This is what happens when I get bored... (humor)

Like the subject says, I got bored one day and wrote this. Since the Champion forums are a fun-loving bunch, I figured you guys might get a kick out of it. Behold...the Adventures of Flat & Teck!

“What’s he doing now?” asks Flatfoot. Just seconds ago, a golden blur heralded his arrival under the pavilion. Flatfoot wears a simple blue costume with yellow lightning bolts and shoulder pads, a large letter F emblazoned on his chest. He hands a coffee cup to Teckstyle.
“Still standing there,” the man in the red and yellow armor says. The subject in question is a solitary troll standing on a bridge over the Red River. The two heroes had decided to camp out in the pavilion on one end of the bridge, largely for the shade.
“Mind if I ask a question?” Flatfoot says after a moment of silence.
“What?”
“How do you drink coffee through that helmet?”
In response, a small circle opens up where the mouth would be, and a small metal straw pokes out. Teckstyle holds the cup up to the straw and takes a sip.
“Ah, clever.”
A strange gurgling sound comes from within the helmet, followed by a fit of coughing.
“You all right?”
“Too…hot…” Teckstyle manages.
“Oh, sorry about that, see, moving at super speed is a really great way of warming stuff up thanks to friction, so your double shot latte there is hotter than it was in the spigot. I figured you’d know about that, being a scientist and all.”
“What makes you think I’m a scientist?”
“Well you got that…suit there that flies around and shoots…stuff.”
“Its called energy.”
“What kind of energy?”
“Eh, you know, blue.”
“…You don’t know do you? And you call yourself a scientist," Flat snorts.
“I never said I was a scientist.”
Flatfoot scowls. “You aren’t very good at this ‘mentoring’ thing, are you?”
“I’ve only been at this for a month longer than you.”
Flatfoot looks over to the troll, still standing there. “Hey, you wanna hear my secret origin?”
“No.” Teckstyle says flatly, taking a sip from the cooling coffee.
“Well, I’m bored, so too bad. See, it all started about a month and a half ago. There was this one hero, guy calling himself Flatfoot who super speed and reflexes from a lightning strike, so he did the obvious thing, put on tights and go arrest people, right? So some scientist buddy of his hooks him up with a pair of shoulder pads,” Flatfoot taps his own shoulder. “The pads helped him focus his speed powers better, so he could run really fast. Anyway, this guy fought crime for a while, right, then lightning struck twice, literally when he pushed me, a regular Joe out of the way of an oncoming car. One explosion later, all that was left of this first Flatfoot were his shoulder pads, and I got super speed. Are you even listening to me?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah. So you became a hero to honor his memory or something.”
“Well, yeah, that’s one of the reasons. I’m also in it for the large free bags of cash.”
“Large…free…bags…?”
Flatfoot offers him his license. “See, its all right there on my ID card.”
“So why’d you even bother telling me all this?” refusing to take the card.
“Like I said, I’m bored, and its not like anything else is going on. So what’s your origin?”
“Top secret. If I told you, I’d have to kill you, and its not worth the red tape. Very complicated.”
“Aw, c’mon. At least tell me why the name. I mean, when I think of “textiles” I think of flax.”
“Can it, sidekick, someone’s going up to our mark.”
“You…you just called me ‘sidekick’,” Flatfoot beams.
“Yeah, yeah. See that, I told you this troll was a pusher, look at that, some fool in tights is probably trying to get an ‘edge’ in his fight on crime.” Teckstyle shakes his head. “Shameful.”
“Well, we’d better get over there and put a stop to it, right? We see crime and we stop it, that’s the procedure.”
“Yep, power up, we’re going in.”
A few seconds later, the two heroes charge out of the pavilion, a blast of energy flooring the confused hero and a swift kick to the head brings down the troll. “Just say no to Superadine, got it?!” shouts Flatfoot triumphantly.
“What you doing?” the troll grunts from beneath. A name tag on his vest reads “Hello, my name is Julius.” “Me report this to your supervisor!” The nameless hero has by now fled screaming.
“Er, you mean you’re not pushing superadine on the unsuspecting heroes of Paragon City?” Teckstyle asks hesitantly.
“No! Me not like other trolls. Me hate Atta. Me hate Superadine.”
“Oh,” Flatfoot and Tecksyle grunt, not making eye contact with Julius.

