Warden Harrison sweated uncomfortably as he stood in the small courtroom on the grounds of the St. Canard Maximum Security Prison, which had since been rebuilt in the years following its destruction by Taurus Bulba. The prison's faulty air conditioner was broken again, and the heat the midsummer sun was providing as it shone through the windows was next to unbearable. The gavel banged loudly on the desk as Harrison called those few in attendance to attention.
"This parole hearing for is now in session," he announced in his shrill voice. "The St. Canard parole board will now review the case of Hammer-Head Hannigan."
He stepped aside, loosening his tie and wiping his brow with the back of his hand, as he observed the convict who was eligible for parole. Hammer-Head Hannigan, the skinny ram who once served as Taurus Bulba's chief enforcer, had been in prison since being busted by Darkwing Duck a few years back for robbing a bank. He was seated before the long table at which sat the ten members of the parole board, idly staring at his feet.
Seeing Hammer-Head always evoked bad memories of Bulba for Harrison. He remembered glumly his daily gloats over Bulba, and how he had nearly lost his job as a result of the supervillain's escape. His thoughts were brought back to the here and now as Hilda Buckmeyer, a middle-aged duck and the head of the parole board, leaned forward in her seat, and spoke.
"Mr. Hannigan," she said. "You have served five of your ten-year sentence, and are eligible for parole due to good behavior. Do you believe yourself to be rehabilitated?"
Hammer-Head looked up from his feet slowly, and waited a moment before replying.
"Yes ma'am," he said. "Isn't a day that goes by I don't wish I hadn't done any of the things I did. I do believe I'm ready to reenter society."
Cochran, another board member who was an unusually skinny pig, stood up. Cochran was known for his pessimistic views on the prison's ability to reform criminals, and his steely-eyed expression and tight-lipped frown made Hammer-Head fidget nervously in his chair.
"May I remind you all that Mr. Hannigan was the chief enforcer of Taurus Bulba, one of the worst criminals this city has ever known," Cochran said.
The other board members murmured amongst themselves. Despite the heat, Hammer-Head broke into a cold sweat as he felt his chance at freedom slipping away, and fast.
"Well, despite the rumors that Bulba somehow survived the destruction of Canard Tower, I don't believe him to be alive," said Buckmeyer. "Therefore there is no real danger in releasing one of his men."
There was more murmuring. Cochran sank back into his chair, looking defeated.
"I suppose not," he admitted.
Hammer-Head felt a swell of anticipation growing in him. He held his breath.
"Therefore, on the grounds that he never involve himself in any criminal activities again, I grant Mr. Hannigan his request for parole," Buckmeyer continued.
Warden Harrison scoffed in disbelief, but no one noticed. Hammer-Head let his breath out in one long exhale, a sigh of relief. But Buckmeyer wasn't finished.
"However, if Taurus Bulba did in fact survive, he is never to associate himself with him ever again, and if seen in the company of Bulba, then Mr. Hannigan will be back in prison for parole violation," she went on. "All in agreement?"
One by one, the other nine board members, including Cochran, raised their hands, though Cochran did so reluctantly. Nodding, Buckmeyer stamped the words 'Parole Granted' on Hammer-Head's case file.
"Mr. Hannigan, you are free to go."
Hammer-Head could barely contain his excitement as one of the guards, a potbellied dog wearing sunglasses, came over and unlocked his handcuffs, taking them off. Smiling blandly, Warden Harrison approached him, arms folded behind his back.
"Congragulations, Hannigan," he said.
"Thanks, Warden," he replied.
"Just don't screw up your second shot at a real life," Harrison added. "I don't want to see you back here anytime soon. Catch my drift?"
"Yes, sir," Hammer-Head replied with a frown.
Harrison turned to the guard. "Phil, go with Mr. Hannigan, help him gather his things, then walk him to the gate."
"Yes, sir," said Phil.
With that, Warden Harrison turned and strode from the courtroom as the members of the parole board got ready for the next case.
"Remember, Hannigan, be on your best behavior," Harrison added over his shoulder.
Hammer-Headed nodded. He didn't know why. The Warden couldn't see him, and Phil was already heading for the door.
"Let's go, Hannigan," he said.
"Coming."
Carrying a suitcase that contained the few belongings he was allowed to have in prison, and dressed in his rumpled pinstriped suit and tie, Hammer-Head was walked to the front gate of the prison by Phil. Another guard unlocked and opened the gate, allowing Hammer-Head to walk out.
"Well, so long," he said.
Neither Phil nor the other guard replied. Hammer-Head didn't expect them to. He shrugged, and stepped out. He waited until he heard the gate slam shut, the lock click, and the retreating footsteps of the guards. Then, he breathed a sigh of relief, and looked up at the virtually cloudless blue afternoon sky.
"Ah, freedom," he intoned to himself. "Fresh air, sunshine, and lots of open space."
He jumped up and clicked his heels, laughing as he began to strut down the sidewalk, away from St. Canard Maximum Security Prison forever. At least, so he hoped. After the supposed death of Taurus Bulba, Hammer-Head had taken it upon himself to become the new boss of Bulba's old gang. The only problem had been his own lack of leadership skills. The gang fell apart because of that.
He shook the bad memories away. Now he looked to the future. A life of crime did not pay, as they say, and Hammer-Head was determined to go back and live as normal a life as possible.
"I'm gonna start all over, and this time I'm gonna do things right. No more Taurus Bulba, no more bars, no more cops, and best of all, no more Darkwing Duck!"
His celebration was suddenly interrupted by an all-too familiar voice.
"Don't count on it, goat-boy!"
Hammer-Head stopped in his tracks and spun around, nearly losing his balance. He beheld a sudden cloud of smoke, and there was the unmistakable silhouette of a figure wearing a cape and a wide-brimmed fedora.
"I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the jailer who throws away the key!"
Hammer-Head gawked, then frowned in annoyance. The smoke cleared, revealing the purple-clad form of St. Canard's chief superhero, Darkwing Duck. The ram took two steps back, scowling at the duck.
"I am-," Darkwing began.
"I know who you are," Hammer-Head said, cutting him off. "What do you want, feather brain?"
Darkwing approached the ram, standing directly before him. The slightly taller Hammer-Head furrowed his brows.
