you’ll have to be extra quiet."
"Hey Teck?" Flatfoot asks.
"What," Teckstyle answers.
"You ever feel like you were destined for something? Like, special birthmarks, and being a Chosen One and stuff like that."
"If I say yes, will you stop talking?"
"I could totally be a Chosen One. I mean, what do they have that I don’t?"
Teckstyle sighs. "The fact that they were chosen, maybe?"
"That’s my point. The only way you can be a Chosen One is if there’s someone to do the Choosing. Otherwise, they’re just another goofball off the street."
"Like yourself."
"Exactly. Hey!"
"So what do you plan to do about it?"
"I’m gonna find the guy who’s been choosing all these Chosen Ones and kick him in the promised land."
"How…enlightened of you."
"The path to wisdom takes many roads," Flat says sagely.
"That doesn’t make any sense," Teck says, scratching his helmet.
"The noisy cricket gets the grease."
"And there it is. I just had an aneurysm."
"So…is this like, a revenge thing or a mid-life crisis kind of thing?" Deadfoot asks.
"Flatfoot ruined my life!" the Reverse Flat says.
"So its revenge. Gotcha."
"You don’t seem to be taking this seriously," Reverse Flat says.
"No, no. I’m down with it. I just wanted to be on the same page."
"Look, I have a lot of calculations to do right now, so just sit down over there and be quiet."
"Can do chief," Deadfoot says.
The brute watches Reverse Flat for a while and twiddles his thumbs.
Hey," he asks two minutes later. "Can I go get a soda?"
"There’s lemonade in the kitchen. Please. Help yourself," Reverse Flat says through gritted teeth.
"The time grows close," the blue cloud says.
"You said that a week ago," the purple cloud answers.
"Well, the time is growing closer then. Every day draws the moment nearer, and we must be ready-"
"You don’t know, do you."
"The visions are not clear on that, no."
"Then this is a fool’s errand."
There is a long pause from the blue cloud. "Perhaps you are-"
Teckstyle rockets past the two energy clouds. A Doppler shifting scream accompanies him. Sparks crisscross his battle suit.
The two clouds give the impression that they are looking at him while he soars out of view.
"Now that…that WAS in the vision," the blue cloud says eventually.
40 - Obligatory Clip Show
"Man, this place is great. How come I’ve never been here before?" Flatfoot asks.
"That’s because it wasn’t here before." Teckstyle says "Remember?"
"Yeah, the neighborhood’s really changed a lot. So many happy memories…"
"Like what?" Teck asks.
"Well, this is where I lost my first sidekick…"
"You mean your only sidekick."
"Shh. Don’t jinx it," Flat says. "And here’s where I’ve discovered the best donuts in the city."
"Flat, that was ten minutes ago."
"Seemed like it was only five…" Flat says wistfully. "Yes sir, me & Faultline go back a long way."
"Flat, you hated this place before. Everyone did."
"I only hated it because I loved it so much. Say, this reminds me of that time we took down the Clockwork King…"
Before we get bogged down in a flashback, let’s check in on the Rogue Isles.
"So, where are we going now?" Deadfoot asks his mysterious companion. The two are sulking through the alleys of Sharkhead Isle.
"Just a little place called Potter’s Field."
"What, the cemetery? Cool. Why?"
"We’re going to meet up with an old friend there."
"Were you being sarcastic?"
"No."
"And then there was that time on Striga where I got that old lady’s wedding ring," Teckstyle says.
"Oh yeah, fought a lot of those vampire-things to get through," Flat says wistfully. "You ever end up giving that ring back?"
Teck’s fist clenches suddenly. "I lost it," he says. "Yep. Lost it. Very clumsy of me to lose such a precious heirloom. But I don’t have it. No sir."
"Ok."
Teck turns his back to Flat and opens his hand. "Good, he believes me. I would never lose you my preciou--"
"You know I can hear you," Flat says.
"Ah. Hey, remember when we went to that Goth party dressed in chainmail and furs and quaffed all the ale?"
"Tell me again why these two are worth saving?" the purple glow asks.
"Well the dumb one’s the only one fast enough-"
"And dumb enough,"
"Yes, of course. That goes without saying. And the less dumb one is the only one who knows how to shut down a nuclear chain reaction of that scale."
"Really?"
"Well, the suit knows at least."
"That makes sense at least."
Back in Potter’s Field, Deadfoot and his mysterious companion enter a small crypt after knocking aside some loitering zombies. Down a torch lit flight of steps, the two enter a well lit lab dominated by a swiveling office chair. You know, the kind with the wheels.
"Crank Shaft!" the mysterious stranger yells. "What news?"
The chair swivels to face the duo. Seated in it is a man armored in black and orange. In his lap is a small robot cat. He strokes it absentmindedly. "The anti-bomb is almost ready. All I have to do is load it up with negative energy."
"Good. Good."
"Hey Cranky," Deadfoot says.
"Not him! Why him? Why did you have to bring him?" Crank asks. The robot cat lets out a hiss of steam at the brute.
"He works cheap," the stranger says.
Deadfoot shrugs. "Its true."
The stranger shrugs off his robes. "Now, back to work. Soon it will be time for the REVENGE OF THE REVERSE-FLATFOOT!"
"Wow, that’s a lot of yellow you got," Deadfoot says. "Its not really slimming."
"That’s because it wasn’t here before." Teckstyle says "Remember?"
"Yeah, the neighborhood’s really changed a lot. So many happy memories…"
"Like what?" Teck asks.
"Well, this is where I lost my first sidekick…"
"You mean your only sidekick."
"Shh. Don’t jinx it," Flat says. "And here’s where I’ve discovered the best donuts in the city."
"Flat, that was ten minutes ago."
"Seemed like it was only five…" Flat says wistfully. "Yes sir, me & Faultline go back a long way."
"Flat, you hated this place before. Everyone did."
"I only hated it because I loved it so much. Say, this reminds me of that time we took down the Clockwork King…"
Before we get bogged down in a flashback, let’s check in on the Rogue Isles.
"So, where are we going now?" Deadfoot asks his mysterious companion. The two are sulking through the alleys of Sharkhead Isle.
"Just a little place called Potter’s Field."
"What, the cemetery? Cool. Why?"
"We’re going to meet up with an old friend there."
"Were you being sarcastic?"
"No."
"And then there was that time on Striga where I got that old lady’s wedding ring," Teckstyle says.
"Oh yeah, fought a lot of those vampire-things to get through," Flat says wistfully. "You ever end up giving that ring back?"
Teck’s fist clenches suddenly. "I lost it," he says. "Yep. Lost it. Very clumsy of me to lose such a precious heirloom. But I don’t have it. No sir."
"Ok."
Teck turns his back to Flat and opens his hand. "Good, he believes me. I would never lose you my preciou--"
"You know I can hear you," Flat says.
"Ah. Hey, remember when we went to that Goth party dressed in chainmail and furs and quaffed all the ale?"
"Tell me again why these two are worth saving?" the purple glow asks.
"Well the dumb one’s the only one fast enough-"
"And dumb enough,"
"Yes, of course. That goes without saying. And the less dumb one is the only one who knows how to shut down a nuclear chain reaction of that scale."
"Really?"
"Well, the suit knows at least."
"That makes sense at least."
Back in Potter’s Field, Deadfoot and his mysterious companion enter a small crypt after knocking aside some loitering zombies. Down a torch lit flight of steps, the two enter a well lit lab dominated by a swiveling office chair. You know, the kind with the wheels.
"Crank Shaft!" the mysterious stranger yells. "What news?"
The chair swivels to face the duo. Seated in it is a man armored in black and orange. In his lap is a small robot cat. He strokes it absentmindedly. "The anti-bomb is almost ready. All I have to do is load it up with negative energy."
"Good. Good."
"Hey Cranky," Deadfoot says.
"Not him! Why him? Why did you have to bring him?" Crank asks. The robot cat lets out a hiss of steam at the brute.
"He works cheap," the stranger says.
Deadfoot shrugs. "Its true."
The stranger shrugs off his robes. "Now, back to work. Soon it will be time for the REVENGE OF THE REVERSE-FLATFOOT!"
"Wow, that’s a lot of yellow you got," Deadfoot says. "Its not really slimming."
39 - Fix A Flat
"What’s in the box?" Teckstyle asks, leaning over Flatfoot’s shoulder.
The scrapper tears open the packaging and looks inside. "Ooo, a gun!" he says pulling out a futuristic looking pistol.
"Someone’s got a secret admirer!"
"What? Oh, there’s a note."
Flat takes out a small note card and opens it. His eyes glaze over as he looks at it.
He slowly raises the pistol. "Must…kill…Teckstyle…."
"Oh, must be from the Countess. I was wondering when she’d get back at us for the whole kidnapping thing."
"Must…kill…Teckstykle-"
"Put that thing away before I hurt yourself."
Outside the Tropic of Cancer, a quartet of stalkers stumble out of the door.
"Yuh…yuh know what we gotta do? We…we gotta find us a cab," Tecknique says.
"Whyzzat?" Invisibull asks.
"I ain’t gotta car," Tecknique says. "Got impounded fer parallel parking."
"Oh great, now how’re we supposed to get there?" Pizzocato Polecat asks, steadying herself on the side of a building.
Suddenly a bright flash of light and a "Proing" sound shatters the night air.
"Are…are ye seein’ what I be seein’?" Flatbeard asks.
Standing before the scrappers is a thin, almost two dimensionally flat man with a frown made of frosting and ginger bread skin.
The newcomer looks around and folds his arms. "I need an explosion. A big one." He points at the stalkers. "You’re going to help me."
In another corner of the Rogue Isles, a black clad re-animated corpse from another dimension prowls the trash littered alley looking for trouble.
The unfortunates du jur are a squad of Longbow agents trying to discreetly break into an Arachnos safe house. Unfortunate, because their bright red and white uniforms don’t really blend in with the shadows.
Due to the kinetic energy generator imbedded in his chest, Deadfoot is able to channel excess energy into an aura that bends light around him that makes him about as visible as a shadow on a cloudy night in a blackout. Of course, the generator does more for him than make him hard to see. He can also reroute it into his fists, which, when applied to the right spot, say a human head, can make the whole world hard to see.
Which is exactly what happens to a Longbow Defender who spins around suddenly and falls over. Before the other agents can pull their rifles, they join their teammate on the ground.
Deadfoot, a menacing figure in black and yellow, materializes out of the shadows. The imposing image is somewhat lessened by the jolly pink glow around his fists. He wipes his gloved hands together and then sighs.
"Season’s beatings, gang," he says. "Enjoy your naps." He looks around expecting more agent fodder. "Man, this is boring."
"I can change that, you know," a voice says from the entrance to the alley.
"Who in the sweet name of funnel cake are you?"
"That isn’t for you to know right now."
Meanwhile, Teckstyle’s managed to pull the gun away from Flatfoot. The two are now waiting for the tram in Steel Canyon.
"So, uh, what happened to that pistol I got?" Flat asks.
"Don’t worry about it. You’ll get it back when its done."
"Done what?"
"I’m just making a few…modifications to it. You’ll get it back when its done."
"Oh." Flat says, scratching behind his ear. "Is it done yet?"
Teck fixes Flat with a blank, helmeted stare. Flat shrugs and raises a tube in his right hand, shakes it, and fires it into his mouth.
"Wh-what are you eating?"
"Juhs uh snah," Flat says, neon green gel oozing out of his mouth.
"Gimme that," Teck says, snatching the tube and reading it. "Do you know what this stuff is?"
Flat swallows. "Its some kind of health food, I think. Whatever it is, it had my name on it."
"THIS," Teck says, holding the tube up to Flat, "is a chemical designed to fix flat tires, not a tired Flat."
"Wait, are we talking the good kind of chemicals, like the ones that give you diamond-hard skin or generate pheromones that drive the ladies wild?"
"Hang on," Teck says, reading the label more closely. "No. No, its definitely the bad kind of chemicals."
"Oh," Flat says. "Guess we’d better get to a hospital then."
"Whaddaya mean ‘we?’ I’m not the one who needs his stomach pumped."
"No, you’re the one who needs to fly me there since I’m about to-"
Flat falls face first onto the floor.
Teck sighs and grabs Flat by the ankles and flies off to the nearest hospital. Unseen by him, two glowing shapes high above him are watching intently.
"Are…you really sure these are the two we need to save?" the purple one asks.