Ten minutes later, after a police drone escort, the two heroes stand sheepishly in front of Lt. Dave Wincott, head of the trolls task force.
“And there you have it, Sir,” Teckstyle says. “That’s what happened.”
“We’re, uh, really sorry about the mix up.”
“Gentlemen, I just don’t know what to say. Julius has been on of the Hollows’ most stalwart sources of information. I’m just relieved he’s decided to forgive this little ‘incident’.” Wincott says, glowering through his sunglasses.
“Would a letter of apology help?”
“No.” Wincott glares. “Besides, I don’t think Julius can read,” he adds. “Of course, you realize, you’re going to be punished.”
The two heroes nod slowly.
“Now, Flatfoot, You’re already in hot water for trying to arrest Flux-”
“He was dressed as an Outcast!”
“He’s supposed to, he’s undercover! And Teckstyle, you caused quite the ruckus by setting off an alpha strike under the Atlas Statue.”
“Hey, I tripped-”
“Miss Liberty’s costume was almost blown off.”
“Heh, that was pretty funny-I mean, um, sorry.” Teckstyle says, stifling a laugh.
Wincott shakes his head. “Gentlemen, Freedom Corps. has asked that you two be put on double secret probation.”
“Can they do that?” Flatfoot whispers to Teckstyle, who shrugs.
“Double secret probation!” Wincott says again, louder. “That means I’m remanding you to community service.”
“Aww man…,” Flatfoot groans. “…Wait a minute, isn’t that what we’re doing already?”
Lt. Wincott rubs his temples for a moment. “Together, I mean. Here’s a list of things to do. You will be monitored at all times. Get started, and get out of the Hollows.”
As the two heroes walk away from the Hollows, Teckstyle looks at his new partner in crime fighting. “Remind me never, ever to go to the Hollows again.”
Flatfoot looks at the list. “Oh no…”
“What?”
“We have to patrol Galaxy City for Vazhilok activity.”
“You’re kidding…”
“Nope. Then we have to defeat five Hellions.”
“Well that doesn’t sound so bad…”
“And then we have to do that again. For six pages.”
“Ouch. How many pages is it, Flat?”
Flatfoot flips through the list faster than the normal eye can read. “A hundred and six.”
Teckstyle begins to smack his fist against his helmet repeatedly.
“So, since we’ve got time now Teck, can I call you Teck? Howabout laying that secret origin on me?”
“Oh shut up.”

Good one. Gave me a chuckle.

"What kind of energy?"

Awesome. Nice work.

I, umm....I'm flattered

Dude! You've finally posted. Awesome.

i see flat made a story....i see teck put up a post....lol wuts up dudes and im shocked and appalled that u didnt include me

SHOWTIME"s SMURF:
Valfore- 50 stone/stone tank *SHOWTIMES Meat Shield
Baiten-50 Ma/Sr XPP01's Target Practice (TBP SG)
Brute.- 50 Invun/Ss (TBP SG)
Vulcan.-50 Fire/Ice SHOWTIME's Food Supply
Llana Mei - 50 Invun/fire * Officially SHOWTIME's Debt Manager "thx to Snazzys dedicated efforts of stayin in debt"

thats cause they saw your avatar and saw how you babysit kids

I guess you have to wait 'til he gets bored again.

Fun story there, Flatfoot!

come on! when's the next one! i want more

Liked it.

Because only ha handful demanded it...the next installment of Flat & Teck, which is actually the first installment, when taken chronologically. Isn't time travel fun!? (Oh, and Baiten, because you demanded it, you will be in an upcoming one)