"I heard you were being reviewed for a most undeserved parole!" the duck replied.
"So?"
"So, naturally, I've come down to make sure you don't try anything funny!"BR
Hammer-Head felt the sudden urge pop the pompous superhero in the beak, but he kept his temper in check. He put his free hand on his hip.
"What are you talking about?"
Darkwing crossed his arms, glaring up at the ram with slitted eyes. "I don't know how you suckered the parole board into granting you your freedom, but I don't buy your whole 'reformed' scheme for a second!"
"Oh, and how did you know about that? I didn't see you in the courtroom."
"I had a little chat with Warden Harrison while you were getting ready to leave," the duck replied. "He and I have an understanding, you see. He lets me know what criminals I like to keep an eye on are doing, especially ones who used to work for the supervillain who once leveled the entire prison!"
Hammer-Head rolled his eyes. "Still the same old Darkwing, eh? Well, for your information, I really do intend to give up my evil ways and live a normal life from here on out." He offered a big grin.
"Well, like I said, I think your're full of it, Hammer-Head," Darkwing shot back. "And I intend to prove that villainy junkies like you can't resist the lure of crime!"
Hammer-Head's grin vanished, and he shrugged, realizing that he wasn't going to change Darkwing's mind. At least, for now.
"Whatever, Dumbwing," he said. "I'll show you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be gettin' a move on. I kinda want to go see if my apartment is still how I left it."
He turned his back to the masked mallard and continuied on his way, nose turned up and a noticeable bounce in his step. A seething Darkwing stood alone on the sidewalk. He turned to Launchpad McQuack in the Ratcatcher, who had been sitting across the street the entire time.
"I just know that horned hoodlum is up to no good!" he said.
"Gee, DW," the bigger duck said as Darkwing approached. "Aren't you being just a little bit assumptuous?"
"The word is 'presumptuous,' Launchpad. And what do you mean?" Darkwing said as he got into the sidecar portion of the motorcycle.
"Well, I mean, is it so hard to believe a criminal could be reformed?"
Darkwing narrowed his eyes at his sidekick. "You're joking, right?"
"Well, uh..."
"Evil is evil, period! Remember what happened with Tuskerninni?"
Launchpad nodded, then perked up. "What about Morgana?"
Darkwing suddenly looked uncomfortable. "That's differant," he said.
"Yeah, you were willing to buy that she reformed because you were so head-over-heels for her, even back when she was a criminal that it made you look for the best in her from the word 'go'."
"No, I was more willing to buy when Morgana reformed because, even when she was a criminal, she never did anything that evil. Hammer-Head helped kidnap Gosalyn and take her to almost certain death with Taurus Bulba!"
"Well, I guess you've got a point."
"Of course I do! Hammer-Head Hannigan is a two-bit crook, a thug. And I know two-bit crooks and thugs! They never change!"
Launchpad sighed as he started up the Ratcatcher's engine. "Aw, come on, DW, give the guy a chance."
"'I'll catch him doing something villainous! But for now, let's go home."
An explosion down the street signaled the blowing of a bank vault, and a group of masked men came running from the smoking building with a haul of money bags.
"First, though, let's give those boys free room and board at St. Canard Maximum Security Prison."
Hammer-Head meanwhile had realized he did not have the key to his apartment. He ultimately had to utilize his favorite old technique for which he had been named, by ramming the door open with his head. After taking a moment to examine the lock, which was now broken, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
"Home, sweet home."
His apartment was ratty and run-down, but that was how it always looked. Aside from an overabundance of dust, not much had changed. Taurus Bulba had never paid him very much, and he had used what money he had to buy a big screen TV and cappuccino machine, both of which were remarkably still there, albeit brown with dust. Setting down his suitcase, Hammer-Head went into the kitchen, and examined the cabinets and fridge.
"Ugh," he groaned at the sight. "First thing's first, I'm gonna have to shop for groceries. Five year-old pizza doesn't sound too appetizin'."
Hammer-Head picked up his suitcase again and went into his bedroom, which was just as dusty as the rest of the place, and set the suitcase onto the bed. He then got down on his hands and knees and began to fish around under his dresser. He pulled out an old cigar box, and opened it up, smiling when he saw the contents.
"Ah, ha!" he said as he took out a wad of cash that he recalled totaled to about $300, all that remained of the gains from the bank robbery that went sour a five years ago, his measley life savings. '"Till I can land a steady job, looks like you'll have to do."
Absently he wondered what his old buddies Hoof and Mouth were up to, as he looked at a framed photo on the dresser, of the three of them at the beach, taken quite a while ago during one of the trio's few days off in Taurus Bulba's employ. He had his arms around both of them, all three giving wide, cheesy smiles.
He shook the thoughts away, deciding he would get rid of that picture once he got back home, and anything else that reminded him of his days working for Taurus Bulba. He wanted to forget that chapter of his life as swiftly as possible, especially since he had recurring nightmares about it. He shivered as the memory resurfaced. Setting the box and cash aside, he changed into a more summer friendly t-shirt and shorts.
Sticking the money into his pocket, as he did not feel like looking for his wallet, he lingered in his living room for a few moments, before he left the apartment to go to the small grocery store down the street.
Morning had come to the Mallard house. Drake yawned, stretching as he sat at the breakfast table. Gosalyn was making pancakes, her favorite, while her adoptive father sipped at a cup of hot coffee. He hardly got a wink of sleep last night, his dreams filled with images of Taurus Bulba and Hammer-Head Hannigan on the loose, with Darkwing Duck helpless to stop them. But then, what superhero didn't have nightmares about the villains in their lives? Drake had them all the time, that was for sure.
The fight with the bank robbers the previous day had been short, especially since the criminals in question attempted to escape by running right in the direction of the prison, whereupon several guards came out and helped to apprehend them.
Gosalyn came over with two plates stacked high with flapjacks soaked in syrup and butter. She set one in front of Drake, who smiled tiredly despite not having much of an appetite to speak of. At least he didn't have to worry about being crushed under the fridge.
"Thanks, Gosalyn," he said.
"You look terrible," Gosalyn observed.
"I feel terrible. I didn't get much sleep," Drake replied, taking another sip of his coffee. "Bad dreams."