"Yes," the blue one says with growing irritation.
"They don’t seem likely to survive long enough to get to their deaths."
"Look, you can turn around and head back into space and get your essence blown apart by that angry lady with the glowing eyes if you want. I for one, like my essence where it is."
"All right, all right," the purple one says.
"You sure?" the blue one asks. "I mean, if that’s what you want to do, I won’t stop you."
"No, I’m staying."
"Then quit your bellyaching."
38 - Here We Go Again
Deep, deep in the shadows of the Tropic of Cancer, a gathering of criminals meets for a high stakes card game. The grog flows freely tonight, and more than likely, the blood will soon follow suit.
"You know what I don’t get?" asks Teck Nique, a sword weilding love child from another dimension.
"What?" asks a large muscular monster called Invisi-Bull.
"How come you never see big groups of Stalkers hanging out much?"
"We don’t really play well with others. Lone killers, that’s our M.O.," growls a cat faced girl named Pizzicato Polecat.
"Arr, t’would be nice ta have a crew beside me inna fight," the bar’s owner, Flatbeard says.
"I mean, why not?" Teck Nique says. "I mean, Brutes head butt each other to say hello. Corruptors share in the suffering of others. Masterminds make their minions do unsightly things to show off, and Dominators…."
The rest of the table nods. They‘ve all heard what Dominators do when they get together.
"Got any sevens?" Invisi-Bull asks.
"Go fish." Polecat says.
"Bloody hell! More grog!"
Meanwhile in Independence Port, a gathering of heroes is taking place.
"Tell me again why coming here was a good idea?" Flatfoot says, remembering the last time he was in this part of town.
"Look, we’re just here to put the squeeze on the Family. They’ve been getting bolder lately," Teckstyle says.
"So? Can’t some other guy handle it? Isn’t Manticore all ‘street level’ and everything?"
"Last I remember, you were street level too."
"No way man, that whole Hamidon thing just about made me cosmic level and you know it. I can’t be wasting my time with hoodlums anymore."
"Well if that’s how you feel, we can always go back to the Shard."
"Though like I’ve always said, its good to get back to your roots every once in a while…"
Back at the Tropic of Cancer, the card game’s been completely discarded.
"I’ll tell you wha’ I think," Tecknique slurs.
"Go for it," Invisi-bull says from under the table.
"I shay we show ‘em all what a team of stalkers can do. We gotta deshtroy shomthin’ big."
"Like what?"
"…I dunno."
Back in Independence Port, Flat & Teck marvel at just how easily the Family bust went down.
"That was, like, what, five minutes?" Teck asks, looking at his watch.
"Something like that," Flat says, scratching his head. "I don’t get it. I remember these guys being tougher. I mean, obviously not pants-wetting inducing danger, because I would never, never, never, ever do that in the face of peril, not even that one time in the sewers where those demons were coming right out of the walls and wailing the unearthly cries of the damned. Although that was pretty scary, in retrospect-"
"Flat?"
"What?"
"Nobody cares about your bladder control."
"My doctor cares. Hey, wait. You’re a doctor, that must mean you care! Hippocratic Oath and everything."
"I’m not a doctor."
"Oh, your mouth says no, but your eyes say ‘Why yes, I do in fact have a degree.’"
"I’m wearing a HELMET! You CAN’T SEE my EYES!"
"That’s deep."
"Why are you behaving so…what’s the word?"
"Antsy?"
"Typical. Why are you so typical today?"
"I’m bored. Fighting crime’s been a walk in the park lately."
"…How bored?"
"I’m thinking of getting my Academic Badge."
"Ouch."
"Yeah."
"You could always hunt Fake Nemesises instead."
"That doesn’t sound right."
"You don’t want that badge?"
"Its not that. It sounds like it should be Nemesii."
"That doesn’t sound right either."
"So…you don’t know the plural of Nemesis?"
"I thought you did."
"Didn’t think I’d need to. I mean, you can only have ONE nemesis, right? That’s what makes them special," Flat says, rubbing his chin in thought.
"Well then, take your frustration out on all those Fake Nemesisisess."
"Nah," Flat says. "Already got that badge last week."
"Flat," Teck says, pointing to the forehead of his helmet. "Right here is a throbbing vein. I’m telling you this, because you cannot see it under my helmet, but I assure you, its there."
"Hey!" Flat snaps his fingers, ignoring Teck. "I’ve got an idea. Let’s do a task force or something!"
"Eh. You can only fight the Clockwork King so many times before it gets old."
"Well…you wanna stand around outside the Icons here? I’ll bring my boom box."
Teck thinks about this for a moment. "Sounds good."
Meanwhile, in the Tropic of Cancer…
"Hsss!" Pizzocato Polecat purrs. "I hate that Atlas statue. We could torch that."
"No way," Invisibull says, waving his hands. "No way I’m going near Ms. Liberty again. Not worth the risk." He pats his horns tenderly, remembering the pain.
"Whattabout the Arena in Galaxshy?" Tecknique asks, his head rolling around on the table.
"Bah, what’s the point? Nobody goes there!" Pizzocato snarls. "I say we tear down Galaxy Girl instead."
"What is it with you and statues?" Invisibull asks.
Tecknique raises a hand from the table. "Edifice complex."
"Arrr," Flatbeard says, interrupting the conversation. "Ye be thinkin’ way to small. We be needin’ somethin’ huge, somethin’ vulnerable, somethin’ prone to serious mechanical failure…"
Meanwhile, in Independence…
Teckstyle leans against the wall of Icons, arms crossed. Flatfoot walks up, places a boom box down on the ground and looks at Teck.
"Yeah…" Teck says, leaving the wall. "I could run a trial team. I mean, why not me? I can destroy people single-handedly. I shoot energy at people. No I don’t know what kind, stop interrupting me, blue boy. I’ve got the skills to do it. [Censored], I could do it all by myself if I wanted to. But I’m not gonna do that. People gotta know what an awesome leader I am. We need a posse! But where…? Cue up some thinking music, Flatso, I need to meditate on this!"
Flat leans down and turns on the boom box. Teck pauses and looks straight ahead.
"Oh, that’s meaty," he says, and starts to do the Chicken Dance.
Flat starts dancing behind him.
Back in the Tropic Of Cancer
"You mean…Terra Volta?" Invisibull asks. "The reactor?"
"Why not? Its perrrrrfect."
"Arrr, that cliché be older than me granddad’s hemorrhoids, Pizzo," Flatbeard says.
"But the plashe ish crawlin’ with Freakshow, an’ Shkyraidersh, " Tecknique says.
"Ye be forgettin’ that we be experts at the unseen arts."
"Oh. Yeah…"
Back in Independence…
"I’ve got it! The perfect place to recruit heroes desperate for work!" Teck shouts. "The Hollows!" He pauses. "Man, what is with you and that green ray gun, Flatipus? I don’t need any healing."
"Got it from Crey’s Pointier Image catalogue."
"Well do you have to keep whipping it out while I’m dancing?"
"Hey, I could’ve gotten the air purifier instead… It clears up animal dander."
"This conversation’s over. Yo! Taxibot!"
Meanwhile, unseen by the two heroes below, a pair of nebulous, glowing shapes hover high in the air.
"Are you sure these are the two?" the darker purple shape asks.
"You have seen the vision yourself. These are the two." the light blue shape answers.
"…Are you SURE you’re sure?"
"YES."
37 - The Annual
"It’s a, it’s a long way down," Flatfoot says, looking over the edge of Firebase Zulu.
"Yeah," Teckstyle says. "Good thing I can fly."
"Yeah. About that," Flat says. "Could, could you, um, carry me over to where we’re supposed to find those soldiers?"
"No."
"Oh come on…"
"What happened to the whole ‘Flatfoot powerlinks with no man’ thing?"
"Well then can you throw me?"
"Do I look like a tank? Don’t answer that." Teck says. "Besides, no passengers. The suit’s not rated for that kind of weight. I’m not going to be liable for any injuries sustained, thank you very much."
"But…"
"See those geysers at the edge? Those are for you. Watch."
Teck walks over to one of the geysers, steps onto it, and is launched into the sky. Moments later, Teck flies back.
"See? No problem. Try it."
Flat edges closer to the geyser, nudging it with his foot. "I dunno. Looks dangerous."
"That’s the point, isn’t it?"
"Yeah, but usually there’s some kind of hard surface to land on. That’s how it works. I’m looking down and seeing empty void."
"Quit yer whining," Teck says, shoving Flat onto the geyser.
Flat screams into the sky, headed for a floating rocky island. He reaches his arms out for an outcropping and comes of a few inches short and drops like a rock down the side of the island.
A few minutes later there’s a flash of light and Flat materializes back in Firebase Zulu. His eyes are wide in terror and he’s shaking.
"See, teleporter snag you back after you’ve fallen for so many feet."
"Buh"
"Ready to try again?"
"Guh."
Meanwhile, in the Candyverse….
Kid Flatfoot sits up in a pile of marshmallows.
"What was that?" He rubs his head and looks around the landscape. Large gumdrops dot across rolling hills of cotton candy. Chocolate covered trees sprout chocolate leaves.
"Huh." Kid Flat says, taking a bite out of a marshmallow. "Wonder where I am."
The sound of footsteps approaching disrupts his reverie.
Meanwhile, back in the Shadow Shard…
A whoosh of geyser air and a scream of terror signals that Flatfoot’s gone airborne again. He flies over an island where Teck is waiting patiently by a secret passage.
Flat tries to control his descent but ends up overshooting the small island and plummets into infinity again. Teck taps his armored foot against the ground and sighs.
Meanwhile, back in the Candyverse…
Kid Flatfoot looks up to see a giant chocolate rabbit hopping down a bunny trail.
"Well hello Mr. Bunny Rabbit," Kid Flat says.
The rabbit turns its head to the scrapper and opens its mouth, baring teeth made of rock candy.
"Oh," Kid Flat says as a stream of piping hot chocolate shoots out of the rabbit’s mouth. He throws up a marshmallow just before the chocolate hits, and it hisses and steams against the barrier. "What is wrong with you???"
Meanwhile, back in the Shadow Shard.
A scream and a thump signals the ungraceful landing of Flatfoot on a floating island. Teck yanks him to his feet.
"You done fooling around?"
"It--I--I saw a being of indescribable power…"
"Did he say anything?"
"He said ‘knock off all that racket before I settle your hash but good."
"Well, is that like a metaphor, or something?"
"I…I think he was being literal."
"That’s deep Flat. Real deep."
"I- What is THAT???" Flat shouts, pointing to an Overseer floating nearby.
"Um. A giant floating eye."
"Oh. Well, that’s more like it. Oh my God! Its got teeth!!!"
Meanwhile back in the-- Oh wait, this is Sharkhead Isle. Ok, uh, yeah. Sharkhead’s a pretty nasty place to find yourself, unless you’re pretty nasty yourself.
In a mold-ridden, smoke-filled dockside dive called the Tropic of Cancer, a group of ne’er-do-wells cluster around a stained and sticky table. One of them sips carefully from a mug before spitting out the contents.
"Ptui! Vat is zis garbage?" Dr. Umlaut demands.
"Arrr. Tis the finest grog this side of Davey Jones’ locker," Flatbeard, the owner of the bar, defends.
"Its crap," Crank Shaft says indifferently. He’s turned away from the table and watching two of his robotic minions trying to punch each other in the head.
"Do you have any Schnapps?" Dr. Umlaut asks.
"Just grog."
"Vat kind of a rinky-dink place is zis?"
Meanwhile, back in the Candyverse…
The gigantic chocolate rabbit roars viciously, baring teeth of the hardest rock candy. Kid Flatfoot trembles in terror, his marshmallow shield melted by the steaming chocolate.
Mid-roar, something hit’s the rabbit’s head, causing it to shatter. The hollow shell of the beast crashes to the ground.
Hovering behind the monster is a figure in candy-apple red.
"Teckstyle?" Kid Flatfoot asks.
"Teckstyle?" a Corruptor says at the end of the table in the Tropic of Cancer. "Yeah. I got arrested by him one time. The jerk smashed my goggles when he hit me in the face."
"What kinda name you got?" an enormous rocky brute named Urban Sprawl asks.
"Screech Howl."
"I’d’ve hit you myself," the brute nods.
"Geez," Chocolate Teck says, landing next to the fallen rabbit. "Took three days to track this little-"
"Um, Mr. Teckstyle?"
