It was a dreary, overcast Friday afternoon in St Canard, and the art museum seemed to embrace the day's banality. Most people never came there, and at that moment it wore that fact like a fancy new tie. How odd then, that someone, as well as his cohorts should find this dull and dismal place a perfect spot for opportunity.
Crawling behind nearby bushes, an unusual gang had their eyes on this very building. The party mostly consisted of small penguins, wearing undertaker-type attire and a fixed smirk. One member, however, couldn't be any more different; a walrus which towered over his cohorts, and thus acted as their lord, their leader, their boss. The only feature he had in common with his merry band was similar attire, which made him look like he had leapt out of a Charles Dickens novel.
"Okay boys," said the walrus, looking down on the penguins, "We're here. Start getting into your costumes! You, fetch me a ladder!" Most of the penguins started taking out costume accessories from their pockets and one fetched his master the ladder from who-knows-where, all without saying a word. After unfolding the ladder, the walrus slowly climbed up towards a window, and had a quick glance at the interior, and caught a glimpse of a family. Three ducks: one in an ugly sweater-vest, another in a ridiculous pilot uniform, the third a small girl.
"Aw, geez," said the girl, "Do we really have to come here?"
"Look, Gos," said the sweater-vest duck, "I think it's time you got a bit more culture in your life!" After that, he then whispered something that the walrus couldn't make out.
"But the Mega-Monstro-Movie-Marathon will start any minute!"
"Gosalyn, what have I told you about those movies? They'll give you nightmares!"
"Give you nightmares, maybe."
"What? That is absurd..."
"Look out!" Gosalyn screamed and pointed, making the walrus move down a few rungs. "It's Monstro!" In response to this, the sweater-vest duck leapt into the pilot's arms, gibbering and making stupid noises. Reality eventually set in, which resulted in the wagging of a finger.
"Excellent," said the walrus to his cohorts as he made his way down, "We have an audience!" As he set his flippers down on the ground, the walrus suddenly realised why they looked so familiar. It was the family he had been forced to stay with as part of that 'Adopt a Con' program, and the family that had set him up! While a tingle of fury wiggled in his gut, he saw this as a way of making the opportunity wider. What he had planned was going to be more delicious than he had previously expected it to be! "Now, this is a special audience, so make it look extra convincing!"
The penguins showed off their new disguises, which made their boss grin. Each of them wore a mask and belt, and wielded an array of ninja weapons: bolas, nunchucks, stars. However, they still wore their tuxedoes. After they were given the 'thumbs up', they scurried up the ladder and through the window. After a brief chuckle, the walrus placed over his head a bucket.
"See, Gos?" The vest-wearing duck gestured towards a display. "Isn't this enlightening?"
"Dad! It's just some guy's grocery list in a frame!"
"True. But doesn't this say something about our society as a whole?"
"No. It's a grocery list. Milk, butter, loaf of bread, cola..."
"Uh, Drake?" said the pilot, pointing to his left.
"What is it, LP?" Slowly Drake turned around and saw the ninja penguins in front of him, which showed off some of their moves, before the entrance of the walrus.
"A-ha! Adult super-charged ninja penguins, it is I, your adversary, here to steal a painting!"
"Tuskerninni!" cried Drake as he watched the show. The penguins rushed towards Tuskerninni, but just a tiny touch from the walrus, and they fell in the most unconvincing manner possible.
"Yes! I am triumphant against the heroes! Now, if you'll excuse me..." The walrus, still with the bucket on his head, wobbled towards a painting, as he watched the family run out of the room. This occurrence gave him a sense of pride in his methods of showing his villainy, but left him rather disappointing that his crime would not be viewed further. Nonetheless, he grabbed a painting off the wall, and rather than running away with the goods, he stood and waited. He was still to come.
And he didn't disappoint.
It began with the smoke, which brought with it a familiar odour; one Tuskerninni always associated with hope and his dreams.
"I am the terror that flaps in the night!"
No audience was complete without this fellow.
"I am the homework assignment left 'til the last minute!" The smoke cleared in an instant, revealing the duck in purple gear. "I am Darkwing Duck!" Darkwing approached Tuskerninni slowly, and the walrus didn't move an inch. "So," said Darkwing eying the painting, "thinking of picking up a quick buck at the black market, eh?"
"Heavens, no! This is a painting of my favourite director, Harold Schmidsmirk, and I want it hung in my quarters! It'll be a reminder that someday, my portrait will adorn these walls!"
"Yeah, yeah!" In an instant, Darkwing pulled out a gas gun, which Tuskerninni soon snatched out of his hands.
"You can never stop me!" growled Tuskerninni, sneering, "Not when I have the fabled adult super-charged ninja penguins in my power!" Said penguins slowly neared Darkwing with their weapons, giving him the evil eye all the while. Darkwing slid towards them just as they were about to strike, and slugged them all in the face, knocking them to the ground and scattering their weapons. Not wanting the beating to continue, they fled. "Cowards! Come back here!" The cry came too late, as Darkwing, in a millisecond, handcuffed Tuskerninni, grabbing his gun and the painting in the process.
