As Flat regained his consciousness, Greasy Malone was sitting across from him. "Don't bother, Private Eye Flat Flanagan. You're all tied up and aboard my personal zepplin. There's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Jig's up, Flanagan." Flat laughed, "And to think the Big Cheese himself would have all this just for one grey-eyed gumshoe. Must be hitting the giggle water much too hard there, Greasy Malone.. 'cause you've gotten sloppy." Said Flat, slipping his ropes off and decking Greasy Malone in the face and running into the zepplin's hallway.
Flat decked a brusier wearing his fedora and checked his .38 stubnosed revolver. Three bullets left and a whole zepplin full of gangsters between him and safety. As Flat ran toward the nears outer walkway door, Greasy Malone yelled out from behind him, "DON'T LET HIM GET AWAY!" Flat slammed the door open to find... the zepplin was still over New York... just too high up for him to survive a jump from such a height. In the city below, radio announcers were broadcasting the sighting of Greasy Malone's zepplin and the kidnapping of Flat Flanagan.
Venelope looked up outside of the Flat's warehouse office. Hands covering her mouth as she looked up, raining pouring down around her, utterly helpless to save her boss. Back on the zepplin, Flat was running out of walkway to stay ahead of Greasy Malone and his goons. As Flat came to a stop at open-edge of the walkway, Greasy Malone laughed, "Mouse's got nowhere left to run."
Meanwhile, somewhere in the 21st Century New York City, Director Grisson was overseeing the live testing of a top secret government project, codenamed "The Database Protocal." They had successfully plucked individuals from the past who would disappear and/or die as not to wreck the timeline. "Agent 17, begin target lock on." Ordered Grisson as Agent 17 lined up the old radio broadcast with the machine's data input. As the radio announcer went on, Agent's 17, Thorton, Lois, and Dr. Harkwell all watched and waited.
"Folks, it doesn't look good for our gumshoe! Flat Flanagan is out of room to run! His only choice is to fight!" Said the Announcer as his voice faded away... Back on the zepplin, Flat had his stubnosed revolver out and aimed at Greasy Malone. The pouring rain was coming down in sheets and only getting worse as Greasy Malone's goons rushed Flat. That's when Flat heard the heavy roll of thunder. A smile crossed his face as he slicked back his hair, clutched his soaked fedora, and locked eyes with Greasy Malone. "Sorry bub. I guess you're not my kind of dance partner." Said Flat, just before intentionally losing his balance and falling from the zepplin.
As he fell, Flat fired a single bullet from his stubnosed revolver that gave the lighting a tragectory to follow. As the bolt of lighting arced to the helium-filled zepplin, it burst into flames above the city with one massive explosion. Greasy Malone and his crew had been blown to smitherines... all while Flat Flanagan fell from the heavens above, headed for his death. "Flat... Mr. Flanagan jumped from the zepplin! Wait! Lightning just torched the whole airship and Greasy Malone's whole crew! Whole toledo! Way to go Flat!" Said the Announcer with tears falling down his cheeks. "Thank you for your final job for our illustrious city."
As Flat fell through toward the ground, he held onto his revolver and fedora for dear life. "Hell... isn't this one crazy way to buy the farm." He thought to himself. "Hope Ms. Venelope finds a better career... one away from all this violence." Thought Flat as the light from the city drew ever closer. "After all... Ain't no way to live... without dying."
As the CIA's machine locked onto Flat, Agent 17 engaged the capture device as the Radio Announcer warned the audience that there would be hardly anything remaining of Flat after such a fall. As the machine opened a portal, invisible to the city below, the CIA plucked Flat out of freefall as the Radio Announcer broadcasted the death of Flat Flanagan and shut his radio broadcast off, then joined the rest of the Agents on the floor as the machine brought Flat's fall to a safe speed and dropped him into Black Site 071.
Flat hit the floor and groaned. If this was heaven, they'd have to work on that landing. However, as he sat up, he found himself amongst the living... but this couldn't be New York. He'd just fallen from the sky and should've been roadkill. However, Director Grisson stepped forward with his arms crossed. "Hello Flat... mind if we have a talk?"