"Look, I don’t know who you are, kid, but the Death-By-Chocolate Valley’s no place for rookies."
Suddenly a lollipop bursts through Chocolate Teck’s chest.
"Oh crap," the hero says, looking down at the caramel slowly oozing from the wound before falling to his knees.
Behind him, a dark silhouette begins laughing the laugh of the crazy. "Stupid hero! Can’t catch me, I’m the GINGERBREAD MAN!!!"
Chocolate Teck gurgles something as he presses a button on his armor.
"Uh-oh," the Gingerbread Man says right before the explosion.
Meanwhile, back in the Shadow Shard…
"Well, that’s one squad of soldier’s that’s gonna see their families again," Teckstyle says stepping out of the cavern.
"Man, that was some of the weirdest stuff I’ve ever seen. Those skinny guys that look like academy awards just vanishing, the little winged…things, and those eyes. Eyes with teeth. I’m gonna have nightmares for weeks now." Flatfoot says, walking alongside Teck.
"So you’re saying you liked it?"
Flat starts walking backwards while talking to Teck. "Its not so bad. That and Firebase Zulu’s pretty coo-----ahhhhhhhh!"
Teck merely shakes his head as Flat plummets back into infinity. "Meet you back at the portal," he says and takes off.
"Yeah," Teckstyle says. "Good thing I can fly."
"Yeah. About that," Flat says. "Could, could you, um, carry me over to where we’re supposed to find those soldiers?"
"No."
"Oh come on…"
"What happened to the whole ‘Flatfoot powerlinks with no man’ thing?"
"Well then can you throw me?"
"Do I look like a tank? Don’t answer that." Teck says. "Besides, no passengers. The suit’s not rated for that kind of weight. I’m not going to be liable for any injuries sustained, thank you very much."
"But…"
"See those geysers at the edge? Those are for you. Watch."
Teck walks over to one of the geysers, steps onto it, and is launched into the sky. Moments later, Teck flies back.
"See? No problem. Try it."
Flat edges closer to the geyser, nudging it with his foot. "I dunno. Looks dangerous."
"That’s the point, isn’t it?"
"Yeah, but usually there’s some kind of hard surface to land on. That’s how it works. I’m looking down and seeing empty void."
"Quit yer whining," Teck says, shoving Flat onto the geyser.
Flat screams into the sky, headed for a floating rocky island. He reaches his arms out for an outcropping and comes of a few inches short and drops like a rock down the side of the island.
A few minutes later there’s a flash of light and Flat materializes back in Firebase Zulu. His eyes are wide in terror and he’s shaking.
"See, teleporter snag you back after you’ve fallen for so many feet."
"Buh"
"Ready to try again?"
"Guh."
Meanwhile, in the Candyverse….
Kid Flatfoot sits up in a pile of marshmallows.
"What was that?" He rubs his head and looks around the landscape. Large gumdrops dot across rolling hills of cotton candy. Chocolate covered trees sprout chocolate leaves.
"Huh." Kid Flat says, taking a bite out of a marshmallow. "Wonder where I am."
The sound of footsteps approaching disrupts his reverie.
Meanwhile, back in the Shadow Shard…
A whoosh of geyser air and a scream of terror signals that Flatfoot’s gone airborne again. He flies over an island where Teck is waiting patiently by a secret passage.
Flat tries to control his descent but ends up overshooting the small island and plummets into infinity again. Teck taps his armored foot against the ground and sighs.
Meanwhile, back in the Candyverse…
Kid Flatfoot looks up to see a giant chocolate rabbit hopping down a bunny trail.
"Well hello Mr. Bunny Rabbit," Kid Flat says.
The rabbit turns its head to the scrapper and opens its mouth, baring teeth made of rock candy.
"Oh," Kid Flat says as a stream of piping hot chocolate shoots out of the rabbit’s mouth. He throws up a marshmallow just before the chocolate hits, and it hisses and steams against the barrier. "What is wrong with you???"
Meanwhile, back in the Shadow Shard.
A scream and a thump signals the ungraceful landing of Flatfoot on a floating island. Teck yanks him to his feet.
"You done fooling around?"
"It--I--I saw a being of indescribable power…"
"Did he say anything?"
"He said ‘knock off all that racket before I settle your hash but good."
"Well, is that like a metaphor, or something?"
"I…I think he was being literal."
"That’s deep Flat. Real deep."
"I- What is THAT???" Flat shouts, pointing to an Overseer floating nearby.
"Um. A giant floating eye."
"Oh. Well, that’s more like it. Oh my God! Its got teeth!!!"
Meanwhile back in the-- Oh wait, this is Sharkhead Isle. Ok, uh, yeah. Sharkhead’s a pretty nasty place to find yourself, unless you’re pretty nasty yourself.
In a mold-ridden, smoke-filled dockside dive called the Tropic of Cancer, a group of ne’er-do-wells cluster around a stained and sticky table. One of them sips carefully from a mug before spitting out the contents.
"Ptui! Vat is zis garbage?" Dr. Umlaut demands.
"Arrr. Tis the finest grog this side of Davey Jones’ locker," Flatbeard, the owner of the bar, defends.
"Its crap," Crank Shaft says indifferently. He’s turned away from the table and watching two of his robotic minions trying to punch each other in the head.
"Do you have any Schnapps?" Dr. Umlaut asks.
"Just grog."
"Vat kind of a rinky-dink place is zis?"
Meanwhile, back in the Candyverse…
The gigantic chocolate rabbit roars viciously, baring teeth of the hardest rock candy. Kid Flatfoot trembles in terror, his marshmallow shield melted by the steaming chocolate.
Mid-roar, something hit’s the rabbit’s head, causing it to shatter. The hollow shell of the beast crashes to the ground.
Hovering behind the monster is a figure in candy-apple red.
"Teckstyle?" Kid Flatfoot asks.
"Teckstyle?" a Corruptor says at the end of the table in the Tropic of Cancer. "Yeah. I got arrested by him one time. The jerk smashed my goggles when he hit me in the face."
"What kinda name you got?" an enormous rocky brute named Urban Sprawl asks.
"Screech Howl."
"I’d’ve hit you myself," the brute nods.
"Geez," Chocolate Teck says, landing next to the fallen rabbit. "Took three days to track this little-"
"Um, Mr. Teckstyle?"
"Look, I don’t know who you are, kid, but the Death-By-Chocolate Valley’s no place for rookies."
Suddenly a lollipop bursts through Chocolate Teck’s chest.
"Oh crap," the hero says, looking down at the caramel slowly oozing from the wound before falling to his knees.
Behind him, a dark silhouette begins laughing the laugh of the crazy. "Stupid hero! Can’t catch me, I’m the GINGERBREAD MAN!!!"
Chocolate Teck gurgles something as he presses a button on his armor.
"Uh-oh," the Gingerbread Man says right before the explosion.
Meanwhile, back in the Shadow Shard…
"Well, that’s one squad of soldier’s that’s gonna see their families again," Teckstyle says stepping out of the cavern.
"Man, that was some of the weirdest stuff I’ve ever seen. Those skinny guys that look like academy awards just vanishing, the little winged…things, and those eyes. Eyes with teeth. I’m gonna have nightmares for weeks now." Flatfoot says, walking alongside Teck.
"So you’re saying you liked it?"
Flat starts walking backwards while talking to Teck. "Its not so bad. That and Firebase Zulu’s pretty coo-----ahhhhhhhh!"
Teck merely shakes his head as Flat plummets back into infinity. "Meet you back at the portal," he says and takes off.
36 - One Issue Later
"So, uh, welcome back to Paragon City, Flatfoot," Flatfoot says. He’s speaking to the man sitting in the booth across from him, wearing a near identical costume, but also a full beard.
"How long have I been gone?" the bearded Flat asks.
"Something like over a year."
"That long?"
Clean shaven Flat nods and takes a bite out of a gyro.
"And you are who again?"
"Well, I’m Flatfoot."
"I see. And you say you got your powers the same day that I lost mine?"
"Well, more like at the same exact moment. See, you pushed me out of the way of a moving car, then Bam! Lightning struck leaving me with enhanced reflexes and speed and you a pair of smoking shoulder pads. Er, no offense."
"So that’s what happened to the pads."
"Well, since I thought you were dead and all, I decided to fight crime in your, er honor. You know, keep up appearances."
"It was the large free bags of cash thing, wasn’t it?"
"…Yes. That was a big part of it."
Bearded Flat looks down at his plate with a depressed expression.
"Hey, its not so bad. You’re alive and back home."
"And completely forgotten and replaced by a much more successful sequel after I’ve been spending this whole time fighting for my life from dimension to dimension."
"Sounds exciting. Where’d you go?"
Flatfoot I stares at Flatfoot II. "Ever heard of the ‘Candyverse’?"
Flat II shakes his head.
"Well it’s a lot less fun that it sounds."
"So how’d you get back?"
"Well, every time there was a buildup of quantum energy, I would jump to another random dimension. Its like there was Flatfoot sized hole in the multiverse that I was sent in to plug up. You know anything about that?"
"Quantum disturbances in other dimensions? Er, of course not. I’m just a scrapper. Street level threats and all that."
"It was really weird," Flat I goes on. "One dimension I landed in, I looked an awful lot like Scott Bakula…"
"You should write a book. I mean, I’d buy a copy." Flat II says. "Um, do you want your shoulder pads back?"
Flat I shakes his head. "Won’t help. I’m powerless. Have been for the last year."
"Oh. So what are you gonna do now?"
"Get a shave and start putting my life back together. Visit some loved ones…"
"Travel?"
"NO! I mean, I’d like some stability for the moment." Flatfoot I stands up. "Look, I’d better get going. It was nice getting to know my successor, but my hero days look over for right now."
"Ooo! I’ve got it. You could be a detective, like a gumshoe!" Flat II says.
Flatfoot I sighs and rubs his forehead. "I don’t think the world can handle more than one Flatfoot."
"You know, after this last month, I agree with you. You gonna finish that gyro?" Flat II says sheepishly. "Accelerated metabolism and all that." He pauses and reaches into his belt. "Oh, wait, adventure calls. I’ve gotta take this. Take it easy Flatfoot I."
Flatfoot I steps outside of City of Gyros and looks around the city. A whoosh of air and a blue streak signal the departure of Flatfoot II. He strokes his beard thoughtfully. "Detective, eh?" he says to himself.
35 - Secret Crisis War On Infinite Flatfoots: Dissassembled!
*This is it! Prepare to be SCWOIFD!
Eden. Its such a peaceful sounding word, evoking imagery of gardens, springtime and apples. The Eden of Paragon city also happens to have hills. Hills that are alive with shambling rock monsters bent on wiping humanity off the face of the earth.
And past Eden (some might dare say…East…of Eden) lies the Hive. The Hive is a dangerous slice of territory with jagged rocks and trees that walk around stomping people into the mud. In the center of the Hive is a giant crater. And filling most of that crater today is a pulsating, glowing blob.
"So…" Teckstyle says, hovering over the rim of the crater. "Coming here was a good idea how?"
"Well…" Flatfoot says, looking at the glowing…thing. "Actually the folks at Portal Corp. said that this Hamidon thing’s got enough raw energy to nuke a city. If we can even get a fraction of that released while all these alternate me’s are around it, and as long as all of me keep their little quantum energy bracelets designed for just this occasion on their wrists, we should have a relatively Flatfoot-free Paragon City in no time."
"Wait…so what about the Hamidon? What if it doesn’t just launch off a fraction of its power, instead using all of it?"
"Then Rhode Island will be nothing but a smoking stain," says a new voice.
"Huh?"
"Greetings heroes, I’m Tykestyle," says a short, armored figure landing next to the two. "Plucky teen sidekick of Teckstyle!"
"What is this?" Teck whispers to Flat.
"Don’t know. Never saw him before."
"Yes, Tykestyle, the mini metallic maven of might! I built my armor in shop class."
A stray boulder from a fight on the other side of the crater sails up into the air and comes crashing down on the little blaster mid-monologue.
"Well, that’s one problem taken care of," Teck says, leaning against the rock. "So how are we planning on not turning the state into a smoking hole in the ground?"
"Well," Deadfoot says, stepping forward. "The way the bracelets work is by storing up the energy until a certain cap’s been reached. Until then, there’s no risk of dimensional shift. Of course, if Hamidon goes full blast on you, that cap’s getting reached pretty fast."
