The 99th Platoon – The FlatFeet Saga
Act Two: Operation FlatFeet


(A/N Welcome to the end of the FlatFeet Saga, Act 2. Here the hunt for the beast FlatFeet ends, and the Platoon realises just how far they will have to go to save their friend. This final chapter, also long, deals with the technical side of things, as you shall see, in dealing with the Omega virus. For now, I bit you farewell. This is where this story slips away from the practical and into the metaphysical…as you shall see. Now that hopefully I have enticed you to read on what will most probably be the longest section of the saga, I bid you adieu. Till we meet again. ~G.A.Pap.)

Chapter 12: Quarantine

When Mon slowly awoke the only other person in what was unmistakably a hospital room the local Chaplin, a Brown Squirrel named Boccardo, giving the last rites. Mon took a moment to see all the machinery he was plugged to, and the large amount of blood on his bandaged stomach, before he gently alerted the Chaplin to his presence with a cough, a cough that suddenly brought all the pain that had gone missing back to him. He moaned.
Boccardo was amazed. He said something quickly to the young medic but Mon heard it from afar. He faded out again…

When Mon came too again he saw rows of familiar faces.
Sarge, Oreos and Chael looked deadly serious. Pyst and Squeaky had wide grins on their faces. Dark and Stealth stood by the door, solemn. Ricy was eating the hospital food as fast as he could. Deja helped prop Mon up on a pillow. Standing behind her were Snickers and WWW, the latter looking far more…civilized. Blaze and Ajax had just walked in, carrying two 'Get well soon' balloons. Using a magic marker they had added: Ya lucky bastard! To Mon's surprise he saw RedStorm and Eric Cartman also there waiting for his recovery. Twisted and CoolGuy were talking to the nurse, trying to explain what they were all doing here.

"You.... probably want to know.... what happened..." Mon rasped. A smile crept around the room as he said that.
Rapid questions were fired, a mix of topics ranging from what had happened in the woods, to his state of health. At long last Sarge came forward and stared directly into Mon's eyes.
"Soldier…what happened?"
Deja helped Mon have a sip of water. Feeling refreshed the Medic began his tale…

"I broke away from everyone and went looking for FlatFeet. He was nowhere to be seen but had left a trail…a trail of blood. I kept following that trail and the forest got thicker but eventually I was lost and the trail had gone cold. I tried to retrace it but I ended up more lost than found."
Mon began sputtering, his words coming out in between harsh coughs.
"Eventually…that…bastard found me. He just came out of nowhere, out of the ******* blue... and finally, one thing…" Mon began coughing terribly, a small trickle of blood running down his cheek. A burly nurse tried to force the Platoon out.
"No! Dammit…" Mon yelled. The nurse stopped, but stayed in the room with a sour expression on her face. Mon continued.
"On thing led to another and he had my neck pinned... to a tree and my…torso immobilised…with his other…hand. I had trouble breathing…and…but…he seemed to be having trouble of his own. I recon that our FlatFeet was... fighting against that monster inside him…" He wiped off the blood that was dribbling out of the corners of his mouth and had a sip of water.
"At last I finally managed to say 'Cherry' and that seemed to do the trick… He hesitated when he heard his dead wife's name… It gave my arms enough space to grab the serum from my pocket and jab his arm. That made him...angry… He leaned back and…" Mon fell back on his pillow, exhausted, his body starting to convulse with each cough.
A grey silence hung in the room.
"They said you were going to die," Twisted said.
"You were messed up pretty good," Ajax added.
"Oh...ye of little...Faith…" smirked Mon. "How bad... was I?"
The nurse came forward.
"Your ribs were broken. You had small ruptures in you kidneys and liver and…" she rambled on for a bit. Mon's bushy eyebrows were raised in surprise.
"Damn...how long was I here?"
"Four weeks," CoolGuy said.
Everyone stopped speaking. They seemed hesitant. Mon knew. They were hiding something.
"You're not telling me something..."
Sarge cleared his throat.
"Mon, you did a real fine job. Risked you life for FlatFeet, showed true bravery and-"
"What is it?"
Sarge ran his tongue round his teeth, a motion that showed a confession was coming.
"The serum didn't work…entirely. His body is back to normal but his mind…is still part animal…"

_-=~~**~~=-_

*beep*
*beep*
*beep*

"Woah...what the hell is that?" Mon asked from the comfort of his wheel chair. He was to stay in the chair till he fully recovered.

