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."