Gosalyn carried her plate to the other end of the table, and sat down. Grabbing a knife and fork, she attacked the pancakes, devouring them. Drake chuckled at his daughter, then stretched again.
"How come you didn't get much sleep?" Gosalyn asked after a moment or so.
"Oh, worrying about this thing with Hammer-Head, I suppose," he replied.
"Hammer-Head?" She blinked. "Isn't he the guy who worked for Taurus Bulba? The one who tried to kidnap me from the ophanage after pretending to have known grampa?"
"Exactly the same, Gosalyn," Drake said. "He just got out of jail on parole."
She shrugged. "Eh, I don't hold a grudge."
Drake stared at her.
"Well, not against a henchman, at least. It's the masterminds we should hold grudges against, dad, 'cause the henchmen only do what they're told."
"Gosalyn, your perceptiveness never cease to amaze me," Drake said. "But that's not the point. He's still an admitted criminal, and I intend to prove that no villain, whether mastermind or henchman, can turn away from their lives of crime."
"What about Morgana?"
"Oh, don't you start that, too!" Drake checked his watch. "Anyway, you'd better hurry up or you'll be late for school. Soon as I finish this coffee, I'll go get the paper."
Just as Drake was about to take another sip of his coffee, the kitchen door was kicked it with a loud slam. He jumped, spilling the hot coffee onto his chest and into his lap.
"Yeeeeooow!" he screamed.
"Hiya, DW!" Launchpad said cheerfully as he came in, the morning newspaper tucked under one arm. "Oops, heh, sorry about that."
"It's all right, Launchpad," Drake said. "It's just third-degree burns."
Launchpad laughed, and sat down at the kitchen table. 'Hiya, Gos!'
"Hey, Launchpad," she said, stuffing the last of her pancakes into her mouth. She drained her glass of milk. "Welp, I gotta go and get ready for school. Honker'll be waiting for me at the bus stop, and I don't wanna leave him alone with Tank for too long, or else I won't have a best friend anymore."
She hopped down from her chair and ran from the kitchen as Drake began to mop up the spilled coffee with a paper towel.
"Oh, here, I got the paper for you," Launchpad said, placing the paper before Drake on the table. "Ooo! Pancakes!"
"Have 'em," Drake said grumpily.
Launchpad needed no persuasion as he pulled the plate of pancakes over to himself. Drake tossed the wadded-up paper towel into the nearby garbage can, then picked up the newspaper and opened it up, spreading it on the table in front of himself. The front page was graced by a picture of Hammer-Head, with the headline 'Former Moofia Enforcer Paroled!' across the top.
"Oh, for crying out loud!" Drake groaned.
"What is it?" Launchpad asked, his mouth full of pancakes.
Drake turned the paper around so that he could read the headline.
"So?"
"So, this just increases my suspicion that Hammer-Head will soon be up to his old tricks," Drake replied.
"How come?"
"His ego will no doubt be boosted up a few notches by seeing that he made front page news! He'll think he's the cream of the criminal crop, and maybe try to start his own gang again!"
"Aw, DW, you shouldn't just assume the worst of people like that! It's not very superhero-like."
Drake sighed. "We had this discussion the other day, Launchpad, I-"
"Yeah, yeah," Launchpad cut him off. "You know crooks and thugs, and they never change. I remember."
Drake rolled up the newspaper and beat it into his open palm a few times, staring at the tabletop as he thought. Finally, he tossed the paper into the trash with the paper towels and stood up.
"Launchpad, I think it's time we kept an eye on our old friend Hammer-Head Hannigan," he declared.
"You don't mean...?"
"I do! Let's get dangerous!"
Drake rushed from the kitchen. Launchpad sighed, then took the last few bites of his pancakes and got up, running out after him.
Across town, someone else was reading the paper. Taurus Bulba sat in a darkened room in the old, abandoned textile factory that had been serving as his hideout since his most recent defeat at the hands of Darkwing Duck. He'd grown used to his cyborg enhancements by now, given to him by Steelbeak of F.O.W.L., and had been lying in wait for the perfect opportunity to strike back at the masked mallard. Now, it seemed like he had his chance.
"Ah, Hammer-Head, my old friend," he said quietly. "How nice to see you are out of prison. I shall have to pay you a visit."
He crumpled up the paper, tossed the wad into the air, and burned it to ashes with a blast fired from his arm-mounted laser cannon. His deep, wicked laughter filled the old, empty building.
Hammer-Head Hannigan felt like he was going to choke on his own spit. He stood outside of the pizza resteraunt near his apartment building, where he had just applied for a job, looking at the newspaper he had just bought from the nearby vending machine.
"Are they TRYING to ruin my life?!" he muttered under his breath.
A few of the local residents knew of his former involvement with Taurus Bulba, but he had hoped his past wouldn't become known to those who had moved into the neighborhood in the last five years. However, it looked like there was no chance of that happening.
He suddenly got the creepy feeling he was being watched. Stuffing the paper under his arm, he fished a handful of quarters from his pocket and went back to the newspaper vending machine. He then proceeded to buy all twelve of the remaining copies of that day's paper, and they were in his arms as he made his way back to his apartment.
"How can it be this hard to just forget my past?" he whined.
"Because, dark pasts aren't easily forgotten!" a voice said out of nowhere.
"Oh, no."
A puff of smoke, the appearance of a dark figure, and the familiar words heralded the appearance of Darkwing Duck. "I am the terror the flaps in the night! I am the gum that sticks to the shoe of evil! I am Darkwing Duck!"
The masked mallard approached Hammer-Head, noting the armful of newspapers he was carrying. He smirked. "Trying to hide the truth from your neighbors, eh, Hammer-Head?"
"What do you think?" the ram shot back. "I'd rather not have everyone starin' at me all the time."
"So you can start your criminal activities up again, without anyone noticing, am I right?" Darkwing said.
Hammer-Head resisted the urge to headbutt the superhero. "No, because I'd actually like to start livin' a normal life, you thickheaded duck!" he said. "Now, get out of my way! Go bug somebody else!"
He pushed past Darkwing and went into the apartment building. The masked mallard huffed, crossing his arms. Launchpad stepped out of the alley, hands stuffed in his pockets as he walked up to stand beside Darkwing. He shook his head slowly.