"How do you know?" Teck asks.
"There’s no time for anymore exposition, we’ve gotta do something!" Kid Flatfoot yells, running down the hill. He doesn’t stop.
"How did HE get in here??" Flat asks. "How!?"
"Not sure, but he’s going right into the blob," Teck says.
"Follow me!" Kid Flatfoot shouts from below.
"No! Don’t follow him! We need some kind of plan!" Deadfoot shouts. The calls fall on deaf ears as an army of alternate universe Flatfoots rush down the hill into the blobby form of the Hamidon.
"That’s…That’s not good," Teck says, watching mitochondria spawning within the Hamidon to fend off the infection.
"Well, let’s get this over with," Deadfoot says. "If the state’s going to go nova, might as well be in the center of it." Then he rushes down the hill into the carnage.
Teck sighs and leaps into the air, already targeting the mitos. "You coming Flat?"
Flat stands frozen in a running pose. Then he shifts five feet forward, then runs in place for a few seconds before returning to normal.
"Something’s wrong, Teck. I’m not fast anymore. Feels like I’m everywhere at once!"
"Well if you’re gonna lag behind, try and think of something while you’re at it."
Inside the Hamidon, a cluster of Flats are gathered around the few defenders. Flat Tax, the non-powered accountant screams and falls to the ground.
Clawfoot snarls and leaps into the air at the Hamidon, only to be shot out of the sky. He crashes into Fleetfeet, sending the shoulder kitten flying out over the horizon with a surprised "Meow?"
A volley of arrows, bullets, fireballs, ice shards, and a rainbow of energy bolts fire up at the Hamidon, which wobbles a little, but doesn’t fall down.
"That’s it guys, keep it up!" Kid Flatfoot shouts from the middle of the mob.
"Oh shut up will you?" Deadfoot shouts back. "We’re dropping like flies and that thing’s barely moved!"
"Yarr, we be goin’ to Davey Jones’ locker today," Flatbeard the Pirate yells as a pulse of energy engulfs the group.
Tenderfoot blinks his eyes. "Hoo-ee, we ain’t dead yet, pardners!" Then he looks down at the bracelet on his wrist, which glows a bright blue. "What the heck’s that doing?" he asks before a bright flash leaves nothing behind.
"Damn, we’re running out of time! The bracelets are starting to reach capacity!" Teck says to himself.
Down on the ground, Deadfoot stands next to Kid Flatfoot, who’s yammering away about justice and always finding a way to succeed through persistence.
"Shut up! Just shut up! I’m not letting you get me killed a second time!" Deadfoot shouts, ripping the bracelet off his own wrist and wrapping it around the sidekick’s neck. Then he lifts the chocking Kid Flatfoot over his shoulders and throws him at the Hamidon just as the bracelet begins to flash.
The world burns white for a moment, then everything goes silent.
When Flatfoot rubs his eyes, he sees a mostly empty crater. The Hamidon is nowhere to be seen. There is a large pile of bodies in the center, but that’s about it. Occasionally one will flash back to its home dimension.
He runs down to the crater and surveys the damage. Everything is covered in a light blue goo.
"The horror," he says, dropping to his knees. They squish as they land in the goo.
"Oh wow," Teck says, freeing himself from the bottom of the pile. "What is that smell??"
Something starts whirring in the Deadfoot’s chest and he sits up, looking around. "Wait, I’m still here? What the-" He looks down at his wrist and sees no bracelet. The brute smacks his forehead. "I must’ve sent that runt back into my dimension." He grins evilly. "Heh, they’re gonna love seeing him again."
"Well, actually, Kid Flatfoot was from this dimension. He wasn’t an alternate reality version or anything." Teck says.
Flat, still on his knees, looks at the big glob of jelly where the very heart of the Hamidon was. Something moves.
"So that means I’m stuck here. With that monster?" Deadfoot asks, starting to freak out.
"There’s something moving over here," Flat says, standing up.
"No. Leave it to him to survive all that. I can’t take this," Deadfoot says. "I can’t be around that psycho anymore. You keep that sidekick away from me, you hear!" Then the brute runs off into the hills, screaming madly.
The figure in the blob stands up, coughing. He tries to wipe the goo from his face with minimal success.
"What? Where am I?" He asks.
"Paragon City. You did it, you stopped the Hamidon," Flat says.
"What are you talking about? I never fought the Hamidon." He tries to brush off his uniform, revealing a bright yellow "F" on a blue background. He looks at Flatfoot with surprise. "Who are you anyway? And why are you wearing my uniform?"
Eden. Its such a peaceful sounding word, evoking imagery of gardens, springtime and apples. The Eden of Paragon city also happens to have hills. Hills that are alive with shambling rock monsters bent on wiping humanity off the face of the earth.
And past Eden (some might dare say…East…of Eden) lies the Hive. The Hive is a dangerous slice of territory with jagged rocks and trees that walk around stomping people into the mud. In the center of the Hive is a giant crater. And filling most of that crater today is a pulsating, glowing blob.
"So…" Teckstyle says, hovering over the rim of the crater. "Coming here was a good idea how?"
"Well…" Flatfoot says, looking at the glowing…thing. "Actually the folks at Portal Corp. said that this Hamidon thing’s got enough raw energy to nuke a city. If we can even get a fraction of that released while all these alternate me’s are around it, and as long as all of me keep their little quantum energy bracelets designed for just this occasion on their wrists, we should have a relatively Flatfoot-free Paragon City in no time."
"Wait…so what about the Hamidon? What if it doesn’t just launch off a fraction of its power, instead using all of it?"
"Then Rhode Island will be nothing but a smoking stain," says a new voice.
"Huh?"
"Greetings heroes, I’m Tykestyle," says a short, armored figure landing next to the two. "Plucky teen sidekick of Teckstyle!"
"What is this?" Teck whispers to Flat.
"Don’t know. Never saw him before."
"Yes, Tykestyle, the mini metallic maven of might! I built my armor in shop class."
A stray boulder from a fight on the other side of the crater sails up into the air and comes crashing down on the little blaster mid-monologue.
"Well, that’s one problem taken care of," Teck says, leaning against the rock. "So how are we planning on not turning the state into a smoking hole in the ground?"
"Well," Deadfoot says, stepping forward. "The way the bracelets work is by storing up the energy until a certain cap’s been reached. Until then, there’s no risk of dimensional shift. Of course, if Hamidon goes full blast on you, that cap’s getting reached pretty fast."
"How do you know?" Teck asks.
"There’s no time for anymore exposition, we’ve gotta do something!" Kid Flatfoot yells, running down the hill. He doesn’t stop.
"How did HE get in here??" Flat asks. "How!?"
"Not sure, but he’s going right into the blob," Teck says.
"Follow me!" Kid Flatfoot shouts from below.
"No! Don’t follow him! We need some kind of plan!" Deadfoot shouts. The calls fall on deaf ears as an army of alternate universe Flatfoots rush down the hill into the blobby form of the Hamidon.
"That’s…That’s not good," Teck says, watching mitochondria spawning within the Hamidon to fend off the infection.
"Well, let’s get this over with," Deadfoot says. "If the state’s going to go nova, might as well be in the center of it." Then he rushes down the hill into the carnage.
Teck sighs and leaps into the air, already targeting the mitos. "You coming Flat?"
Flat stands frozen in a running pose. Then he shifts five feet forward, then runs in place for a few seconds before returning to normal.
"Something’s wrong, Teck. I’m not fast anymore. Feels like I’m everywhere at once!"
"Well if you’re gonna lag behind, try and think of something while you’re at it."
Inside the Hamidon, a cluster of Flats are gathered around the few defenders. Flat Tax, the non-powered accountant screams and falls to the ground.
Clawfoot snarls and leaps into the air at the Hamidon, only to be shot out of the sky. He crashes into Fleetfeet, sending the shoulder kitten flying out over the horizon with a surprised "Meow?"
A volley of arrows, bullets, fireballs, ice shards, and a rainbow of energy bolts fire up at the Hamidon, which wobbles a little, but doesn’t fall down.
"That’s it guys, keep it up!" Kid Flatfoot shouts from the middle of the mob.
"Oh shut up will you?" Deadfoot shouts back. "We’re dropping like flies and that thing’s barely moved!"
"Yarr, we be goin’ to Davey Jones’ locker today," Flatbeard the Pirate yells as a pulse of energy engulfs the group.
Tenderfoot blinks his eyes. "Hoo-ee, we ain’t dead yet, pardners!" Then he looks down at the bracelet on his wrist, which glows a bright blue. "What the heck’s that doing?" he asks before a bright flash leaves nothing behind.
"Damn, we’re running out of time! The bracelets are starting to reach capacity!" Teck says to himself.
Down on the ground, Deadfoot stands next to Kid Flatfoot, who’s yammering away about justice and always finding a way to succeed through persistence.
"Shut up! Just shut up! I’m not letting you get me killed a second time!" Deadfoot shouts, ripping the bracelet off his own wrist and wrapping it around the sidekick’s neck. Then he lifts the chocking Kid Flatfoot over his shoulders and throws him at the Hamidon just as the bracelet begins to flash.
The world burns white for a moment, then everything goes silent.
When Flatfoot rubs his eyes, he sees a mostly empty crater. The Hamidon is nowhere to be seen. There is a large pile of bodies in the center, but that’s about it. Occasionally one will flash back to its home dimension.
He runs down to the crater and surveys the damage. Everything is covered in a light blue goo.
"The horror," he says, dropping to his knees. They squish as they land in the goo.
"Oh wow," Teck says, freeing himself from the bottom of the pile. "What is that smell??"
Something starts whirring in the Deadfoot’s chest and he sits up, looking around. "Wait, I’m still here? What the-" He looks down at his wrist and sees no bracelet. The brute smacks his forehead. "I must’ve sent that runt back into my dimension." He grins evilly. "Heh, they’re gonna love seeing him again."
"Well, actually, Kid Flatfoot was from this dimension. He wasn’t an alternate reality version or anything." Teck says.
Flat, still on his knees, looks at the big glob of jelly where the very heart of the Hamidon was. Something moves.
"So that means I’m stuck here. With that monster?" Deadfoot asks, starting to freak out.
"There’s something moving over here," Flat says, standing up.
"No. Leave it to him to survive all that. I can’t take this," Deadfoot says. "I can’t be around that psycho anymore. You keep that sidekick away from me, you hear!" Then the brute runs off into the hills, screaming madly.
The figure in the blob stands up, coughing. He tries to wipe the goo from his face with minimal success.
"What? Where am I?" He asks.
"Paragon City. You did it, you stopped the Hamidon," Flat says.
"What are you talking about? I never fought the Hamidon." He tries to brush off his uniform, revealing a bright yellow "F" on a blue background. He looks at Flatfoot with surprise. "Who are you anyway? And why are you wearing my uniform?"
34 - Tecknobabble
*The road to SCWOIFD Just About Ends Here!!
Deep inside a hidden underground laboratory, a figure in red armor tinkers with…something on a lab table.
"Are you done yet?" Deadfoot asks from the table. He’s still trapped inside a giant mousetrap.
"Just a few more seconds," Teckstyle says. "I’m just looking for- ah! Found it."
"What??"
"The serial number on your little whatever generator. I thought it looked familiar."
"Huh?"
"That part that you’ve got in there that keeps you up and running is a modified version of the power plant inside my own armor."
"You sure of that?"
"Same exact serial number. I want some answers."
"About what?" Deadfoot asks.
"What happened to your universe’s version of me?"
"Oh. Hm. Let’s see… Now I remember! You’re, uh, not going to like it."
"Lay it on me."
"Um, he died in his sleep."
"Oh." Teck says, a little disappointed.
"Knew you wouldn’t like it."
"That’s it?"
"Well, actually it was the building falling on him WHILE he was sleeping that did it, but yeah."
"A building fell on me, er, him?"
"Yeah. It was when Kid Flatfoot first went all cosmic powered and started leveling buildings. Apparently parts of your armor were salvaged from the rubble by Crey, and I guess those parts of one dead hero, you, went to revive another dead hero, me."
"How do you know that?"
"Actually I’m just guessing, but it sure would be ironic, wouldn’t it?"
A loud beep interrupts the conversation. Teck presses a button on a large console.
"Go ahead."
