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!?”
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