"I think you're taking this a bit too seriously, DW," he said. "Usually I trust your judgment, but I don't this time. Hounding this guy day and night isn't gonna help the situation at all."
Darkwing's feathers ruffled. "Oh, all right. I suppose that if I keep appearing like this he won't do anything and I won't be proven right."
Launchpad palmed his face. "No, DW, I didn't mean-"
"The best way to catch a crook is to sometimes step back and give them some breathing room and just observe them," Darkwing continued as if Launchpad hadn't spoken. "Yes, I'll just step back but I'll watch Hammer-Head like a hawk! Oh ho ho! I'll have him yet!"
The dream came again, like always...
Professor Waddlemeyer was tied to a chair in the basement of Taurus Bulba's estate, being 'questioned' by Hoof and Mouth as Hammer-Head Hannigan walked into the room, jacket off so his concealed weapons holster could be seen. The bucktoothed horse had his jacket off as well, sleeves rolled up, and was about to throw another punch.
"Hoof!" Hammer-Head yelled. "We'll never get the code if you kill 'im!"
Hoof stopped, looking over. "Sorry."
They stepped back, allowing Hammer-Head to see Professor Waddlemeyer. The elderly duck's sparse hair was disheveled, teeth gritted in fury, and he had a black eye. Hammer-Head sighed, wondering why Waddlemeyer wasn't being easier. His resistance was admirable, but the ram knew it would only make things worse for himself.
"Look, Professor," Hammer-Head said as he pulled up a chair and sat down. "You're only making this harder for yourself. It's really simple. Give us the code, and we'll let you go."
Waddlemeyer just glared at him.
"Listen, if you don't give it to us, we're gonna have to go and get the boss. Believe me, Professor, you don't want that."
Still the scientist refused to answer.
"Fine, we'll play it your way. But don't say I didn't warn you! Mouth, go get the boss."
His fellow ram swallowed nervously, but obeyed. A few minutes later, the hulking form of Taurus Bulba entered the room, a model ship in his hands. Hammer-Head could see the mast was broken, and Bulba's face was a mask of rage.
"I'm told you aren't being cooperative, Professor," Bulba said. He held up the little ship. "Look at this! I lost my concentration when Mouth came into my office, to tell me you're not talking! This is your fault!"
He threw the model ship down, and it smashed on the floor. When Waddlemeyer still did not respond, Bulba furiously slapped him across the face. His rage increased when the old duck just turned back to glare at him.
"Hammer-Head," he began, without turning to face the ram. "Give me your gun."
With a loud gasp, Hammer-Head sat up, his fur damp with a cold sweat. He was in the recliner in his living room, in just his boxer shorts and sleeveless undershirt, where he figured he must have dozed off watching TV. There was some infomercial playing on the large screen, something about microwaves. Glancing at the clock, he could see it was close to midnight.
He sank back into the chair, a hand to his forehead. After taking a moment to calm himself down, he grabbed the remote control and began flipping channels, desperately wanting to get his mind off the horrible dream.
"It's amazing. 98 channels and nothin' good on," he sighed. Finally, he stopped at a Duck Eastwood western flick. "Oh, this looks good."
He reached over and picked up his glass, only to find it empty. Grumbling, he got up and trudged into the kitchen. After filling it back up with Koo-Koo Cola, he went back into the living room. That's when he heard the front door open. He hit the mute button on the remote, listening, and remembering that the lock was broken.
"It's that stupid duck," he told himself. But when the huge figure could be made out in the shadows, he could tell it was certainly not Darkwing Duck. "Who's there?!" he demanded.
He dropped his glass when his visitor stepped into view, spilling soda all over the floor. It was Taurus Bulba! Or, it may have been once, for the towering figure was a mixture of bull and machine parts, in particular an eyepiece of some sort, a large cannon where his left arm should be, and what looked like missile launchers on his horns. Hammer-Head took a step back, and fell flat on his rear when he slipped in the soda. Glancing up, he could see the mechanical monstrosity was towering over him. He tried to speak, but no sound came out.
"Hello, Hammer-Head, how nice to see you again. You look healthy," Bulba chuckled. "Speechless, too, I see."
Hammer-Head finally found his voice. "No, no, you're dead! You died when Canard Tower exploded!"
"Think me a bad dream? Too much spicy food? Well, I'll have to prove to you somehow," Bulba said, stroking his chin. Finally, he reached down and with his only hand seized Hammer-Head by the throat, lifting him up easily. "Remember this?"
"Gah!" he gagged. "Yes!"
Smiling, Bulba gave a little squeeze and then released his death grip, dropping the ram onto his rear again.
"I knew you'd remember."
"B-but, how did you-" Hammer-Head began.
Bulba held up his hand. "I shall explain. My body was recovered by the agents of the organization known as F.O.W.L., who were kind enough to give me all the enhancements you see before you. They did this planning to use me as their henchman, but you know as well as I, that Taurus Bulba works for no one but Taurus Bulba."
Hammer-Head nodded absently. "What do you want with me, though?"
"Why, I just wanted to pay you a friendly visit after hearing about your parole," the bull replied. "And, I need your help in a little scheme I've been concocting for the past few months. The details will come later."
The ram shook his head violently from side to side. "No! I'm goin' straight! I want no part of whatever it is you're cookin' up! In fact, I'm violating the terms of my parole just talkin' to you! Isn't there anyone else you can get to help?"
Bulba chuckled. "Hoof and Mouth are still in prison, and they're useless idiots, anyway. Clovis is now a dentist. No, Hammer-Head. You are the only one who can properly assist me."
Hammer-Head yelped as he was grabbed by the throat and lifted up again.
"And, you WILL assist me," the bull added. He dropped his former henchman back onto the floor again, then turned for the door. "I'll give you until tomorrow to think it over. If you say 'yes,' there won't be a problem."
He disappeared around the corner. A few moments later, he leaned back into view, a devilish grin on his face.
"And if you say 'no,' well," he chuckled yet again. "You don't want to find out. Goodnight, Hammer-Head."