"Teck? Its Flat, I think we’ve rounded up all the alternate me’s out there."
"Good. Any idea how to get rid of them?"
"Well…actually something’s come up. The city’s in this great big panic."
"What did you do this time Flat?" Teck asks, shaking his head.
"Hey, this time its not my fault. Apparently some kind of gigantic monster that looks a bowl full of jelly is terraforming a huge part of the city. You done there yet? We kind of need you."
"Yeah. I’m bringing Deadfoot over. Couldn’t find an off button."
The console beeps off and Teck turns to Deadfoot.
"So much for washing up."
"Wait, you’re not trapped in that thing?" Deadfoot asks.
"No. Geez, I can take it off whenever I want."
"Oh. See, I just figured that there was some kind of hideous disfigurement or medical condition that made you keep that on all the time."
"Nope. I just like wearing it. Its like having my own apartment. I’ve got WiFi access, digital surround sound, Doppler weather detection equipment-" The suit beeps. "Huh, and apparently I’ve had a fully stocked mini fridge in here the whole time and didn’t even know about it. Well, that’ll come in handy today."
Next Time: The Countdown clock breaks, meaning its time for a Secret Crisis War On Infinite Flatfoots: Dissassembled!! People Will Die! Maybe not important people, but shucks howdy, there's gonna be a body count!
Deep inside a hidden underground laboratory, a figure in red armor tinkers with…something on a lab table.
"Are you done yet?" Deadfoot asks from the table. He’s still trapped inside a giant mousetrap.
"Just a few more seconds," Teckstyle says. "I’m just looking for- ah! Found it."
"What??"
"The serial number on your little whatever generator. I thought it looked familiar."
"Huh?"
"That part that you’ve got in there that keeps you up and running is a modified version of the power plant inside my own armor."
"You sure of that?"
"Same exact serial number. I want some answers."
"About what?" Deadfoot asks.
"What happened to your universe’s version of me?"
"Oh. Hm. Let’s see… Now I remember! You’re, uh, not going to like it."
"Lay it on me."
"Um, he died in his sleep."
"Oh." Teck says, a little disappointed.
"Knew you wouldn’t like it."
"That’s it?"
"Well, actually it was the building falling on him WHILE he was sleeping that did it, but yeah."
"A building fell on me, er, him?"
"Yeah. It was when Kid Flatfoot first went all cosmic powered and started leveling buildings. Apparently parts of your armor were salvaged from the rubble by Crey, and I guess those parts of one dead hero, you, went to revive another dead hero, me."
"How do you know that?"
"Actually I’m just guessing, but it sure would be ironic, wouldn’t it?"
A loud beep interrupts the conversation. Teck presses a button on a large console.
"Go ahead."
"Teck? Its Flat, I think we’ve rounded up all the alternate me’s out there."
"Good. Any idea how to get rid of them?"
"Well…actually something’s come up. The city’s in this great big panic."
"What did you do this time Flat?" Teck asks, shaking his head.
"Hey, this time its not my fault. Apparently some kind of gigantic monster that looks a bowl full of jelly is terraforming a huge part of the city. You done there yet? We kind of need you."
"Yeah. I’m bringing Deadfoot over. Couldn’t find an off button."
The console beeps off and Teck turns to Deadfoot.
"So much for washing up."
"Wait, you’re not trapped in that thing?" Deadfoot asks.
"No. Geez, I can take it off whenever I want."
"Oh. See, I just figured that there was some kind of hideous disfigurement or medical condition that made you keep that on all the time."
"Nope. I just like wearing it. Its like having my own apartment. I’ve got WiFi access, digital surround sound, Doppler weather detection equipment-" The suit beeps. "Huh, and apparently I’ve had a fully stocked mini fridge in here the whole time and didn’t even know about it. Well, that’ll come in handy today."
Next Time: The Countdown clock breaks, meaning its time for a Secret Crisis War On Infinite Flatfoots: Dissassembled!! People Will Die! Maybe not important people, but shucks howdy, there's gonna be a body count!
33 - Siren Song
*The road to SCWOIFD plods Onward Here!!
Siren’s Call, like several other sections of Paragon City, has large parts of it blasted into smaller bits. Unlike other parts of the city, one of those large bits happens to be part of the war wall protecting it. Naturally, the villains of the Rogue Isles are more than willing to fill that gap with an army of ne’er-do-wells.
In between the warring factions and radioactive fallout, a small listening post is nestled into what would normally look like an abandoned building. Inside a platoon of Wyvern agents keep silent tabs on the villain activity of the area, funneling information back to Longbow or anyone else willing to pay in unmarked twenties.
Standing in the command room and trying look like he knows what he’s doing is a defender assigned to collect some sensitive data on henchman demographics in the zone. He has the rather dubious codename of Myopic Marksman, and he fidgets with his bow.
"How much longer?" he asks the base commander. In a city filled with mutants, cyborgs and aliens, trying to make a name for yourself without any fancy powers is enough to make any rookie nervous. A doomsday weapon could go off at any minute, and poof, no more heroic young archer.
"Shouldn’t be too long, its verifying the disc now."
"Um, good. I hope its worth it."
Teams weren’t too interested in a quiver full of arrows, unless those arrows could also heal, which they didn’t. So to make ends meet, Myopic made a few inquiries and signed up part time with Longbow. Since then, he’s been working mostly underground with Wyvern.
"Hey, what’s that flashing?" he asks, pointing to a monitor.
The base commander’s eyes go wide. "That’s a priority one breach!"
"Is, um, is that bad?"
"Yes."
"I thought nobody knew we were here?"
"Don’t look at me! Everyone, battle stations!"
Quickly working his way deeper into the base, Deadfoot whirls through everyone and everything in his path. The teleporter pad connected to a holding cell couldn’t get a lock on him, the giant bear trap didn’t snap shut fast enough, and the inflatable donut filled with sleep gas was completely ignored.
Eventually Deadfoot gets to the blast door sealing off the command center and begins pounding on it repeatedly.
"Wh-what is it?" Myopic asks, knocking an arrow and waiting.
"Something fast, something powerful, and something we can’t see on the cameras."
The arrow starts rattling against the bow.
"This your first villain, kid?"
More rattling. Myopic’s mouth opens and no sound comes out.
The blast door dents several times and flies open. A hail of arrows sing out towards the brute. The few that stick are pulled out with a grunt and a laugh.
"That all you got?" Deadfoot gloats.
Myopic whimpers and closes his eyes, awaiting the worst. The trembling arrow in his hand, which has been drawn back, flings out sideways where it slices through a thin rope connected to a large metal bar near the door. Something loud snaps.
When the defender opens his eyes, he finds all of his limbs still attached. He looks over to the door and sees Deadfoot caught in a giant mousetrap. The brute’s left foot is next to his head. He gurgles unhealthily.
A figure in bright red armor flies into the room. "Hey guys, I rushed over here to warn you that--Oh." Teckstyle says, surveying the wreckage. "He’s faster than I thought."
Teck goes over to the mousetrap and examines Deadfoot. There is more gurgling.
"Well, guess we’d better get you back to Pocket D," Teck says, picking up the mousetrap with ease. He catches sight of something metal and familiar looking sticking out of the brute’s chest. "Waitaminute…" he says before flying off.
"Umm," the defender asks meekly. "What just happened?"
31 - Taking Over The Airwaves
*The road to SCWOIFD Grinds Onward Here!!
Port Oakes is one of the many, many Rogue Isles. Warring crime families fight in the streets while strange creatures called Coralax prowl the docks. But by far the strangest thing on the island sits on top of an abandoned car in an almost empty parking lot.
No, its not the confused looking brute sitting on the hood trying to fiddle with a radio. It IS the radio.
"I just don’t get it," Deadfoot says, fiddling with the tuner.
A passing mastermind stops and stares.
"Vat are you doing?" he asks in a thick foreign accent.
Deadfoot looks up. "What? Oh, nothing!"
Just then the radio crackles and the volume jumps up suddenly.
"Hello Rogue Isles! You’re listening to Radio, Radio, Radio Free Opportunity! Broadcasting live from somewhere in international waters. We’re your number one source for gossip, skullduggery and misanthropy! Today villains, we’re running an EXTRA special surprise for you. We’ve managed to find the location of a particularly active nest of Wyvern agents, and we’re going to be giving that information to one lucky, lucky villain. Just think of the carnage you can wreak on those unsuspecting archers. Mmmm, I bet your mouths are salivating uncontrollably at the very thought of that much mayhem."
"Vas ist-?" the mastermind tries to ask.
"Shhh!" Deadfoot warns.
The Radio continues. "All you have to do to become that lucky miscreant who gets to smash down a nest of do-gooders is be the fifth caller to this station!"
Deadfoot fumbles trying to get his cell phone out of his belt while the mastermind quickly dials the number into his arm.
"Hello caller, what’s your name?"
"My name ist Doktor Umlaut und I’m callink about ze Vyvern hideout…"
"Oh, I’m sorry, but you’re not the right caller. We’re looking for caller number six."
"Vat!? You just asked for der fifth caller!"
"Well, here’s the story Doc. I lied. See, that’s part of the fun of villainy. You can lie and revel in the misfortune of others! Until of course they find out where you live and then come over and rip your walls down, ha ha! Oh to be young again. Better luck next time."
Deadfoot finally dials the number in to his phone and waits in anticipation.
"Hello caller, what’s your name?"
"Uh, Deadfoot. Am I really on Radio Free Opportunity?"
"No way, you’re on Radio, Radio, Radio Free Opportunity!"
"Whoa, awesome!"
"And here’s something else to blow your little mind. You’re the sixth caller!"
"Holy [censored]!" Deadfoot yells. "Oh, sorry, can I say that on the air?"
"Not really but that’s what those little beep buttons are for. Why don’t you hang on and we’ll hook you up with your prize. And as for the rest of you naughty listeners, don’t do anything the little voices in your head wouldn’t do. And now, back to whatever legitimate frequency you were listening to before we pirated it!"
The Radio crackles and hisses and soon resumes playing a mix of top forty hits from the 80s, 90s and today.
Deadfoot stays on the phone, getting his instructions. Occasionally he says "Uh-huh." After a few minutes, he hangs up and looks at the fuming Dr. Umlaut. Deadfoot shrugs good naturedly, then sticks his tongue out and speeds away.
Meanwhile, several miles out to sea, on a small dinghy in the Atlantic, one character climbs down from the rooftop of the cabin.
"I’ve been many things in my life, Flat," Teckstyle says. "But a pirate radio transmitter has never been one of them."
"Until today, you mean," Flatfoot says. "What was it like?"
"Like I was intimately connected to the information pathways of the world."
"Ew. Sorry I asked."
"So how did you know he’d be listening?"
"Deadfoot?" Flat asks. "I didn’t, I was gonna keep hanging up on people until he finally did."
"That’s not much of a--you would, wouldn’t you?"
"Guess we’d better get back to the mainland and start setting up."
"Right, but are you sure the giant mousetrap is necessary?"
"Absolutely."
Port Oakes is one of the many, many Rogue Isles. Warring crime families fight in the streets while strange creatures called Coralax prowl the docks. But by far the strangest thing on the island sits on top of an abandoned car in an almost empty parking lot.
No, its not the confused looking brute sitting on the hood trying to fiddle with a radio. It IS the radio.
"I just don’t get it," Deadfoot says, fiddling with the tuner.
A passing mastermind stops and stares.
"Vat are you doing?" he asks in a thick foreign accent.
Deadfoot looks up. "What? Oh, nothing!"
Just then the radio crackles and the volume jumps up suddenly.
"Hello Rogue Isles! You’re listening to Radio, Radio, Radio Free Opportunity! Broadcasting live from somewhere in international waters. We’re your number one source for gossip, skullduggery and misanthropy! Today villains, we’re running an EXTRA special surprise for you. We’ve managed to find the location of a particularly active nest of Wyvern agents, and we’re going to be giving that information to one lucky, lucky villain. Just think of the carnage you can wreak on those unsuspecting archers. Mmmm, I bet your mouths are salivating uncontrollably at the very thought of that much mayhem."
"Vas ist-?" the mastermind tries to ask.
"Shhh!" Deadfoot warns.
The Radio continues. "All you have to do to become that lucky miscreant who gets to smash down a nest of do-gooders is be the fifth caller to this station!"
Deadfoot fumbles trying to get his cell phone out of his belt while the mastermind quickly dials the number into his arm.