*beep*
*beep*

"FlatFeet." It was Chael.

*beep*
*beep*

"Yeah," Chael continued, "he's in suspended animation. The jelly keeps him upright in one place and the mask lets him breathe. A little invention of mine in case we ever hauled in a live one."

*beep*
*beep*
*beep*

"His heart's the beep. Keepin' an eye on his vitals."
FlatFeet was suspended in an orange jelly like substance, upright in a glass tube. Computer screens were set up all around him and needles poked his skin, extracting the information and delivering the necessary items to survive.
"It's lucky that after Operation: FlatFeet, the Agency's put us back on its payroll…"
"And gave us all a promotion," Mon added.
"We'd never be able to access these facilities on our own," Chael finished.
They stared at their immobile friend.
"And now?" Mon asked. Chael sighed.
"Now we wait..."

-Two weeks later-

*beep*
*beep*

A telephone's ring sliced through the still air. Chael and WWW who had been keeping an eye on FlatFeet jumped six inches off their chairs. They had fallen asleep. Rubbing his eyes with his paws Chael picked up the phone. WWW yawned and scratched his belly.
"This is C branch," he yawned, "Who's this?"
"Hello. My name is Dr. Wesley Robonovich. I believe a certain..." he paused and the sound of cards being shuffled through was heard, "Capt. Rico Rodriguez wanted to contact me. I believe you have a patient that you would like me to see."
Chael snapped upright.
"Please hold!" He leapt out of his chair and slammed his paw on the door release. His shoes were heard slapping along the linoleum before WWW even had time to ask:
"Who is it?" With Chael already far ahead, he had no choice but to grudgingly trudge after him.
Chael dashed through the Platoon's reinstated HQ knocking on the Bunker bedroom doors as he went. Sleepy eyed faces peered out of doorways. Even Dark looked sleepy.
"What?" CoolGuy rasped. He swung on his shades. Twisted, his roommate, shrugged and went back to bed.
Chael made it to Sarge's door. He burst in. Sarge sat upright and fired two rounds from the Dostovei hidden under his pillow. Chael froze as pieces of plaster rained down on his forehead.
"You need to work on your aim."
"It sure as hell better be good! If I come a little closer it isn't gonna miss, know what I'm saying!?"
Chael tossed Sarge the phone.
"It's the Doc."
A pause.
"The Doc?!"
"Yeah."
Sarge put the phone to his ear and cleared his throat.
"Rodriguez here."
The voice that replied had a hint of an accent. At three in the morning Sarge couldn't place it. Weasel though, that much was certain.
"Ah, Mr. Rodriguez. I'm calling regarding a phone call that was patched through to my office. I understand you have a patient that needs...special treatment..."
"Yeah - special treatment."
"Hmmm...you know who employ's both you and I Mr. Rodriguez?"
Sarge lowered his voice to a whisper.
"Conker T. Squirrel, Head of the Agency."
"Hmm…the reply is satisfactory. Go ahead. Tell me what's wrong."
"Is this line secure?"
"Yes."
"One of my soldiers: Joshua 'FlatFeet' Evans..." Sarge was interrupted.
"Husband to Cherry Evans? I heard about that one. Sorry, for what it is worth."
"Yes. Thanks I guess… On recent mission codenamed ::Total War:: FlatFeet contracted the Omega Virus."
The Professor sucked air through his teeth.
"That's a nasty one that is..."
"His handiwork is scattered round the country side."
"I watch the news Mr. Rodriguez."
"Did you also hear on the grape vine that we administered the 'antidote'?"
"Indeed."
"FlatFeet's body was returned to normal. But his mind is still part animal. He needs your...special treatment...to get back again."
"Where is he contained?"
"Suspended animation - C branch."
"Hmmm…" The sounds of a pencil scribbling on paper were heard, then... "Alright. I shall be there tomorrow. 0930 hours sharp. You and your men get a good night's rest. The process takes it toll on both body and mind."
"0930."
"Till tomorrow Mr. Rodriguez."