Flat & Teck, Lost in Kings Row

Paragon City, the bright shining jewel of Rhode Island. The City of Heroes. In the Kings Row district of the city, a lone scrapper doesn’t seem to be feeling the full majesty of a city filled with superheroes.
In fact, he’s not happy at all. He’s just spent the last hour looking for members of one of the city’s many villain factions; in this case, the Lost. The trouble is, he’s never seen them before. In the mean time, he’s run around fighting Skulls, Circle of Thorns, and Clockwork, all the while interrogating them for the wherabouts of the Lost. So far, all he’s managed to find out is that the Lost were basically a street gang of homeless people who liked to wear trash can lids and stop signs over their flannel shirts.
Somehow, Flatfoot didn’t envision that when he first got into costume. He figured he’d be out, oh, saving the world from cosmic threats or something.
When he first got this mission, he decided to go to the local trainer, Blue Steel and ask him if he knew where the Lost were in Kings Row. The veteran, while polite, made it clear he felt the best way to do that was through good old fashioned leg work. So he went over to a group of heroes standing around nearby.
“Hey, uh, I hate to bother you, but can you tell me where the Lost are in Kings Row?”
The first of those heroes to stop laughing long enough to respond was a giant fiery mountain of a tank. “Don’t delude yourself, kid. Nobody knows where they are, that’s why they’re called ‘Lost’.”
“Don’t listen to him,” said a willowy blaster crackling with electricity. “You first have to go over to the northwest corner of the zone, right by the war wall, then climb to the top of the tallest building of the closest block, then jump off. Repeat five times and they’ll show up. Don’t ask me why, but they will.”
Flatfoot gave them a polite little salute, thanked them, and hurried over to do as the veteran hero suggested. After two trips to the hospital, he decided that maybe he should leave that Circle of Thorns coven alone on top of that building.
So after kicking out a few thugs to make him feel better, Flatfoot sits at the bus station near the Independence Port gate, sulking. From over a wall, he hears the sound of somebody ranting about the time being nigh.
Curious, because nobody in their right mind uses the phrase “the time is nigh,” Flatfoot peeks over the wall to see a large lumpy man with a bad rash and a broken television set on his head standing on a worn old box. He is surrounded by three smaller men in ratty clothes, all paying reverent attention to his words. One of them happens to look his way.
“Hi guys, you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions for me, would you?” Flatfoot asks, vaulting over the wall.
“Intruders!” their leader shouts. “Get him!” Immediately the three followers charge the hero, swinging pipes and hammers.
“Well, since you’re dressed like the less fortunate members of our society and your first words were ‘Get them!’ and not ‘Hey bub, got a quarter?’, I’m going to assume that you’re the Lost.”
Flatfoot easily dodges the clumsy swings of the smaller thugs, taking them out with a few well-placed kicks. “Oh come on, guys, I’ve got super reflexes here. You’re gonna have to try harder than that.” He turns to see their leader, who is now brandishing a very large single edged sword. The edge glows green with energy. “How did I miss that earlier?”
The headman swings, Flatfoot miscalculates his dodge, the blow connects, and the hero goes flying over the wall and into the bus stop.
Flatfoot struggles to his feet. “Oww!” he says, watching the headman jump over the wall.
“Hey, punk, watch where you’re landing,” says a blaster standing by the bus stop. “You’re getting dust all over.” This other hero wears a suit of red armor with a lightning bolt on his chest. His face is covered by a helmet. He looks over to the Lost member. “Need help?”
“Nah, I got him,” Flatfoot says, dusting himself off and charging back into the fray.
A few seconds later, the scrapper goes flying across the street and into the side of a dumpster. The blaster sighs and raises his fists, sending a torrent of blue energy flying at the headman, who obligingly goes flying into the wall behind him, then slumps to the ground.
“Told ya I coulda’ taken ‘im,” Flatfoot slurs from the dumpster. “Just gotta clear my head first.”
“He’s down.”
“Oh. Well. That works too,” Flat says, his senses clearing quickly. “Thanks, I guess.”
“No problem. Name’s Teckstyle.”
“Flatfoot.”
Teckstyle looks at the scrapper for a few seconds as though making up his mind. “Say, I’m looking for a meat shield, er, sidekick to help me out with a few missions. Interested?”
“What’s in it for me?”
“Long range fire support.”
“Hmm. Deal.”
“Sucker.”
“What?”
Teckstyle gives him a lollipop. “Sucker?”
“Oh. Thank you.” Flatfoot says, unwrapping it.
“Yeah, some crazy lady gave it to me after I rescued her from some rock monsters.”
“So where too?”
“Ever hear of the Hollows?”
“Yeah, big hole in the ground filled with things that hate me.”
“Ever hear of a thug named Frostfire?”
“I think so. A big name in the Outcasts. Has a base swarming with followers.”
“Its also got an ice slide inside.”
“Ooo! A slide!”

(Oh, and Baiten, because you demanded it, you will be in an upcoming one)

YEAH! are we getting scolded by Big b, the meat hammer?

I am definitely hooked on these two characters. They're so fun!

but...we actually exist and this is how our games usually go... Tell em flatso.

A slide!

That is the only fun thing about Frost Fire...that thing sure is fun to play on once the place has been cleared out.

Nicely done.

[ QUOTE ]
A slide!