"Okay, Tuskerninni, time to go to jail!"
"That's it?"
"Whaddya mean?"
"Well, shouldn't we have a bit more of a fight?" Tuskerninni said, feeling the floor under his stomach as Darkwing dragged him away, "An epic battle of good vs. evil? Am I not your adversary, who you despise with every fibre of your being and just wish you could destroy?"
All Darkwing could do was chuckle and shake his head. "Tuskerninni, Tuskerninni, Tuskerninni. You don't get it, do you? You know, you're not really any different from the other criminal trash in St Canard."
That last sentence felt like a stack of bricks had been dropped on Tuskerninni's stomach. All his planning, his preparation, his rehearsals...all to be considered on the same level as the interchangeable no-name robbers and hoodlums that run around on the streets that care only about a quick buck? On the same level as morons like the clone, the jester and the nerdy electric rat? How dare anybody compare him to the likes of them! After he had spent weeks thinking of how to both flawlessly pull of a crime and do it with spectacle. To deliver Darkwing Duck a unique experience he would never forget.
Certainly hearing such an outlandish statement from the one and only Darkwing Duck made it seem a whole lot worse, especially considering he said nothing afterwards, save for the typical 'Book 'im'. How could he? They were co-stars, the biggest players in St Canard, delivering the city's entertainment. No, not just entertainment; the epic and poetic battles that thrilled and exhilarated like nothing else. Darkwing Duck was vital to the orchestration of plundering and violence Tuskerninni wrought, and this is what he thought of their myriad performances?
So Tuskerninni was put behind bars like usual, subjected to the whiff of urine and sweat, and the orchestra of groans and yells. Like all criminals, he didn't really want to be here (the exercise periods were hell) but he tried to tolerate it as much as he could. All great artists must take risks with their work, and prison was definitely a risk. The penguins managed to escape Darkwing's clutches though, so there was a good chance they'd bust him out and the present sentence wouldn't last long. However, even with the confidence that his dear penguins would come to his aid, Tuskerninni still felt his stomach sink being in the cell, in a way he hadn't felt before. Briefly, he peered through his bars and tried to gain a glimpse of the other cells. Could it be he...belonged here? That he was as unimportant and plain as all the louts and hooligans that filled this reeking, dominating place? That he had really done nothing to truly distinguish himself?
Of course he had done nothing really unique. What different was he from that annoying, cackling jester? While he terrorised the city with his giant movie props, the jester did the same with giant toys. Just like him, the jester put on a show, a major spectacle, as did the clone. That yellow and black thing, he hated to admit, could probably outdo him in the spectacle department, with his seemingly unlimited supply of explosives. A common crook that just happened to love film, that's all he was.
"Hey!" The noise of his cellmate dragged Tuskerninni out of his funk, but only for a second. "What are you moping about?"
Tuskerninni's cellmate was Sal Magget, a dogman in prison for two cases of robbery and one case of selling bootleg DVDs, the latter crime making the walrus feel really disgusted. Still, he felt this was a chance to regain some confidence; he was definitely superior to this jerk. "None of your business. Your tiny brain probably wouldn't understand it."
"You wanna say that to my face, lard butt?" A pathetic wimp trying to sound tough. Tuskerninni was nothing like that.
"You think you can threaten me? Huh! I've forgotten more about crime than you'll ever know!"
"Then why does Darkwing Duck keep kicking your wide butt?"
The sound of Darkwing's name intensified that sour feeling in Tuskerninni's gut, but he continued, "Like you have any right to criticize me. My crimes are daring and intricate, while yours were done out of mere desperation! Just for a quick buck!"
"Yours weren't?"
At that moment, Tuskerninni began to sob. "You think I like doing what I do?" He held his hand to his eye. "W-when I was young, I so wanted to be an artist, to share my art with the world. But my...my father disapproved! He said no son of his was going to be a namby-pamby artist, and he tore up all my paintings! He was...an alcoholic and he always used to beat me and my mother when he came home..."
Sal rolled his eyes. "Look, drama queen, I've got father issues too, but you don't hear me whining about them." The sobbing stopped instantly, replaced with a cynical glare. "Just leave me alone, okay?"
"Fine." He added, "Philistine" under his breath.
As Sal made his slow way to sleep, Tuskerninni stayed wide-eyed and awake, considering Darkwing's statement. It was utterly false. He was nothing like Sal and Sal was nothing like him. The very idea of bootleg DVDs made Tuskerninni sick, as he had always felt movie studios deserved every dime, well, except in some cases. Sal was a lowbrow idiot, so Tuskerninni thought that to be compared to the likes of him was an utter joke. A great criminal mastermind and artist, the same level as this gutter trash? Ha!
Still, this was Darkwing Duck, the duck that, in a way, made Tuskerninni what he was. Maybe he had a point.
