The rain drove down over St. Canard in sheets, blanketing the city in curtains of water that reduced visibility to feet and made driving a hazardous proposition on a night like this. The winds were high, driving the water in the bay to violent whitecaps as they tossed any small boats unfortunate enough to still be out to and fro like toys in a bathtub.

Out in the harbor, the large coastal ferry Canard's Wing was attempting to dock in fifty-knot winds. The trip had been delayed by thirty minutes due to the high seas, but the bridge crew was finally managing to wrestle the ship back to its berth. Passengers eagerly headed to their cars, ready to drive back home and get out of the rain. The ramp whined as it lowered to allow the cars egress, and headlights snapped on like banshees, illuminating the inky blackness as vehicles began to roll.

But loud horns suddenly blared as frustrated drivers were trapped behind one car that refused to move. It simply sat there, blocking all cars behind it. The ship's docking crew shouted to the driver to get that car moving, but still nothing occurred. The horns continued bleating as some of the crew finally ran over to the driver's window, only to find the driver absent from the vehicle; there was no at all in fact inside the car.

A careful search was made of the ferry, including the cabins, the dining area, the bathrooms, and even the crew areas, but there was no sign of Dr. Jonathan Lindamood anywhere. The vessel had been cleared, and St. Canard's Coast Guard was contacted with the sobering news that the ferry now had a missing passenger…

Dr. Lindamood's body was discovered the next morning, washed ashore on the sands of South Beach. Cause of death was ruled to be drowning, exacerbated by high levels of alcohol in his blood. The authorities ruled it an accidental death, and postulated that the unfortunate doctor had had too much to drink, and had fallen overboard in the storm…

The blue fluid pulsed through the tubes surrounding the green plant-duck like the tentacles of a giant octopus, practically encasing him as his light blue, almost slate-gray eyes lit up with an ecstatic glow. "Yes! Yes!" he exclaimed, clearly excited by the results. His ivy hands balled into fists, and they pumped in the air above him as Dr. Reginald Bushroot watched the proceedings with an intensity that looked like it might start burning holes in the tubing and piping with just a glance alone.

The small Bunsen burner's flame licked underneath the beaker, causing the contents to bubble as the tubes' juices began to empty into the concoction. "Precise temperature of 304 degrees Fahrenheit maintained… chloroplasts added… sucrose and fructose levels seem good… check!" Bushroot was going down a checklist meticulously to ensure his formula was perfect. There was no room for error. Zero. Everything must be exact in order for this to work. It must not be capable of being dissolved or dissipating in water…

The plant-duck scientist was in his greenhouse, slaving away over his latest invention: if his calculations were correct, he'd soon have a formula for transforming not just ducks but 90% of St. Canard's denizens into plant creatures, similar to himself. He had spent months researching his telepathic link to plants, and was determined to remove this ability from his transformation serum, as he wasn't looking to level the playing field, but looking to bring St. Canard into his perspective, and stop their foolish, frivolous lives and wake them up to things around them, including the hardships he'd had to face ever since his own transformation.

Peering at the bubbling formula, Bushroot knew that this brew must not dissolve or become diluted in water, or his whole plan to taint St. Canard's water supply with it would fail. Glancing at a watch he wore on his wrist, Dr. Bushroot counted down the seconds in his head before turning off the burner. Grabbing some tongs, the scientist moved the beaker over to a graduated cylinder filled about halfway with water, and paused. Months of research… and it could all be undone with the test. If the test failed, he would have to start from scratch. Hesitating to dump the beaker's contents, he finally sighed, and knew he had to do this; it was bottom's up or bust. Upending the beaker, he watched the mixture pour down into the water, staining it a dull green before it began binding with the water's molecules and the color dissipated. "So far, so good!" he declared to himself, and then took the cylinder and poured part of it into a small test tube very carefully to avoid any spills.

Placing a stopper on the top, Bushroot violently shook the tube as if he were mixing an alcoholic beverage, jostling the contents as he looked once more at his watch. Not relenting on the motions until a minute had passed, he pulled the stopper and placed a testing strip down into the water to see the readings of the water's contents. "Come on… come on!" he pleaded, waiting to see if the test strip would turn green. If it did, his mixture had not been diluted, and would work in large concentrations and doses. If the strip stayed yellow, he'd failed.

But much to his delight, a green sheen began spreading across the strip, and he yanked it out in sheer joy, jumping in place as he gazed upon the green markings. "Yes! I've done it! With this, everyone will finally be able to see through my eyes!" he exclaimed, cackling maniacally.