"Hello caller, what’s your name?"
"My name ist Doktor Umlaut und I’m callink about ze Vyvern hideout…"
"Oh, I’m sorry, but you’re not the right caller. We’re looking for caller number six."
"Vat!? You just asked for der fifth caller!"
"Well, here’s the story Doc. I lied. See, that’s part of the fun of villainy. You can lie and revel in the misfortune of others! Until of course they find out where you live and then come over and rip your walls down, ha ha! Oh to be young again. Better luck next time."
Deadfoot finally dials the number in to his phone and waits in anticipation.
"Hello caller, what’s your name?"
"Uh, Deadfoot. Am I really on Radio Free Opportunity?"
"No way, you’re on Radio, Radio, Radio Free Opportunity!"
"Whoa, awesome!"
"And here’s something else to blow your little mind. You’re the sixth caller!"
"Holy [censored]!" Deadfoot yells. "Oh, sorry, can I say that on the air?"
"Not really but that’s what those little beep buttons are for. Why don’t you hang on and we’ll hook you up with your prize. And as for the rest of you naughty listeners, don’t do anything the little voices in your head wouldn’t do. And now, back to whatever legitimate frequency you were listening to before we pirated it!"
The Radio crackles and hisses and soon resumes playing a mix of top forty hits from the 80s, 90s and today.
Deadfoot stays on the phone, getting his instructions. Occasionally he says "Uh-huh." After a few minutes, he hangs up and looks at the fuming Dr. Umlaut. Deadfoot shrugs good naturedly, then sticks his tongue out and speeds away.
Meanwhile, several miles out to sea, on a small dinghy in the Atlantic, one character climbs down from the rooftop of the cabin.
"I’ve been many things in my life, Flat," Teckstyle says. "But a pirate radio transmitter has never been one of them."
"Until today, you mean," Flatfoot says. "What was it like?"
"Like I was intimately connected to the information pathways of the world."
"Ew. Sorry I asked."
"So how did you know he’d be listening?"
"Deadfoot?" Flat asks. "I didn’t, I was gonna keep hanging up on people until he finally did."
"That’s not much of a--you would, wouldn’t you?"
"Guess we’d better get back to the mainland and start setting up."
"Right, but are you sure the giant mousetrap is necessary?"
"Absolutely."
31 - Grand Theft Archvillain pt. 2: It Had To Happen Sooner Or Later
*The road to SCWOIFD Continues Here!!
"What is the meaning of this!?" Countess Crey demanded.
"Now, ma’m," Flatfoot tries to explain. "I know this may seem rather villainous, but I assure you we’ve only brought you here for your own protection."
"You had no right to do this! I’ll have your licenses revoked!" the Countess raves.
"Now I know you’re a little upset about the 20 or so feet of rope tied around you, but you were thrashing around a lot, so we had to do that for your own protection," Teckstyle says.
"See, we were warned that you might be under some kind of mind control and would be dangerous," Flat reassures. "Once we get all this sorted out, you’ll be as right as rain again. If it ever rained."
"Flat," Teck whispers. "This is crazy! She’s an archvillain!"
"Ixnay on the illainvay," Flat hisses, then turns to the Countess. "Now ma’m, I’m going to be perfectly honest with you. There are forces aligned within your company that are trying to besmirch your good name with heinous acts of villainy."
"Flat," Teck whispers again. "Where’d you get those big words?"
"Bought ‘em at the thrift store." Flat answers. "Now Countess, we have reason to believe that these same nefarious forces may have behind your husband’s debilitating illness."
"Why that’s preposterous!" the Countess yells. "Nothing but a pack of lies! All of it! You’ll hear from my lawyers."
"Oh, I wouldn’t trust the power of your attorneys," Teck says. "Flat here is a crack legal expert."
"Yeah that’s--huh?" Flat asks.
"You know all those billboards around town?" Teck continues. "That’s Flatfoot."
"Wait, I’m not a lawyer," Flat protests.
"A BLIND lawyer at that," Teck adds proudly.
"I’m not blind!"
"The way you throw you are."
"What, you mean like that Jenkins fellow?" the Countess asks.
"Exactly," Teck says.
"I’m not even bald!!" Flat shouts, tugging on his hair.
"A clever disguise," Teck whispers to the Countess.
"Look, all I did was intern at a law firm for three months," Flat protests.
"He’s so modest," Teck says patting Flat on the shoulder.
"I’m not a-- Look, its obvious that the Countess is under some kind of mental control," Flat says, giving up. The Rikti are probably involved in this somehow. Teck…prepare the Anti-Mind Control Device."
Teckstyle picks up a nasty looking club with bright LED lights dotted across its surface. "Well…ok. This might hurt a bit," he says, bringing the AMCD down on the Countess’s head with a loud BONK.
When the Countess regains her senses, she looks up at Flat & Teck looking concernedly at her. Her hands are untied.
"Sorry we had to resort to such drastic measures, ma’m," Flat says reassuringly. "But the situation was growing desperate. Care for some hot coffee?"
"Who are you?" the Countess asks.
"Coffee’s all gone, the monkey at it," Teck says.
"All of it? Where is he now?"
"Chewing through the ceiling," Teck says, looking up.
"Ok…Well how about some nice warm tea then, Countess?"
"Uhh…Tea will be fine. And a cold compress please."
A few hours later, all three are seated around a table and chatting.
"Flat," Teck says. "I’ve gotta let the monkey out."
"No dice," Flat says. "Indigo said to keep put in this safe house, so that’s what we do. Got any sevens?"
"Go fish," The Countess says.
"Man, I hate this game," Teck grumbles.
There’s a sound from above followed by a loud ZZZzt and the sound of a Rikti monkey thudding to the floor. The lights go out.
"The monkey just ate through the power line," Teck says, still looking at his hand.
"I noticed," Flat says, trying to read the cards in the dark. "Is he ok?"
"Still twitching. That’s good right? Means he’s still alive?" Teck asks.
"Sure why not. You’re the doctor."
"I’m not a- never mind. He could probably use the nap anyway."
"So tell me Countess, just how did a charming lady like yourself get to become an industry titan?" Flat asks.
"Oh, after I married the Count, I just sort of picked up the experience along the way. I was a natural at it," the Countess says. "After my husband…" she trails off trying to concentrate on the memory. "Became ill, I was able to step in and keep it going strong."
"My, that is impressive," Flat says. "I really do hope he gets better, you sound like a great couple." A ringing sound interrupts the conversation. "Hang on, I’ve got to take this. Hello?"
"Er, hello?" the voice on the other line says. "Is Amanda there? Last name Huggenkis?"
"Sorry," Flat says. "Nobody here named Amanda. You must have a wrong number." Flatfoot hangs up the phone with a click. "Man, what is it with all these wrong numbers I’ve been getting lately?
A thunderous crash knocks one of the walls of the safe house down.
"Countess," Crank Shaft says urgently. "My name’s Crank Shaft and we’ve been sent here by Lord Recluse to rescue you from your imprisonment!"
"Hey, I helped find the place," Deadfoot says indignantly.
"I--what?" the Countess asks, thoroughly confused.
"Deadfoot?" Flat asks."Flatfoot?" Deadfoot calls back.
"Oh, you’re being a very naughty alternate me!" Flat yells and charges the brute.
Now, since the fight scene that follows is set in a pitch black warehouse with no windows or working lights, things get quite murky, but I can tell you that there were lots of lasers shooting around and it looked totally cool, but since it was so dark, we’re just going to skip to the end.
"Unhand me you cretins!" The Countess yells as Deadfoot restrains her.
"Yep," he says. "Looks like you were right. Mind control."
"Well," Crank Shaft says, hefting an Anti-Mind Control Device covered in Red LED lights. "Time to use the AMCD."
A loud BONK echoes in the safe house.
"Wh-where am I?" the Countess asks, staggering a little as Deadfoot lets her go.
"These heroes won’t be bothering you anymore," Crank says.
"I feel ill, can I go home now?" the Countess asks.
A few minutes after the villains clear out, Teckstyle stirs.
"Flat?" he asks.
"Yeah?""Can you move?"
"No. I think my bones might be smashed."
"Flat, the monkey’s eating through my armor."
"That sucks. Do you think Indigo’ll be pissed at us?"
"Probably. Then again, this might be one of her bigger plans and we were meant to let her escape."
"I’m just worried about the Countess being whisked away by those villains. I mean, they could brainwash her again," Flat says.
"So what’re we gonna do about Deadfoot?" Teck asks.
"I dunno, maybe write him a stern letter."
"Well, look on the bright side, Flat. At least you didn’t get shot in the head."
"Yeah, there’s that at least. Can you call an ambulance?"
30 - Grand Theft Archvillain pt. 1: Blinded With Science
*The road to the countdown to the beginning of Secret Crisis War On Infinite Flatfoots: Dissassembled (SCWOIFD for short) Continues Here!!
Deep inside the bowels of a Crey laboratory, two heroes tear a hole through any opposition in their way. Klaxons blare over and over until shot out by the blaster.
"We’ve been fighting through a lot of medics, researchers and scientists lately," Flatfoot says thoughtfully.
"So?" Teckstyle asks.
"I imagine they didn’t spend 2-4 years working on a post-grad degree just to get beaten up by a pack of wandering heroes."
"Well, since this is Crey we’re talking about, you know they get great dental coverage," Teck answers. "And at the rate you’ve been kicking them in the teeth, that’s great news for them."
"I do what I can," Flat says, dropkicking a terrified radiologist. "Yeah, actually I’m thinking of giving them my resume."
"Didn’t we already have the whole Crey = Evil conversation?"
"Hey, a secret identity’s gotta eat, you know."
"I shudder to think of you in civilian life," Teck says, blasting a security guard into a wall.
"All the same, sewage is expensive to get washed out of the suit. And hair. Do you have any idea how much shampoo I go through weekly? Bottles!"
"I wouldn’t go for R&D if I were you," Teck warns.
"Wouldn’t dream of it, that’s more your forte."
"I’m not a-never mind."
"Nah, actually I’m thinking of doing the field agent thing. You know, keep kicking faces and get paid for it."
"You’re sure they’d take you?"
"I’ve got no criminal record, good references…"
"Name one."
"Um…Back Alley Brawler?"
"Whatever, Flat."
"So," Flat says, knowing the topic was exhausted. "We’re supposed to rescue some Rikti monkeys?"
"Enhanced Rikti monkeys," Teck corrects.
"Sounds like something I get in my e-mail."
"Why do I let you talk!?" Teck moans.
"I wonder if its natural Rikti enhancement?"
"Just. Shut. Up!"
Several minutes, three power tanks and a roomful of screaming scientists later, the first monkey was rescued.
"Hey, the little guy really likes you," Flat says.
"I know, I saw how he was going after those power suits."
"Awww, sounds like somebody’s got a pet. Hey, maybe he can play with Bismarck and Garibaldi."
"I…don’t think that’s such a good idea."
Suddenly, a squad of reinforcements rushes in. The monkey screeches and runs forward. Seconds later, the threat is ended.
"Um," Flat says. "Were we supposed to let the monkey get killed like that?"
"Hey, the contact said they needed to be rescued. Didn’t say they had to be breathing," Teck shrugs.
"That’s cold, man," Flat says.
"Ice in my veins, dude," Teck says. "Gotta be in this line of work."
"Ok, that second monkey didn’t last long at all," Teck says.
"Not my fault. Those scientists chased me down the elevator."
"Gotta admit I was impressed seeing him take down that Voltaic Tank. Little guy had moxie," Teck says admiringly.
"Hey, this last one managed to stay alive," Flat says after the third monkey was broken free.
"Probably because he’s clinging to my back," Teck answers.
"Guess that does it. Let’s get out of here before they start sending the guys from accounting after us."
"Best. Mission. Ever," Teck says as the three exit the lab.
Flat calls up his contact. The two chat for a bit and then Flat hangs up. "Ok, this one’s weird. Indigo’s telling me to find Countess Crey and take her to a safe house in Galaxy."
"Where’s she located now?"
"Same place we were just in."
"Back inside?" Teck asks.
"Back inside."
The two heroes make their way quickly through the now-silent halls. They open a doorway.
"Well, there’s your precious Countess, Flat," Teck says, trying to pry the monkey off his back.
"And she’s surrounded by Paragon Protectors!" Flat shouts, charging in. "Watch out, ma’m, they’re evil!"