After hearing the door slam, Hammer-Head flopped over backwards, staring at the ceiling. He briefly considered calling the police, but he then decided against it. That would incur the wrath of both the police for violating his parole by speaking to Bulba, and Bulba for betraying him. He was an impasse.
"Oh, what am I gonna do...?"
"This parole hearing for is now in session," he announced in his shrill voice. "The St. Canard parole board will now review the case of Hammer-Head Hannigan."
He stepped aside, loosening his tie and wiping his brow with the back of his hand, as he observed the convict who was eligible for parole. Hammer-Head Hannigan, the skinny ram who once served as Taurus Bulba's chief enforcer, had been in prison since being busted by Darkwing Duck a few years back for robbing a bank. He was seated before the long table at which sat the ten members of the parole board, idly staring at his feet.
Seeing Hammer-Head always evoked bad memories of Bulba for Harrison. He remembered glumly his daily gloats over Bulba, and how he had nearly lost his job as a result of the supervillain's escape. His thoughts were brought back to the here and now as Hilda Buckmeyer, a middle-aged duck and the head of the parole board, leaned forward in her seat, and spoke.
"Mr. Hannigan," she said. "You have served five of your ten-year sentence, and are eligible for parole due to good behavior. Do you believe yourself to be rehabilitated?"
Hammer-Head looked up from his feet slowly, and waited a moment before replying.
"Yes ma'am," he said. "Isn't a day that goes by I don't wish I hadn't done any of the things I did. I do believe I'm ready to reenter society."
Cochran, another board member who was an unusually skinny pig, stood up. Cochran was known for his pessimistic views on the prison's ability to reform criminals, and his steely-eyed expression and tight-lipped frown made Hammer-Head fidget nervously in his chair.
"May I remind you all that Mr. Hannigan was the chief enforcer of Taurus Bulba, one of the worst criminals this city has ever known," Cochran said.
The other board members murmured amongst themselves. Despite the heat, Hammer-Head broke into a cold sweat as he felt his chance at freedom slipping away, and fast.
"Well, despite the rumors that Bulba somehow survived the destruction of Canard Tower, I don't believe him to be alive," said Buckmeyer. "Therefore there is no real danger in releasing one of his men."
There was more murmuring. Cochran sank back into his chair, looking defeated.
"I suppose not," he admitted.
Hammer-Head felt a swell of anticipation growing in him. He held his breath.
"Therefore, on the grounds that he never involve himself in any criminal activities again, I grant Mr. Hannigan his request for parole," Buckmeyer continued.
Warden Harrison scoffed in disbelief, but no one noticed. Hammer-Head let his breath out in one long exhale, a sigh of relief. But Buckmeyer wasn't finished.
"However, if Taurus Bulba did in fact survive, he is never to associate himself with him ever again, and if seen in the company of Bulba, then Mr. Hannigan will be back in prison for parole violation," she went on. "All in agreement?"
One by one, the other nine board members, including Cochran, raised their hands, though Cochran did so reluctantly. Nodding, Buckmeyer stamped the words 'Parole Granted' on Hammer-Head's case file.
"Mr. Hannigan, you are free to go."
Hammer-Head could barely contain his excitement as one of the guards, a potbellied dog wearing sunglasses, came over and unlocked his handcuffs, taking them off. Smiling blandly, Warden Harrison approached him, arms folded behind his back.
"Congragulations, Hannigan," he said.
"Thanks, Warden," he replied.
"Just don't screw up your second shot at a real life," Harrison added. "I don't want to see you back here anytime soon. Catch my drift?"
"Yes, sir," Hammer-Head replied with a frown.
Harrison turned to the guard. "Phil, go with Mr. Hannigan, help him gather his things, then walk him to the gate."
"Yes, sir," said Phil.
With that, Warden Harrison turned and strode from the courtroom as the members of the parole board got ready for the next case.
"Remember, Hannigan, be on your best behavior," Harrison added over his shoulder.
Hammer-Headed nodded. He didn't know why. The Warden couldn't see him, and Phil was already heading for the door.
"Let's go, Hannigan," he said.
"Coming."
Carrying a suitcase that contained the few belongings he was allowed to have in prison, and dressed in his rumpled pinstriped suit and tie, Hammer-Head was walked to the front gate of the prison by Phil. Another guard unlocked and opened the gate, allowing Hammer-Head to walk out.
"Well, so long," he said.
Neither Phil nor the other guard replied. Hammer-Head didn't expect them to. He shrugged, and stepped out. He waited until he heard the gate slam shut, the lock click, and the retreating footsteps of the guards. Then, he breathed a sigh of relief, and looked up at the virtually cloudless blue afternoon sky.
"Ah, freedom," he intoned to himself. "Fresh air, sunshine, and lots of open space."
He jumped up and clicked his heels, laughing as he began to strut down the sidewalk, away from St. Canard Maximum Security Prison forever. At least, so he hoped. After the supposed death of Taurus Bulba, Hammer-Head had taken it upon himself to become the new boss of Bulba's old gang. The only problem had been his own lack of leadership skills. The gang fell apart because of that.
He shook the bad memories away. Now he looked to the future. A life of crime did not pay, as they say, and Hammer-Head was determined to go back and live as normal a life as possible.
"I'm gonna start all over, and this time I'm gonna do things right. No more Taurus Bulba, no more bars, no more cops, and best of all, no more Darkwing Duck!"
His celebration was suddenly interrupted by an all-too familiar voice.
"Don't count on it, goat-boy!"
Hammer-Head stopped in his tracks and spun around, nearly losing his balance. He beheld a sudden cloud of smoke, and there was the unmistakable silhouette of a figure wearing a cape and a wide-brimmed fedora.
"I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the jailer who throws away the key!"
Hammer-Head gawked, then frowned in annoyance. The smoke cleared, revealing the purple-clad form of St. Canard's chief superhero, Darkwing Duck. The ram took two steps back, scowling at the duck.
"I am-," Darkwing began.
"I know who you are," Hammer-Head said, cutting him off. "What do you want, feather brain?"
Darkwing approached the ram, standing directly before him. The slightly taller Hammer-Head furrowed his brows.
"I heard you were being reviewed for a most undeserved parole!" the duck replied.
"So?"