His laughter was interrupted by the sound of his doorbell however, and his head snapped in the direction of the entrance to his lair. Most peculiar, as he never got visitors! He hadn't broken the law in months, and had been very careful to stay out of the spotlight lately in order to conceal his latest plan. What if it was Darkwing Duck, that accursed crime-fighter coming to spy on him? Growling, Bushroot quickly placed the tube into a holder and stoppered it once more.

Walking through the plethora of plants to his front door, Bushroot was surprised to see it wasn't Darkwing Duck. In fact, it was someone he didn't think he'd ever seen before. Cracking the door cautiously, the plant-duck scientist narrowed his eyes at the tall and slim duck standing on his doorstep. "Yes?" he asked.

"Dr. Bushroot! You're exactly as seen on TV!" the other duck grinned, extending a wing for him to shake.

"Uh… what is this regarding?" Bushroot asked, merely staring at the outstretched wing.

"Oh! Pardon me! My manners, of course! I'm Dr. Roderick Payne, of St. Canard University, professor of genetics and conceptual biology! I believe… no I know you were a former faculty member at said university as well as a critically acclaimed alumnus! It's so good to finally meet you in person!" Dr. Payne was saying.

"Uh… why exactly?" Bushroot asked hesitantly.

"Because, Dr. Bushroot, I'm here to make your day, trust me! You mind if I come in?" Dr. Payne asked.

"Um… well I guess… but I'd rather you didn't." Bushroot responded, nervous about his experiment being discovered, but Payne wasn't taking no for an answer, and brushed by Bushroot, gawking at the massive greenhouse around him.

"Ahhh yes! Quite the place you've got here! Very impressive collection of species! A true botanist you are, Dr. Bushroot, or should I call you Reginald, or even Reggie?" Payne asked, turning in a slow, admiring circle before resting his eyes upon the plant-duck scientist.

"Well gee, thanks, and uh... Dr. Bushroot is fine for now." Bushroot responded, scratching his purple head.

"Very well! Appropriate among colleagues, after all! Anyway, I'd better get to the point, shouldn't I? Dr. Bushroot, I'm here to make your day, because I'm going to offer you, dah dah dah dah! A job!" Payne was all smiles here, and Bushroot only stared at him wide-mouthed.

"Wait… what?" Bushroot gasped, figuring this was a joke, or he'd misheard him. "Is this… oh I get it… it must be prank Bushroot day, right? Hahah! Very funny! Did one of my former colleagues put you up to this?" he asked skeptically. "You used to be friends with Dr. Gary or Dr. Larson or something like that? That it?" he pressed.

"Good gizzards, no!" Dr. Payne replied, waving his wings defensively. "I'm dead serious, Dr. Bushroot! The university is willing to hire you back at full salary as an adjunct professor of biology, though uh… eheh, we're gonna have to hold off on tenure options for now, and there'd be some strings attached, but it's all true! It's not a trick! We're as genuine as the plants on your head!" he outlined.

Bushroot could only stare blankly at first, blinking. "Dead serious?" he asked in a voice that cracked.

"Dead serious, Dr. Bushroot! I mean why would I risk my life coming here to tell you this, after all? You aren't exactly known to be the most amiable of hosts, after all, no offense intended of course." Dr. Payne quickly responded.

"Well… why me? Aren't there you know… plenty of other qualified and talented young professors you'd want on your staff that aren't, you know… ex-murderers, thieves and larcenists? I'm one of St. Canard's most wanted, after all…" Bushroot trailed off.

"Well you served your time, and you've been clean for a good five months now! You haven't violated your parole, and hell, you've been mostly a recluse this past half-year. Truth is, Dr. Bushroot, the university is in desperate need of someone with your particular expertise, you could say." Payne explained.

"Expertise? What expertise?" Bushroot asked suspiciously.

"Well Dr. Bushroot, I'd be dishonest towards you if I'm going to hire you without telling you all the details surrounding the conditions of your hiring. See… my department has received a government grant recently to develop a special project, which I can't mention to you just yet as that's proprietary info, but we were moving right along with it until yesterday. Have you seen the news?" Payne asked with some concern.

"News? I saw a lot this morning…" Bushroot confessed.

"Well the body of our chief researcher, Dr. John Lindamood, washed up on South Beach this morning. He'd been returning from a symposium, but had gotten drunk on the ferry ride back apparently, and fallen overboard." Payne stated, a slight frown on his beak.

"Oh yes! I did see that this morning! I had been wondering about it myself…" Bushroot said, rubbing his chin. "I knew John from my time at St. Canard U, but not terribly well." He confessed.