That is the only fun thing about Frost Fire...that thing sure is fun to play on once the place has been cleared out.

[/ QUOTE ]
It's also fun to "possess" Frostfire himself and have him sic his pets on his own friends. Mwahaha!

Oh, we definitely do exist, and while a lot of this stuff is purely made up, the behavior in-game is pretty much exact. In short; this is how we roll.

Now back to your irregularly scheduled continuity...

Pt 3 Wing Night

“Well, that’s the last thing on the list,” Flatfoot says, crossing off the final task on his and Teckstyle’s community service sheet. “Though I can’t really see what was so valuable about that piece of artwork.”
“What do you mean,” Asks Teckstyle. “It had to be. That’s why the Family stole it.”
“I dunno, I guess its just the subjective nature of art, but I just can’t get excited about protecting a minimalist postmodern collection of scribbles.”
“Would you prefer it had scantily clad women on it?”
“…Maybe.”
“Well I would.”
“I noticed,” says Flat. “I saw you eying Luminary.”
“Was it that obvious?” Teck asks.
“Definitely. Though I’d stay away from her if I were you.”
“Why?” Teck asks defensively.
“Dude, she’s a robot.”
“What? I don’t believe you.”
“How do you not know this? She’s with that Citadel guy. He didn’t look too happy with the way you were acting.”
“Wow, I never knew…”
“Sure,” Flat says, then adds under his breath, “Robo-philiac.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Hey, look over there,” Teck says, pointing to a group of uniformed men. “Sky Raiders.”
“Who’re they?”
“Mercenaries. They fly around with jetpacks.”
“Why do their helmets look like-?”
“Look at them, making some kind of dirty deal with one of the Family. We’ve got to stop it!”
Teckstyle takes aim at the Family member. A few seconds later, he lies sprawled on the ground, the Sky Raiders drawing their guns.
“Don’t worry, I got ‘em,” Flat says, wading into the mercenaries. “Geez guys, who dresses you?” he asks them.
“Your mama!” their leader snarls.
“Oh snap!” Flatfoot shouts and immediately turns on him, reigning blow after blow on the Sky Raider. He’s so focused he doesn’t even notice Teckstyle taking out the rest with wave after wave of energy.
The Sky Raider captain, dazed and bleeding from the nose, takes to the air over the water in an attempt to escape. Flatfoot looks up at the retreating mercenary, a funny look in his eyes.
“I’m taking it,” He says, jumping into the water after him.
“Take what?” Teck shouts after him.
“His backpack! Flat’s gonna fly tonight!”
“Wait,” Teck calls. “It won’t work for you!” Too late, the scrapper is out of earshot. “Idiot,” Teckstyle mutters and flies after him.
Naturally, Flatfoot fails to catch the flying crook, who has by now flown all the way across Independence Port. Flat stops swimming when he realizes he’s not going to catch the Sky Raider, then thinks about what to do next.
“Funny, the water doesn’t seem so deep around here,” he says, feet touching something solid. “Hey, wait, that’s not right.”
The water bubbles and boils around him as a gigantic shape rises out of the water, followed by four enormous tentacles.
One of the tentacles grabs Flatfoot off the octopus’ head and dangles him in front of one huge, black eye. “Um. Hi?” Flat tries. In response the tentacle begins shaking him violently.
“Oh God, its gonna eat me!” the scrapper shouts.
Teckstyle sees the octopus rising out of the water, sighs, and flies toward it. He can see other heroes flying, jumping, speeding and even teleporting to the monster.
“Octopus spotted in Indy Port!” calls one controller, the first one there.
“Roger, on my way,” answers a defender.
“Hey, what’s that scrapper doing up there?” asks a tanker.
“What every scrapper should be doing, fighting like there’s no tomorrow,” a scrapper answers. “You show him who’s boss!” she shouts up at Flatfoot.
“Actually, I think he’s screaming like a little girl,” the defender says. “Oh, wait, he’s stopped now. Hmm, now he’s just dangling there.”
Teckstyle and an army of other heroes arrive. “Right, take out the tentacle around the idiot first.”
An incredible amount of firepower is directed toward the tentacle grasping Flatfoot connects, causing the octopus to cry out in agony, drop the scrapper, and sink back down to the depths.
“Quick, bubble him before he drowns,” grunts the tanker. The controller nods and surrounds Flatfoot in a soapy green force field. Flat, for his part, floats unconsciously away from the fracas.
“Stay alert,” the defender says. “That thing’ll be back”
A few minutes later, the octopus is down, the waters are still again, and Flatfoot’s bubble washes ashore. He wakes up, coughs, and looks around. A Hero Corp. field analyst stands near him, smiling.
“Um, hello,” Flat says. “Why am I in a glowing hamster ball?”
“Oh, that’s a force field. Some controller must’ve put it on you.”
“Is…is it permanent?”
“No, it’ll run out eventually. Here,” she says, handing him a small metal disc.
“What’s this?”
“A badge for helping to save the city from that horrible monster. Its our little way of saying ‘thanks’. Positive reinforcement, and all that.”
“Oh, thank you,” Flat says, accepting the disc. The Hero Corp. analyst walks away.
Flat feels around for a pocket. “Hey wait, where do I keep this?”