"So, naturally, I've come down to make sure you don't try anything funny!"BR
Hammer-Head felt the sudden urge pop the pompous superhero in the beak, but he kept his temper in check. He put his free hand on his hip.
"What are you talking about?"
Darkwing crossed his arms, glaring up at the ram with slitted eyes. "I don't know how you suckered the parole board into granting you your freedom, but I don't buy your whole 'reformed' scheme for a second!"
"Oh, and how did you know about that? I didn't see you in the courtroom."
"I had a little chat with Warden Harrison while you were getting ready to leave," the duck replied. "He and I have an understanding, you see. He lets me know what criminals I like to keep an eye on are doing, especially ones who used to work for the supervillain who once leveled the entire prison!"
Hammer-Head rolled his eyes. "Still the same old Darkwing, eh? Well, for your information, I really do intend to give up my evil ways and live a normal life from here on out." He offered a big grin.
"Well, like I said, I think your're full of it, Hammer-Head," Darkwing shot back. "And I intend to prove that villainy junkies like you can't resist the lure of crime!"
Hammer-Head's grin vanished, and he shrugged, realizing that he wasn't going to change Darkwing's mind. At least, for now.
"Whatever, Dumbwing," he said. "I'll show you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be gettin' a move on. I kinda want to go see if my apartment is still how I left it."
He turned his back to the masked mallard and continuied on his way, nose turned up and a noticeable bounce in his step. A seething Darkwing stood alone on the sidewalk. He turned to Launchpad McQuack in the Ratcatcher, who had been sitting across the street the entire time.
"I just know that horned hoodlum is up to no good!" he said.
"Gee, DW," the bigger duck said as Darkwing approached. "Aren't you being just a little bit assumptuous?"
"The word is 'presumptuous,' Launchpad. And what do you mean?" Darkwing said as he got into the sidecar portion of the motorcycle.
"Well, I mean, is it so hard to believe a criminal could be reformed?"
Darkwing narrowed his eyes at his sidekick. "You're joking, right?"
"Well, uh..."
"Evil is evil, period! Remember what happened with Tuskerninni?"
Launchpad nodded, then perked up. "What about Morgana?"
Darkwing suddenly looked uncomfortable. "That's differant," he said.
"Yeah, you were willing to buy that she reformed because you were so head-over-heels for her, even back when she was a criminal that it made you look for the best in her from the word 'go'."
"No, I was more willing to buy when Morgana reformed because, even when she was a criminal, she never did anything that evil. Hammer-Head helped kidnap Gosalyn and take her to almost certain death with Taurus Bulba!"
"Well, I guess you've got a point."
"Of course I do! Hammer-Head Hannigan is a two-bit crook, a thug. And I know two-bit crooks and thugs! They never change!"
Launchpad sighed as he started up the Ratcatcher's engine. "Aw, come on, DW, give the guy a chance."
"'I'll catch him doing something villainous! But for now, let's go home."
An explosion down the street signaled the blowing of a bank vault, and a group of masked men came running from the smoking building with a haul of money bags.
"First, though, let's give those boys free room and board at St. Canard Maximum Security Prison."
Hammer-Head meanwhile had realized he did not have the key to his apartment. He ultimately had to utilize his favorite old technique for which he had been named, by ramming the door open with his head. After taking a moment to examine the lock, which was now broken, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
"Home, sweet home."
His apartment was ratty and run-down, but that was how it always looked. Aside from an overabundance of dust, not much had changed. Taurus Bulba had never paid him very much, and he had used what money he had to buy a big screen TV and cappuccino machine, both of which were remarkably still there, albeit brown with dust. Setting down his suitcase, Hammer-Head went into the kitchen, and examined the cabinets and fridge.
"Ugh," he groaned at the sight. "First thing's first, I'm gonna have to shop for groceries. Five year-old pizza doesn't sound too appetizin'."
Hammer-Head picked up his suitcase again and went into his bedroom, which was just as dusty as the rest of the place, and set the suitcase onto the bed. He then got down on his hands and knees and began to fish around under his dresser. He pulled out an old cigar box, and opened it up, smiling when he saw the contents.
"Ah, ha!" he said as he took out a wad of cash that he recalled totaled to about $300, all that remained of the gains from the bank robbery that went sour a five years ago, his measley life savings. '"Till I can land a steady job, looks like you'll have to do."
Absently he wondered what his old buddies Hoof and Mouth were up to, as he looked at a framed photo on the dresser, of the three of them at the beach, taken quite a while ago during one of the trio's few days off in Taurus Bulba's employ. He had his arms around both of them, all three giving wide, cheesy smiles.
He shook the thoughts away, deciding he would get rid of that picture once he got back home, and anything else that reminded him of his days working for Taurus Bulba. He wanted to forget that chapter of his life as swiftly as possible, especially since he had recurring nightmares about it. He shivered as the memory resurfaced. Setting the box and cash aside, he changed into a more summer friendly t-shirt and shorts.
Sticking the money into his pocket, as he did not feel like looking for his wallet, he lingered in his living room for a few moments, before he left the apartment to go to the small grocery store down the street.
Morning had come to the Mallard house. Drake yawned, stretching as he sat at the breakfast table. Gosalyn was making pancakes, her favorite, while her adoptive father sipped at a cup of hot coffee. He hardly got a wink of sleep last night, his dreams filled with images of Taurus Bulba and Hammer-Head Hannigan on the loose, with Darkwing Duck helpless to stop them. But then, what superhero didn't have nightmares about the villains in their lives? Drake had them all the time, that was for sure.
The fight with the bank robbers the previous day had been short, especially since the criminals in question attempted to escape by running right in the direction of the prison, whereupon several guards came out and helped to apprehend them.
Gosalyn came over with two plates stacked high with flapjacks soaked in syrup and butter. She set one in front of Drake, who smiled tiredly despite not having much of an appetite to speak of. At least he didn't have to worry about being crushed under the fridge.
"Thanks, Gosalyn," he said.
"You look terrible," Gosalyn observed.
"I feel terrible. I didn't get much sleep," Drake replied, taking another sip of his coffee. "Bad dreams."
Gosalyn carried her plate to the other end of the table, and sat down. Grabbing a knife and fork, she attacked the pancakes, devouring them. Drake chuckled at his daughter, then stretched again.