Deep inside the bowels of a Crey laboratory, two heroes tear a hole through any opposition in their way. Klaxons blare over and over until shot out by the blaster.
"We’ve been fighting through a lot of medics, researchers and scientists lately," Flatfoot says thoughtfully.
"So?" Teckstyle asks.
"I imagine they didn’t spend 2-4 years working on a post-grad degree just to get beaten up by a pack of wandering heroes."
"Well, since this is Crey we’re talking about, you know they get great dental coverage," Teck answers. "And at the rate you’ve been kicking them in the teeth, that’s great news for them."
"I do what I can," Flat says, dropkicking a terrified radiologist. "Yeah, actually I’m thinking of giving them my resume."
"Didn’t we already have the whole Crey = Evil conversation?"
"Hey, a secret identity’s gotta eat, you know."
"I shudder to think of you in civilian life," Teck says, blasting a security guard into a wall.
"All the same, sewage is expensive to get washed out of the suit. And hair. Do you have any idea how much shampoo I go through weekly? Bottles!"
"I wouldn’t go for R&D if I were you," Teck warns.
"Wouldn’t dream of it, that’s more your forte."
"I’m not a-never mind."
"Nah, actually I’m thinking of doing the field agent thing. You know, keep kicking faces and get paid for it."
"You’re sure they’d take you?"
"I’ve got no criminal record, good references…"
"Name one."
"Um…Back Alley Brawler?"
"Whatever, Flat."
"So," Flat says, knowing the topic was exhausted. "We’re supposed to rescue some Rikti monkeys?"
"Enhanced Rikti monkeys," Teck corrects.
"Sounds like something I get in my e-mail."
"Why do I let you talk!?" Teck moans.
"I wonder if its natural Rikti enhancement?"
"Just. Shut. Up!"
Several minutes, three power tanks and a roomful of screaming scientists later, the first monkey was rescued.
"Hey, the little guy really likes you," Flat says.
"I know, I saw how he was going after those power suits."
"Awww, sounds like somebody’s got a pet. Hey, maybe he can play with Bismarck and Garibaldi."
"I…don’t think that’s such a good idea."
Suddenly, a squad of reinforcements rushes in. The monkey screeches and runs forward. Seconds later, the threat is ended.
"Um," Flat says. "Were we supposed to let the monkey get killed like that?"
"Hey, the contact said they needed to be rescued. Didn’t say they had to be breathing," Teck shrugs.
"That’s cold, man," Flat says.
"Ice in my veins, dude," Teck says. "Gotta be in this line of work."
"Ok, that second monkey didn’t last long at all," Teck says.
"Not my fault. Those scientists chased me down the elevator."
"Gotta admit I was impressed seeing him take down that Voltaic Tank. Little guy had moxie," Teck says admiringly.
"Hey, this last one managed to stay alive," Flat says after the third monkey was broken free.
"Probably because he’s clinging to my back," Teck answers.
"Guess that does it. Let’s get out of here before they start sending the guys from accounting after us."
"Best. Mission. Ever," Teck says as the three exit the lab.
Flat calls up his contact. The two chat for a bit and then Flat hangs up. "Ok, this one’s weird. Indigo’s telling me to find Countess Crey and take her to a safe house in Galaxy."
"Where’s she located now?"
"Same place we were just in."
"Back inside?" Teck asks.
"Back inside."
The two heroes make their way quickly through the now-silent halls. They open a doorway.
"Well, there’s your precious Countess, Flat," Teck says, trying to pry the monkey off his back.
"And she’s surrounded by Paragon Protectors!" Flat shouts, charging in. "Watch out, ma’m, they’re evil!"
29 - Many Migraines
*The road to the countdown to the beginning of Secret Crisis War On Infinite Flatfoots: Dissassembled (SCWOIFD for short) Begins Here!!
The first thing visitors notice about Mercy Island is that it is not a nice place to be. Crooked cops shakedown the locals, gangs fight in the rubble strewn streets and some creepy snake cult talks about its destiny. Add to that mix an organization seeking to rule the world and a bunch of rookie villains running around like its spring break all the time, and its clear why ordinary folk don’t plan day trips out to the Rogue Isles.
Kalinda, the Arachnos Fortunata overseer of Fort Darwin, is painfully becoming aware that Deadfoot is not ordinary folk.
"No Deadfoot, we have not been able to determine your status as a Destined One. Up until a few weeks ago, you’ve never even been heard of, and even then all reports of you paint you as an unhinged vigilante and not the kind of villain Arachnos is looking for. How you even got here is a mystery to me," Kalinda says.
"So what you’re sayin’ is…"
"You’re not supposed to be here!!"
"Well duh, I could’ve told you that." Deadfoot says. "I’m trying to get back to my own dimension."
"If I were not wearing this helmet, I assure you, I would be rubbing my temples because of the excruciating pain you’re causing me." Kalinda says. "You must vacate Arachnos territory within twenty four hours."
"I can’t go back to Paragon, they’ll only lock me up tighter than…tighter than… well, something very tight." Deadfoot pleads.
"Not my problem."
"I’ll do anything!" Deadfoot’s now on his knees begging. "You said I was an unhinged vigilante, I can be amoral! I’ll fight anybody, even Ben Franklin. Send me back in time, I’ll do it. I’ll steal babies and yell at candy! Just don’t let me go back to jail!"
Kalinda taps a gloved finger against her helmet. "Hmm. You do have a desperate eagerness that might prove…useful. Yes, I believe we may have some purpose for you here. In fact, I’ve just received a few missions that might suit your reckless disregard for danger. But you’ll need a partner in crime." She snaps her fingers at a nearby mastermind. "You, you’re with him."
"What?" Crank Shaft asks. "I shared a cell with him, I’m not reliving that! I work alone fine, I’ve got robots to take bullets for me."
"You will be silent and do this or I will send the Arbiters after you," Kalinda growls.
"Of course, I’m open to good arguments." Crank says quickly.
"Here are your assignments," Kalinda says, handing each a list.
Deadfoot takes his and then raises his hand.
"What??""Sorry, but I’ve just gotta know. Can, can you like, walk around with a fruit basket balanced on that helmet of yours? I look at you and I just can’t help but think of Carmen Miranda."
"GO!!!"
Meanwhile, back at stately Wayne Manor, and by ‘Wayne Manor,’ I mean ‘Pocket D.’
"You know, I’m not all that surprised by a major breakout at the Zig," Teckstyle says, sipping a drink through his helmet straw.
"Yeah, there’s been a pretty steady trickle of crooks escaping lately," Flatfoot agrees, sipping on a pina colada. "Any idea how many escaped?"
"Nobody’s sure yet, they’re still doing estimates."
"This is gonna be a problem, isn’t it?" Flat asks.
"Yep."
"A ‘clocking in overtime’ kind of problem?"
"Yep. My 401k approves," Teck says.
"Well, I got some good news to report," Flat says helpfully.
"When you say that, I always die a little inside, Flat."
"I’ll take that as a compliment. Anyway, you know all those alternate reality me’s running around? They’re finally starting to turn up."
"No kidding. How many?"
"At least twenty so far."
"Damn!" Teck exclaims, spitting in his helmet.
"And climbing."
Teck chokes on something inside his helmet. "Where are they?" he asks eventually.
"Right here, I figured they’d be safe here."
"How…how are you planning on keeping them here?"
"Set up a tab. How else?" Flat says.
"Do you have any idea how much that costs!?"
"Hey, I figure if they’re passed out under a table, they can’t get in any trouble, so its well worth the investment."
"Ok…"
"Hey, let me introduce you to some of the guys." Flat says, motioning over to another side of the bar. They walk up to a short, scruffy looking man smoking a cigar.
"This is clawfoot, a mutant me with claws and phenomenal regenerating abilities. And he’s Canadian."
"Bub," Clawfoot says, raising a beer can in acknowledgement.
"He said something about being able to boost readership too, whatever that means," Flat whispers, moving on. "Over there’s Tenderfoot, a patriotic archer from the Wild West Dimension. That over there is Ultimate Flatfoot, an edgy, wisecracking, leather wearing teenager. His super power is angst. Over here is Fleetfeet-"
"Wow, not as hideous as I figured a female you would be," Teck marvels.
"Actually," Flat says, "she’s not the alternate me, the kitten on her shoulders is. They’re a team. I don’t really understand either."
"Ok…" Teck says, inching away from Fleetfeet.
"That’s Coldfoot, who’s made of living ice. Bigfoot is made of rocks, Firefoot’s all burny. Floatfoot talks to fish. Flatfear has freaky dark powers. Flathead pounds stuff. The two guys in the corner arm wrestling are Flatfoot Blue and Flatfoot Red, the Peacebringer and Warshade respectively. There’s Fastfoot, Fatfoot, Flatenstein’s Monster, the cosmically powered Captain Flatom… This is Flatbeard the Pirate"
"Arr!" Flatbeard says. "Will ye be sharin’ some grog wit’ me?"
"I--uh," Teck stammers. "I thought that was you in the pirate costume that one day."
"It’s complicated," Flat says. "Flat Tax over there’s an accountant with no super powers, Flutefoot’s a female version of me with sonic powers, and that’s Blackfoot-"
"Sweet Christmas!" Blackfoot exclaims as he stubs his toe on the bar.
"He’s from the 1970’s Dimension, not to be confused with the Ethnic Stereotype Dimension. That’s where Commissar Flatnishkov is from."
"Hey, where’s Deadfoot?" Teck asks.
Flat looks around the room. "Strange, I sent him a note telling him we’re gonna rendezvous here…"
"Flat, wasn’t Deadfoot put in the Zig for safekeeping?" Teck asks.
Flat nods.
"And the Zig just had a massive breakout, didn’t it?"
"Oh crap."
The first thing visitors notice about Mercy Island is that it is not a nice place to be. Crooked cops shakedown the locals, gangs fight in the rubble strewn streets and some creepy snake cult talks about its destiny. Add to that mix an organization seeking to rule the world and a bunch of rookie villains running around like its spring break all the time, and its clear why ordinary folk don’t plan day trips out to the Rogue Isles.
Kalinda, the Arachnos Fortunata overseer of Fort Darwin, is painfully becoming aware that Deadfoot is not ordinary folk.
"No Deadfoot, we have not been able to determine your status as a Destined One. Up until a few weeks ago, you’ve never even been heard of, and even then all reports of you paint you as an unhinged vigilante and not the kind of villain Arachnos is looking for. How you even got here is a mystery to me," Kalinda says.
"So what you’re sayin’ is…"
"You’re not supposed to be here!!"
"Well duh, I could’ve told you that." Deadfoot says. "I’m trying to get back to my own dimension."
"If I were not wearing this helmet, I assure you, I would be rubbing my temples because of the excruciating pain you’re causing me." Kalinda says. "You must vacate Arachnos territory within twenty four hours."
"I can’t go back to Paragon, they’ll only lock me up tighter than…tighter than… well, something very tight." Deadfoot pleads.
"Not my problem."
"I’ll do anything!" Deadfoot’s now on his knees begging. "You said I was an unhinged vigilante, I can be amoral! I’ll fight anybody, even Ben Franklin. Send me back in time, I’ll do it. I’ll steal babies and yell at candy! Just don’t let me go back to jail!"
Kalinda taps a gloved finger against her helmet. "Hmm. You do have a desperate eagerness that might prove…useful. Yes, I believe we may have some purpose for you here. In fact, I’ve just received a few missions that might suit your reckless disregard for danger. But you’ll need a partner in crime." She snaps her fingers at a nearby mastermind. "You, you’re with him."
"What?" Crank Shaft asks. "I shared a cell with him, I’m not reliving that! I work alone fine, I’ve got robots to take bullets for me."
"You will be silent and do this or I will send the Arbiters after you," Kalinda growls.
"Of course, I’m open to good arguments." Crank says quickly.
"Here are your assignments," Kalinda says, handing each a list.
Deadfoot takes his and then raises his hand.
"What??""Sorry, but I’ve just gotta know. Can, can you like, walk around with a fruit basket balanced on that helmet of yours? I look at you and I just can’t help but think of Carmen Miranda."
"GO!!!"
Meanwhile, back at stately Wayne Manor, and by ‘Wayne Manor,’ I mean ‘Pocket D.’
"You know, I’m not all that surprised by a major breakout at the Zig," Teckstyle says, sipping a drink through his helmet straw.