[ QUOTE ]
“Actually, I think he’s screaming like a little girl,” the defender says. “Oh, wait, he’s stopped now."

[/ QUOTE ]

That was way to funny to read at midnight.
This place finally quieted down and I'm choking trying not to start laughing like a mad man.

These are great, I look forward to reading a few more.
Hopefully when I can laugh like a loon and they'll just think I'm nutz, not a total jerk.

Great stuff Flat, I know teck

I like when you're bored.

And just when you thought it was over....


Round Two, Fight!

“Welcome…to the Arena!” Flatfoot says, opening his arms wide, smiling broadly. The effect is slightly defeated by the bright blue hat on his head stamped with the Arena’s logo.
The Arenas of Paragon City were built for one specific purpose, for heroes to “test their skills” against their peers. In other words, it’s an officially sanctioned place for heroes to beat the tar out of each other.
“Um…thank you,” says the scrapper standing in front of the front desk.
“How can I help you?” Flatfoot asks cheerfully, the smile on his face looks pained.
The scrapper scratches his head. “What are you doing here? I thought they only employed civilians here?”
Flatfoot’s smile falters for a bit. “Well, under, um, certain circumstances, exceptions can be made.”
“Community service again?”
“Yeah.”
“Ok…I guess. I’ll have four catch-a-breaths and, oh what the hell, a hover pack.”
Flatfoot nods and reaches below the desk, pulling out a large metal object with shoulder straps. It lands on the desk with a thump. Next to it, he puts a small blue box of what look like pills. “Will there be anything else, Baiten?”
With a grunt, he hefts the backpack. “No, that’ll be all. See you around, Flat,” he says, taking the blues, and leaves.
“Then have a great day!” Flatfoot practically shouts to the retreating scrapper. As soon as he’s out of sight, the smile drops. He looks over to a clock, sighs in relief, and yanks the hat off. Then he speeds over to another side of the Arena, where another, identical desk complex sits. Standing behind the counter is Teckstyle. An identical hat is sitting on top of his helmet.
“Welcome…to the-Oh, its you.” He says.
“Sup Teck. Man, this place is dead today.”
“What’re you doing over here?”
“My shift’s over.”
“How do you get a shorter shift?”
“I plead scrapperlock,” Flat shrugs.
“Scrapperlock? You call refusing to return a jet pack, Arena property, and then running out of building screaming “Peter, I can fly” scrapperlock?”
“I didn’t know it wouldn’t work outside.”
“They had to send Synapse after you, and he was none too happy to chase you down.” Teck shouts.
“Guy’s got a mean right hook,” Flat says. “Like you’re one to be pointing fingers, Mr. Spends All His Arena Time Trying To Pants Every Tanker You See. You’re a disgrace to the medical profession.”
“I’m NOT a doctor!”
“Not with that attitude you won’t be.”
“Look, for the last time-”
“Excuse me,” says a new voice.
“What?” asks Flatfoot.
“Welcome…to the Arena,” Teckstyle says, spreading his arms wide.
“I’m looking for Mr. Flatfoot,” says the intruder, a short blond scrapper wearing a yellow and blue outfit, with big goggles and shoulder pads disturbingly similar to Flatfoot’s.
“Right there,” Teckstyle says, pointing to Flat.
The shorter scrapper salutes. “How do you do, Mr. Flatfoot. I’m your official plucky teen sidekick!”
“My God, they’re multiplying…” Teckstyle says in horror.
Flatfoot’s mouth hangs open in shock.
“Foes of justice everywhere will come to fear the name of…Kid Flatfoot!” the sidekick says, raising a fist to the heavens.
Flat looks around the lobby. “Is this some kind of candid camera show I don’t know about?” He looks helplessly to Teckstyle, who is doubled over laughing.
Kid Flatfoot grabs Flat’s wrist and starts pulling him toward the door. “Come on, we can't dawdle! There’s a city out there that needs our help!”
“Help me!” mouths Flatfoot as he’s being dragged out the door.
“Hey, you wanna hear my secret origin?”