"How come you didn't get much sleep?" Gosalyn asked after a moment or so.
"Oh, worrying about this thing with Hammer-Head, I suppose," he replied.
"Hammer-Head?" She blinked. "Isn't he the guy who worked for Taurus Bulba? The one who tried to kidnap me from the ophanage after pretending to have known grampa?"
"Exactly the same, Gosalyn," Drake said. "He just got out of jail on parole."
She shrugged. "Eh, I don't hold a grudge."
Drake stared at her.
"Well, not against a henchman, at least. It's the masterminds we should hold grudges against, dad, 'cause the henchmen only do what they're told."
"Gosalyn, your perceptiveness never cease to amaze me," Drake said. "But that's not the point. He's still an admitted criminal, and I intend to prove that no villain, whether mastermind or henchman, can turn away from their lives of crime."
"What about Morgana?"
"Oh, don't you start that, too!" Drake checked his watch. "Anyway, you'd better hurry up or you'll be late for school. Soon as I finish this coffee, I'll go get the paper."
Just as Drake was about to take another sip of his coffee, the kitchen door was kicked it with a loud slam. He jumped, spilling the hot coffee onto his chest and into his lap.
"Yeeeeooow!" he screamed.
"Hiya, DW!" Launchpad said cheerfully as he came in, the morning newspaper tucked under one arm. "Oops, heh, sorry about that."
"It's all right, Launchpad," Drake said. "It's just third-degree burns."
Launchpad laughed, and sat down at the kitchen table. 'Hiya, Gos!'
"Hey, Launchpad," she said, stuffing the last of her pancakes into her mouth. She drained her glass of milk. "Welp, I gotta go and get ready for school. Honker'll be waiting for me at the bus stop, and I don't wanna leave him alone with Tank for too long, or else I won't have a best friend anymore."
She hopped down from her chair and ran from the kitchen as Drake began to mop up the spilled coffee with a paper towel.
"Oh, here, I got the paper for you," Launchpad said, placing the paper before Drake on the table. "Ooo! Pancakes!"
"Have 'em," Drake said grumpily.
Launchpad needed no persuasion as he pulled the plate of pancakes over to himself. Drake tossed the wadded-up paper towel into the nearby garbage can, then picked up the newspaper and opened it up, spreading it on the table in front of himself. The front page was graced by a picture of Hammer-Head, with the headline 'Former Moofia Enforcer Paroled!' across the top.
"Oh, for crying out loud!" Drake groaned.
"What is it?" Launchpad asked, his mouth full of pancakes.
Drake turned the paper around so that he could read the headline.
"So?"
"So, this just increases my suspicion that Hammer-Head will soon be up to his old tricks," Drake replied.
"How come?"
"His ego will no doubt be boosted up a few notches by seeing that he made front page news! He'll think he's the cream of the criminal crop, and maybe try to start his own gang again!"
"Aw, DW, you shouldn't just assume the worst of people like that! It's not very superhero-like."
Drake sighed. "We had this discussion the other day, Launchpad, I-"
"Yeah, yeah," Launchpad cut him off. "You know crooks and thugs, and they never change. I remember."
Drake rolled up the newspaper and beat it into his open palm a few times, staring at the tabletop as he thought. Finally, he tossed the paper into the trash with the paper towels and stood up.
"Launchpad, I think it's time we kept an eye on our old friend Hammer-Head Hannigan," he declared.
"You don't mean...?"
"I do! Let's get dangerous!"
Drake rushed from the kitchen. Launchpad sighed, then took the last few bites of his pancakes and got up, running out after him.
Across town, someone else was reading the paper. Taurus Bulba sat in a darkened room in the old, abandoned textile factory that had been serving as his hideout since his most recent defeat at the hands of Darkwing Duck. He'd grown used to his cyborg enhancements by now, given to him by Steelbeak of F.O.W.L., and had been lying in wait for the perfect opportunity to strike back at the masked mallard. Now, it seemed like he had his chance.
"Ah, Hammer-Head, my old friend," he said quietly. "How nice to see you are out of prison. I shall have to pay you a visit."
He crumpled up the paper, tossed the wad into the air, and burned it to ashes with a blast fired from his arm-mounted laser cannon. His deep, wicked laughter filled the old, empty building.
Hammer-Head Hannigan felt like he was going to choke on his own spit. He stood outside of the pizza resteraunt near his apartment building, where he had just applied for a job, looking at the newspaper he had just bought from the nearby vending machine.
"Are they TRYING to ruin my life?!" he muttered under his breath.
A few of the local residents knew of his former involvement with Taurus Bulba, but he had hoped his past wouldn't become known to those who had moved into the neighborhood in the last five years. However, it looked like there was no chance of that happening.
He suddenly got the creepy feeling he was being watched. Stuffing the paper under his arm, he fished a handful of quarters from his pocket and went back to the newspaper vending machine. He then proceeded to buy all twelve of the remaining copies of that day's paper, and they were in his arms as he made his way back to his apartment.
"How can it be this hard to just forget my past?" he whined.
"Because, dark pasts aren't easily forgotten!" a voice said out of nowhere.
"Oh, no."
A puff of smoke, the appearance of a dark figure, and the familiar words heralded the appearance of Darkwing Duck. "I am the terror the flaps in the night! I am the gum that sticks to the shoe of evil! I am Darkwing Duck!"
The masked mallard approached Hammer-Head, noting the armful of newspapers he was carrying. He smirked. "Trying to hide the truth from your neighbors, eh, Hammer-Head?"
"What do you think?" the ram shot back. "I'd rather not have everyone starin' at me all the time."
"So you can start your criminal activities up again, without anyone noticing, am I right?" Darkwing said.
Hammer-Head resisted the urge to headbutt the superhero. "No, because I'd actually like to start livin' a normal life, you thickheaded duck!" he said. "Now, get out of my way! Go bug somebody else!"
He pushed past Darkwing and went into the apartment building. The masked mallard huffed, crossing his arms. Launchpad stepped out of the alley, hands stuffed in his pockets as he walked up to stand beside Darkwing. He shook his head slowly.
"I think you're taking this a bit too seriously, DW," he said. "Usually I trust your judgment, but I don't this time. Hounding this guy day and night isn't gonna help the situation at all."