"Yeah, there’s been a pretty steady trickle of crooks escaping lately," Flatfoot agrees, sipping on a pina colada. "Any idea how many escaped?"
"Nobody’s sure yet, they’re still doing estimates."
"This is gonna be a problem, isn’t it?" Flat asks.
"Yep."
"A ‘clocking in overtime’ kind of problem?"
"Yep. My 401k approves," Teck says.
"Well, I got some good news to report," Flat says helpfully.
"When you say that, I always die a little inside, Flat."
"I’ll take that as a compliment. Anyway, you know all those alternate reality me’s running around? They’re finally starting to turn up."
"No kidding. How many?"
"At least twenty so far."
"Damn!" Teck exclaims, spitting in his helmet.
"And climbing."
Teck chokes on something inside his helmet. "Where are they?" he asks eventually.
"Right here, I figured they’d be safe here."
"How…how are you planning on keeping them here?"
"Set up a tab. How else?" Flat says.
"Do you have any idea how much that costs!?"
"Hey, I figure if they’re passed out under a table, they can’t get in any trouble, so its well worth the investment."
"Ok…"
"Hey, let me introduce you to some of the guys." Flat says, motioning over to another side of the bar. They walk up to a short, scruffy looking man smoking a cigar.
"This is clawfoot, a mutant me with claws and phenomenal regenerating abilities. And he’s Canadian."
"Bub," Clawfoot says, raising a beer can in acknowledgement.
"He said something about being able to boost readership too, whatever that means," Flat whispers, moving on. "Over there’s Tenderfoot, a patriotic archer from the Wild West Dimension. That over there is Ultimate Flatfoot, an edgy, wisecracking, leather wearing teenager. His super power is angst. Over here is Fleetfeet-"
"Wow, not as hideous as I figured a female you would be," Teck marvels.
"Actually," Flat says, "she’s not the alternate me, the kitten on her shoulders is. They’re a team. I don’t really understand either."
"Ok…" Teck says, inching away from Fleetfeet.
"That’s Coldfoot, who’s made of living ice. Bigfoot is made of rocks, Firefoot’s all burny. Floatfoot talks to fish. Flatfear has freaky dark powers. Flathead pounds stuff. The two guys in the corner arm wrestling are Flatfoot Blue and Flatfoot Red, the Peacebringer and Warshade respectively. There’s Fastfoot, Fatfoot, Flatenstein’s Monster, the cosmically powered Captain Flatom… This is Flatbeard the Pirate"
"Arr!" Flatbeard says. "Will ye be sharin’ some grog wit’ me?"
"I--uh," Teck stammers. "I thought that was you in the pirate costume that one day."
"It’s complicated," Flat says. "Flat Tax over there’s an accountant with no super powers, Flutefoot’s a female version of me with sonic powers, and that’s Blackfoot-"
"Sweet Christmas!" Blackfoot exclaims as he stubs his toe on the bar.
"He’s from the 1970’s Dimension, not to be confused with the Ethnic Stereotype Dimension. That’s where Commissar Flatnishkov is from."
"Hey, where’s Deadfoot?" Teck asks.
Flat looks around the room. "Strange, I sent him a note telling him we’re gonna rendezvous here…"
"Flat, wasn’t Deadfoot put in the Zig for safekeeping?" Teck asks.
Flat nods.
"And the Zig just had a massive breakout, didn’t it?"
"Oh crap."
28 - Teck Vs The Radio 01 - Where's The Love?
Gary: Hello Paragon city, Gary "The Wildman" Jenkins with you once again, right here on Paragon's number two source for scuttlebut.
Teckstyle: You said 'butt.'
G: And joining me in the studio today is very special guest, Teckstyle.
T: Hiya ladies and germs.
G: Teck, you've just published a book all about superheroes and relationships called, appropriately "Superheroes and Relationships: Keeping the Mystery Alive" Care to tell us about it?
T: Glad to. That's why I'm here. As we all know, being a hero full time's a difficult job. You work long hours for poor pay and run the risk of having your loved ones slaughtered if an unscrupulous villain finds out your secret identity, so its really hard in this day and age find time for a relationship. And when we finally do meet that special someone, we've been out of the game so long that things usually end badly. But fear not, capes! That's what this book's all about.
G: In the book, you call yourself a man with years of experience in the field of seeing other heroes fail at romance.
T: Yep.
G: What do you mean by that?
T: Well, I've seen first hand the problems that other heroes have in meeting that special someone and not screwing up. Why, there's one guy I know who's practically a case study all by himself....
G: Then we'll give you a chance to flex your love muscles by opening up the phone lines. Hello Clark on line one?
Clark: Uhm, hi. I've, uh, got a question for Teckstyle.
T: Go ahead. I'm here to help.
C: Well, see, I work at a newspaper, and there's this girl in the office that I really like who's a reporter like me...
T: But?
C: But its like she never notices me. I try to ask her out and be nice and everything, and she just keeps shooting me down.
T: Sounds like she's interested in another man.
C: Yeah, that's the problem, see. I know she likes a hero who's saved her life a bunch of times. Completely nuts for him. Thing is, that hero she wants to smack lips with is me. What do I do?
T: Ah yes. Workplace romance issues aside, the problems of a secret identity are just so darn many. You might be able to move the Moon out of orbit, but she still thinks you're a schlub.
C: Yeah. Yeah! How did you know?
T: Chapters 3 to 6 of my book cover the pitfalls of secret identities. The problem with your situation is that women love intimacy, and that's a reason to reveal your identity, but they also like a little mystery, which the mask provides. Its a tough call, I'm not gonna lie. Are you pretty serious with this girl?
C: Well, yeah. She's totally in love with my costumed identity.
T: So its serious. Ok. I can tell right now that you're planning on making the big reveal, so let me just say this: Whatever you do, don't tell her in your civilian identity. That never ends well. She'll think it some kind of joke and laugh in your face, and you'll be crying super tears into your super pillow. If you're gonna tell her, do it from your costumed identity. Even if she drops you like you were hot, the look on her face as you take off the mask and she realizes its you will be priceless. Just make sure you know her well enough that she doesn't slap a restraining order on you for stalking her.
G: Ok, next caller, you're in the air.
Flatfoot: Uh, hi. I'm a superhero, saved the city a couple of times, did that whole spiel.
T: So what's your problem Flat?
F: What? Um, my name's not Flat. Flat's my hero. He gets ladies phone numbers. All the time. Really.
T: Then what's your name, not-Flat?
F: Its, uh, Skedaddle. Er.
T: So what seems to be your problem?
F: Well, I'm a superhero, but nobody seems to take me seriously. I'll save a bus full of supermodels from some villains like Nemesis or the Carnies, and they'll just laugh at me when I try to start up a conversation and get their numbers. None of the female heroes I work with ever want to hang out with me off duty. I just don't get it. I'm young, fit, got a good job, but the best I can get out of women is "You're such a nice guy, you'll find someone someday." Well how come if you're so sure I'll find someone, why won't you try to be that someone??
T: Calm down Flat.
F: I'm telling you, I'm not Flat.
T: Calm down not-Flat. Sounds like you've got some serious issues to work through. I take it you fight crime solo a lot, right?
F: ...(sniffs)
T: Caller?
F: (Sniff) Yeah. Nobody really looks for a scrapper to add to their team.
T: You need to exercise your assertiveness. There's no way you're gonna get A-list kind of status and fame if you've got a C-list mentality. Hang out with more teams, beat some arch-villains with them, maybe even lead some teams of your own. If you want more suggestions, look up Chapter 10 of my book, 'Hitting on Teammates Without Getting Beaten Down' Its full of confidence boosting ideas. Caller, you still there?
F: ...(sniffle)
G: Well, that's about all the time we have for today. I'd like to thank Teckstyle for coming in here and shilling his own book.
F: Oh God I'm so lonely! (sniff)
T: I thought he hung up.
G: That's what the dump button's for.
F: Wait, no don't hang u--
G: Stay tuned for news.
Teckstyle: You said 'butt.'
G: And joining me in the studio today is very special guest, Teckstyle.
T: Hiya ladies and germs.
G: Teck, you've just published a book all about superheroes and relationships called, appropriately "Superheroes and Relationships: Keeping the Mystery Alive" Care to tell us about it?
T: Glad to. That's why I'm here. As we all know, being a hero full time's a difficult job. You work long hours for poor pay and run the risk of having your loved ones slaughtered if an unscrupulous villain finds out your secret identity, so its really hard in this day and age find time for a relationship. And when we finally do meet that special someone, we've been out of the game so long that things usually end badly. But fear not, capes! That's what this book's all about.
G: In the book, you call yourself a man with years of experience in the field of seeing other heroes fail at romance.
T: Yep.
G: What do you mean by that?
T: Well, I've seen first hand the problems that other heroes have in meeting that special someone and not screwing up. Why, there's one guy I know who's practically a case study all by himself....
G: Then we'll give you a chance to flex your love muscles by opening up the phone lines. Hello Clark on line one?
Clark: Uhm, hi. I've, uh, got a question for Teckstyle.
T: Go ahead. I'm here to help.
C: Well, see, I work at a newspaper, and there's this girl in the office that I really like who's a reporter like me...
T: But?
C: But its like she never notices me. I try to ask her out and be nice and everything, and she just keeps shooting me down.
T: Sounds like she's interested in another man.
C: Yeah, that's the problem, see. I know she likes a hero who's saved her life a bunch of times. Completely nuts for him. Thing is, that hero she wants to smack lips with is me. What do I do?
T: Ah yes. Workplace romance issues aside, the problems of a secret identity are just so darn many. You might be able to move the Moon out of orbit, but she still thinks you're a schlub.
C: Yeah. Yeah! How did you know?
T: Chapters 3 to 6 of my book cover the pitfalls of secret identities. The problem with your situation is that women love intimacy, and that's a reason to reveal your identity, but they also like a little mystery, which the mask provides. Its a tough call, I'm not gonna lie. Are you pretty serious with this girl?
C: Well, yeah. She's totally in love with my costumed identity.
T: So its serious. Ok. I can tell right now that you're planning on making the big reveal, so let me just say this: Whatever you do, don't tell her in your civilian identity. That never ends well. She'll think it some kind of joke and laugh in your face, and you'll be crying super tears into your super pillow. If you're gonna tell her, do it from your costumed identity. Even if she drops you like you were hot, the look on her face as you take off the mask and she realizes its you will be priceless. Just make sure you know her well enough that she doesn't slap a restraining order on you for stalking her.
G: Ok, next caller, you're in the air.
Flatfoot: Uh, hi. I'm a superhero, saved the city a couple of times, did that whole spiel.
T: So what's your problem Flat?
F: What? Um, my name's not Flat. Flat's my hero. He gets ladies phone numbers. All the time. Really.
T: Then what's your name, not-Flat?
F: Its, uh, Skedaddle. Er.
T: So what seems to be your problem?
F: Well, I'm a superhero, but nobody seems to take me seriously. I'll save a bus full of supermodels from some villains like Nemesis or the Carnies, and they'll just laugh at me when I try to start up a conversation and get their numbers. None of the female heroes I work with ever want to hang out with me off duty. I just don't get it. I'm young, fit, got a good job, but the best I can get out of women is "You're such a nice guy, you'll find someone someday." Well how come if you're so sure I'll find someone, why won't you try to be that someone??
T: Calm down Flat.
F: I'm telling you, I'm not Flat.
T: Calm down not-Flat. Sounds like you've got some serious issues to work through. I take it you fight crime solo a lot, right?
F: ...(sniffs)
T: Caller?
F: (Sniff) Yeah. Nobody really looks for a scrapper to add to their team.
T: You need to exercise your assertiveness. There's no way you're gonna get A-list kind of status and fame if you've got a C-list mentality. Hang out with more teams, beat some arch-villains with them, maybe even lead some teams of your own. If you want more suggestions, look up Chapter 10 of my book, 'Hitting on Teammates Without Getting Beaten Down' Its full of confidence boosting ideas. Caller, you still there?
F: ...(sniffle)
G: Well, that's about all the time we have for today. I'd like to thank Teckstyle for coming in here and shilling his own book.
F: Oh God I'm so lonely! (sniff)
T: I thought he hung up.
G: That's what the dump button's for.
F: Wait, no don't hang u--
G: Stay tuned for news.
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