"Yes well… we thought he was irreplaceable, but then I said to myself, wait a minute! Dr. Reginald Bushroot did a lot of the same work and theories Lindamood did… why not get him in on the project? He hasn't done anything in months, and who knows? Maybe giving him an honest job will give him another chance at life! There's no denying your intellect, Dr. Bushroot! You were one of St. Canard's brightest back when you taught there, and I can't think of a reason in the world not to have you in on this project. You deserve a second chance." Payne was saying with hints of sincerity dripping from his tones. But it almost seemed like he was going out of his way to convince the scientist, which put Bushroot on guard.

"I… don't know about that." Bushroot said hesitantly, looking off to the side. "You know… I'm not sure the students would really… take kindly to me… given my past record and my current… appearance, shall we say? I mean this is all rather sudden, after all." He indicated his appearance by moving his hands down his body, extending the vines to show what he meant.

"Oh… well I'm sure you'd settle in! I could do some PR work for you beforehand, and who knows? I think you should give it a chance. I mean what else have you got going for you right now? Isn't this what you wanted? A chance to prove you're still the brilliant Dr. Reginald Bushroot from four years ago? A chance to make a positive impact for yourself in your old community? You won't have any interference from Drs. Gary and Larson anymore, for obvious reasons, and truth be told, I'm on your side regarding them." Payne said reassuringly, studying a wing here before giving Bushroot a sympathetic look.

"You… are?" Bushroot asked with surprise, raising his brows here. "But I committed murder! The other faculty… they'd treat me with suspicion and hostility, I'm sure of it!" Bushroot paused, studying his rooty feet and sighing. He wanted this… he wanted this so desperately, but could he really do it? Would it be worth the hardship and the torment he'd face coming back? It didn't seem like it. But what else did he have? Dr. Payne was right… his plan to transform all of St. Canard into plants… was it really necessary? He could have his old life back… his old job… his old familiarity, minus Drs. Larson and Gary. Maybe even… maybe even her… but no.

He shook his head here, coming out of his daze. "I'm sorry." He quickly said here. "But I just don't think it's going to work out. Let's face it, Dr. Payne. I turned myself into a freak, and I have to live with that. I'd only end up scaring the students, and earning the ire of my fellow faculty. I don't want to go through that… I don't want put myself through that weed whacker, if you will."

Payne seemed hurt, and took out a notepad now to scribble something on it. "Did I mention…" he began, focused on his writing, "that you would be given a government stipend for this project in addition to your regular salary? Somewhere in this neighborhood…" Payne held out the pad, and Bushroot almost choked upon seeing the six-figure sum.

"What?" he gargled, eyes bulging.

"You got it." Payne nodded. "$250,000 for the first year, and an additional $250,000 completion bonus if you make the project's deadline. We really need your help, Dr. Bushroot. It's why I'm serious about this, and why you're getting so much money. $500,000. Think about it… you should be jumping on this."

"What kinda project is this, anyway?" Bushroot demanded, feeling he must be turning paler than his usual green.

"You'll get full details upon accepting our hiring contract. And you know what? I'll even throw in a sweetener. If you sign on with us, I'll short-track your tenure consideration to see if we can't get you back to full benefits within say… a year; two at the most!" Payne offered.

"Look, this all sounds awfully tempting, but I'm gonna have to still say no." Bushroot shook his head here.

"Think about it, please? I can't say this enough… but we need you. There's no one else with the qualifications you have for this project. Just think about it, OK? The semester doesn't start for a few weeks anyway, so you got some time. Give it some thought… and call me. Here's my number." Payne quickly jotted down his contact info underneath the stipend figure, and held it out for Bushroot to take, which he did, glancing down at it.

"Anyway, it was very nice to meet you, Dr. Bushroot, and I look forward to a favorable response. I trust you'll do the right thing, and say yes, yes?" Payne asked with a grin as he slapped the plant-duck on the back and headed for the door.

Bushroot sighed again, and looked down at the paper. A thought suddenly leaped into his mind, and he ran after the departing Dr. Payne. "Wait! I have a question! Does… does Dr. Dendron still work at the university?" he called.

A smile creased Payne's features as he turned around slowly for show. "Why yes, Dr. Bushroot, she does." He nodded. "She's one of our senior professors now. I'm sure she'd want to see you. She mentions you from time to time you know?"

"She… does?" Bushroot choked again, feeling light-headed. He reached out and leaned against the side of the greenhouse for support as a spell of vertigo suddenly overtook him and his head swam. "Goodness gracious greens! I never thought…"

"Have a nice day, Dr. Bushroot." Payne told him, giving him a nod before he turned to walk off, that smile still plastered on his face. Bushroot watched him go with something akin to desperation. A chance at his old life… could he really do it, even looking like he did?