Oh my goodness! This was soooo funny that I had to take a few breaths to keep myself from passing out. Keep these coming man!

I was entertaining the thought of /friend-ing Flatfoot and Teckstyle and sta— er... running into them in Paragon City. Does that make me a plucky teen sidekick?

[ QUOTE ]
Oh my goodness! This was soooo funny that I had to take a few breaths to keep myself from passing out. Keep these coming man!

[/ QUOTE ]
Ditto, ditto!

Flat & Teck Episode 05 Freaks and Geeks

“So whatever happened to your plucky teen sidekick?” Teckstyle asks as he and Flatfoot walk through the streets of Talos Island.
“What him? Kid wouldn’t shut up. Kept babbling about this and that,” Flat shrugs.
“You don’t say.”
“Anyway, I wound up seeing him last in Faultline. There was, um, a bomb. Yeah. A bomb I had to diffuse. Right away. Fate of the city rested on it. Couldn’t wait for him to get out of the cracks. Very urgent.” Flatfoot says quickly.
“Wait, wait.” Teck raises a hand to shut him up. “You mean to tell me you ditched a rookie who can’t fly. In Faultline?”
“He knew the risks,” Flat bristles. “It’s a dangerous business. And you, or anyone else, can’t prove otherwise.”
Teck shuffles uncomfortably. “This disguise is really heavy, you know.”
“What disguise? It’s a big pair of sheet metal shoulder pads and a collar! You’ve got a Mohawk taped to your helmet!”
“So?”
“So?! So what kind of idiot would fall for that disguise?” Flat demands.
“Well, we are talking about the Freakshow here.” Teck says, pointing to a member of said group standing next to a door. “I mean, look at him. He’s replaced his arms with pneumatic hammers. You can’t hug with pneumatic hammers!”
“Or eat or take care of…you know.” Flat adds.
“Exactly my point. Now shut up and get in character, we’re here.”
“Who’s dere?” asks the Freak.
“My name’s SHAZB0T, this is W00t.”
“W00t,” Flatfoot says.
“Ok, in ya go,” the Freak says, knocking on the door with one of his hammer arms. A latch opens it from inside. The two heroes stride in.
“W00t,” Flat glares at a lowly thug.
“See? Cakewalk,” Teck reassures.
“Sure are a lot of them in here.”
“Hey, your collar looks a little loose…”
“What?” Flat reaches up and starts to adjust it. “Thanks, wouldn’t want it to-”
The twisted metal crashes loudly to the ground. The nearby Freakshow look up and glare. Some raise guns.
“This means we have to resort to violence, right?” Flat asks, turning to the Freaks.
“Yes.”
“Good. I like resorting to violence.”
Minutes later, all of the Freakshow lie on the ground in varying states of pain.
“Well, that went easily,” Flat says, wiping his palms.
Teck doesn’t hear him. Instead, he’s looking inside a crate some of the Freaks were protecting.
“Hey Flat, check out this thing I found.”
“What is it?”
“I dunno,” Teck says, pulling out a large metal staff with a rotating disk on the end. It whirs and steam escapes from it menacingly.
Eyes on the staff, both heroes fail to notice a Freak Tank rising up from the ground.
“Look out!” Flat yells, dodging an explosive shell. Teck points the staff at the tank instinctively, and closes his eyes behind his helmet.
A loud whoosh of air, followed by the sound of metal making an unusual splatting sound.
“Oh,” Flat says, first to look up. “Oh my. That-that tank just went through the wall.”
“I’m keeping it.”
“Is, uh, is there another of those in there?”
“No.”
“Oh. Can I hold it for a second?”
“No! Get your own!”
“But you just said there wasn’t one.” Flat pleads.
“I don’t care.”
“Aww, come on,” Flat says, taking a step forward.
“If you take one step closer, I swear I’ll use it.” Teck warns.
“You’re serious aren’t you?”
“Step away from the weapon!”
“Ok. Fine. I didn’t wanna touch it anyway. Be that way.”

Keep your hands off Teck's staff!