_-=~~**~~=-_
 
The Platoon were relatively lucky as to where they were placed at HQ. The double-digit, which at first was just a choice of fate, now meant how close they were to the top - one stage from the double 0's of Britain.
They were also only 5 floors below the surface, a simple elevator leading above ground to the training grounds hidden behind the 'Pedestrian Pavement Authorities'.
Conker thought of the place. Blame him.
Upon entering the building your body is x-rayed, revealing any weapons you may be carrying. The Professor came up on the screen clean. Level Alpha let him through.
Secondly your retinas are scanned - the only signature mark that is inerasable. It is the only thing The Agency uses to confirm your identity. The Professor checked out. The Beta doors slid open with a pressurized hiss. He came to the last section before The Lift. Section Gamma.
This section is completely empty and was once an airlock used once in a scrapped space program. If you act suspicious or come up 'dirty' on the other two scans here you are lured, trapped and the space is turned into a vacuum.
Messy.

The Professor walked on through, people around here knew him. He spoke out to the Squirrel in charge of The Lift.
"Take me to the 99th."
The Lift Operator nodded. He had strict orders to ask no questions and let the Professor go ahead with his...special treatment. They both stepped into the elevator. With a soft *ping!* the doors shut.

The elevator doors slid open with yet another *ping!* The Lift Operator stretched a hand towards the corridor. The Professor nodded, lifted his black suitcase and walked out the door.
Instantly a shadowy figure flipped down from the ceiling. Stealth looked the Professor up and down, nodded and began leading the way to C Branch. The Lift returned to the top floor.
The Platoon had been assembled. They weren't cutting any slack this time. FlatFeet's life was on the line.
The Professor went straight to Chael.
"Have you set up the machinery I asked for?"
Chael nodded, indicating the chairs set up in a circular fashion around FlatFeet's tank. Cables were running from FlatFeet's brain to each and every chair. It was a rushed job, but it would do.
The Professor took the floor.

"What we are about to do has only been tried on one other occasion...with disastrous results."
Somebody swallowed loudly.
"Perhaps some of you are unaware of my method of treatment...Mr. Evans can only be cured from the inside out."
Somebody raised a hand. "And how do we do that?"
"We, all of us, will be...inserted into Mr. Evans' unconscious."
"Oh," somebody mumbled, "Is that all?"
The Prof. sneered.
"There is more...Mr. Evans' mind now is in a terrible state...torn between two personalities. In his mind, he controls everything. Down to basic things, like the Laws of Physics...He can literally manifest whatever he feels like. This is where the danger is. These 'manifestations' will appear so real...that should we believe them we may receive physical harm...'
"Yeah, but isn't it like a video game? You press restart and it's back to square one?"
"No," the Prof. shook his head, "Not at all. If for one second you are absorbed by the power of these images you have two options. The first is to fight back with our own 'projections'. In this case they will include weapons. The second is to attempt to shake Mr. Evans' control over our minds. However should you receive harm...your mind will be so convinced that it is real...that your bodies shall be damaged here, for real. And should you...die...well. The body cannot exist without the mind..."

There was a piercing silence. Sarge got up.
"I'm going. It's dangerous; we've seen worse. It's scary; we've seen it before. It's FlatFeet; we leave no man behind…"
The Platoon nodded in agreement. Sarge turned to face the Professor.
"Load us up."

The soldier's that would be coming sat on the chairs as they felt the sensors pierce their skin, ready to transfer them into FlatFeet's mind… The Professor looked round at them all. He could only hope they would all come out again.

He flipped the switch.