Darkwing's feathers ruffled. "Oh, all right. I suppose that if I keep appearing like this he won't do anything and I won't be proven right."
Launchpad palmed his face. "No, DW, I didn't mean-"
"The best way to catch a crook is to sometimes step back and give them some breathing room and just observe them," Darkwing continued as if Launchpad hadn't spoken. "Yes, I'll just step back but I'll watch Hammer-Head like a hawk! Oh ho ho! I'll have him yet!"
The dream came again, like always...
Professor Waddlemeyer was tied to a chair in the basement of Taurus Bulba's estate, being 'questioned' by Hoof and Mouth as Hammer-Head Hannigan walked into the room, jacket off so his concealed weapons holster could be seen. The bucktoothed horse had his jacket off as well, sleeves rolled up, and was about to throw another punch.
"Hoof!" Hammer-Head yelled. "We'll never get the code if you kill 'im!"
Hoof stopped, looking over. "Sorry."
They stepped back, allowing Hammer-Head to see Professor Waddlemeyer. The elderly duck's sparse hair was disheveled, teeth gritted in fury, and he had a black eye. Hammer-Head sighed, wondering why Waddlemeyer wasn't being easier. His resistance was admirable, but the ram knew it would only make things worse for himself.
"Look, Professor," Hammer-Head said as he pulled up a chair and sat down. "You're only making this harder for yourself. It's really simple. Give us the code, and we'll let you go."
Waddlemeyer just glared at him.
"Listen, if you don't give it to us, we're gonna have to go and get the boss. Believe me, Professor, you don't want that."
Still the scientist refused to answer.
"Fine, we'll play it your way. But don't say I didn't warn you! Mouth, go get the boss."
His fellow ram swallowed nervously, but obeyed. A few minutes later, the hulking form of Taurus Bulba entered the room, a model ship in his hands. Hammer-Head could see the mast was broken, and Bulba's face was a mask of rage.
"I'm told you aren't being cooperative, Professor," Bulba said. He held up the little ship. "Look at this! I lost my concentration when Mouth came into my office, to tell me you're not talking! This is your fault!"
He threw the model ship down, and it smashed on the floor. When Waddlemeyer still did not respond, Bulba furiously slapped him across the face. His rage increased when the old duck just turned back to glare at him.
"Hammer-Head," he began, without turning to face the ram. "Give me your gun."
With a loud gasp, Hammer-Head sat up, his fur damp with a cold sweat. He was in the recliner in his living room, in just his boxer shorts and sleeveless undershirt, where he figured he must have dozed off watching TV. There was some infomercial playing on the large screen, something about microwaves. Glancing at the clock, he could see it was close to midnight.
He sank back into the chair, a hand to his forehead. After taking a moment to calm himself down, he grabbed the remote control and began flipping channels, desperately wanting to get his mind off the horrible dream.
"It's amazing. 98 channels and nothin' good on," he sighed. Finally, he stopped at a Duck Eastwood western flick. "Oh, this looks good."
He reached over and picked up his glass, only to find it empty. Grumbling, he got up and trudged into the kitchen. After filling it back up with Koo-Koo Cola, he went back into the living room. That's when he heard the front door open. He hit the mute button on the remote, listening, and remembering that the lock was broken.
"It's that stupid duck," he told himself. But when the huge figure could be made out in the shadows, he could tell it was certainly not Darkwing Duck. "Who's there?!" he demanded.
He dropped his glass when his visitor stepped into view, spilling soda all over the floor. It was Taurus Bulba! Or, it may have been once, for the towering figure was a mixture of bull and machine parts, in particular an eyepiece of some sort, a large cannon where his left arm should be, and what looked like missile launchers on his horns. Hammer-Head took a step back, and fell flat on his rear when he slipped in the soda. Glancing up, he could see the mechanical monstrosity was towering over him. He tried to speak, but no sound came out.
"Hello, Hammer-Head, how nice to see you again. You look healthy," Bulba chuckled. "Speechless, too, I see."
Hammer-Head finally found his voice. "No, no, you're dead! You died when Canard Tower exploded!"
"Think me a bad dream? Too much spicy food? Well, I'll have to prove to you somehow," Bulba said, stroking his chin. Finally, he reached down and with his only hand seized Hammer-Head by the throat, lifting him up easily. "Remember this?"
"Gah!" he gagged. "Yes!"
Smiling, Bulba gave a little squeeze and then released his death grip, dropping the ram onto his rear again.
"I knew you'd remember."
"B-but, how did you-" Hammer-Head began.
Bulba held up his hand. "I shall explain. My body was recovered by the agents of the organization known as F.O.W.L., who were kind enough to give me all the enhancements you see before you. They did this planning to use me as their henchman, but you know as well as I, that Taurus Bulba works for no one but Taurus Bulba."
Hammer-Head nodded absently. "What do you want with me, though?"
"Why, I just wanted to pay you a friendly visit after hearing about your parole," the bull replied. "And, I need your help in a little scheme I've been concocting for the past few months. The details will come later."
The ram shook his head violently from side to side. "No! I'm goin' straight! I want no part of whatever it is you're cookin' up! In fact, I'm violating the terms of my parole just talkin' to you! Isn't there anyone else you can get to help?"
Bulba chuckled. "Hoof and Mouth are still in prison, and they're useless idiots, anyway. Clovis is now a dentist. No, Hammer-Head. You are the only one who can properly assist me."
Hammer-Head yelped as he was grabbed by the throat and lifted up again.
"And, you WILL assist me," the bull added. He dropped his former henchman back onto the floor again, then turned for the door. "I'll give you until tomorrow to think it over. If you say 'yes,' there won't be a problem."
He disappeared around the corner. A few moments later, he leaned back into view, a devilish grin on his face.
"And if you say 'no,' well," he chuckled yet again. "You don't want to find out. Goodnight, Hammer-Head."
After hearing the door slam, Hammer-Head flopped over backwards, staring at the ceiling. He briefly considered calling the police, but he then decided against it. That would incur the wrath of both the police for violating his parole by speaking to Bulba, and Bulba for betraying him. He was an impasse.
"Oh, what am I gonna do...?"