Remembering the role Darkwing had in his criminal career made Tuskerninni think back to his beginnings, and how he fell into the world of crime. It made him think back to his childhood, his real childhood. The story he told Sal was lies, something he said just to add 'flavour' as it were. His father was not a drunkard, in fact, he lived in total abstinence. He was the most renowned doctor in St Canard, and was wealthy for it. Not to mention he had no qualms about Tuskerninni's love of art, in fact, quite the opposite.
In his youth, Tuskerninni was even back then a budding artist. He remembered making little picture books, and sharing them with his father, mother and sister to their amusement. Sometimes, he and his sister, Margaret would unite in making puppet shows, which they would play for their parents in the garden on hot summer days. Ah, the sprouting of a genius.
It was always the films that caught Tuskerninni's eye though. Every Friday, his family would sit around the TV set, each with a bowl of mother's homemade popcorn, pop in a cassette and just sit back. If only that young Tuskerninni knew that what he was watching would be his destiny. After devouring works like Larry Wonky and the Candy Factory and Superpig the Movie, his father let him have his old video camera, and, with Margaret as his co-star, he made a variety of movies like Invaders from Mars, Monsters from Jupiter and his personal favourite Mutant Man-Eating Ponies from Venus. While Margaret would be the damsel in distress and action figures would play the dangerous space monsters, Tuskerninni would both direct and play the hero. These films would premiere before an audience made up of the actors and their parents, with the latter chuckling and giving tremendous amounts of praise.
That praise seemed to elevate Tuskerninni as he heard it, not only because it made him feel like he had more importance than most gave him credit for, but because it made him want to make more movies, more stories, more art. So, at school, he'd normally focus on his daydreams of future creative output and fame then his classes, which led him to a peaceful, mindless bliss. He'd dream of the day he'd grow up, and have all the money in the world to make the film he wanted to.
Therefore, his parent's death came as more a happy opportunity then a tragic demise. Sure, he went to the funeral, shed a few tears and acted as a shoulder for Margaret to cry on, but felt joyful excitement at the reading of the will. He had every reason to; he got half of his parent's fortune! It was a moment he had been waiting for after so many years, and he knew what he wanted to do with it since grade school.
He'd make the greatest musical extravaganza in the history of film, something no-one had ever seen before. Telling the tale of two star-crossed lovers and their epic journey to be together forever. With spectacle, amazement and toe-tapping numbers! He spent all the money he could, absolutely positive he'd quadruple it by the time the picture hit theatres. At the time, it felt like money well spent; large, intricate sets, fireworks to punctuate the big numbers, the finest in dancing animals. In fact, that picture was how he met those penguins who ended up working for him; trained lesser beasts who were capable of great dancing, as well as other menial tasks. Not to mention the only creatures who seemed to believe in Tuskerninni. Not that Tuskerninni let the squabbles from the cast and the crew bother him, as long as the movie got made. Its completion gave him a deep sense of satisfaction that made him want to dance, blissfully unaware of its future failure.
The film bombed at the box office, and was panned by almost every critic. 'Banal'. 'A self-important, excruciating bore'. 'Why was Billy the Kid teaching Math class again?' Philistines. Philistines like Sal. Philistines like Darkwing Duck. No, Darkwing's not a philistine, but those critics were. All of St Canard were and are brainless Neanderthals that wouldn't know good entertainment if it murdered their family. The movies of today are just made for the money (even if Tuskerninni was ever-willing to pay them), but Tuskerninni made that movie to say something. He worked harder at his second movie, made from his remaining money, which he wanted to be a touching and moving picture on the many facets of life. It would be a majestic and heartbreaking parallel on the futility of love, loneliness, pain and our society's obsession with material goods.
It bombed and left him with even less money.
A little thing like loss of money wasn't going to stop Tuskerninni from trying to get more of his ideas up on the silver screen. He continued to write screenplays, but all were rejected, so he tried to gain more funding through whatever methods he could. Selling his wide collection of action figures, entering the world of work (which made him shudder just thinking about it). These failed to produce satisfactory funds, so, one day, he decided to rob a bank just to help along that movie he was dying to make. And why not? He had seen plenty of heist and crime movies in his time, and it would give him an excuse to use those delightful penguins, which he had given further training.
There was some hesitation at first to do the deed, but when he got going that night, he felt the same sense of excitement from when he first started in the movie business. First, two penguins disabled the alarm, then two others fought off the guards and Tuskerninni went in and grabbed the money. As he grabbed the money enclosed in bags with obligatory dollar signs, he couldn't help but feel he was the protagonist of a bigger movie then he had ever lay witness to.
And that feeling increased when he came in...
"I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the weight you put on from eating too much cake! I am Darkwing Duck!"
Every movie lover indulges in the big finale where the hero and villain stand off, and Tuskerninni was living that scene when Darkwing made his entrance. Upon being threatened by this purple phantom, he took a gun from a guard and held it at Darkwing's direction, even if he didn't intend to shoot it. "Stand back or I'll shoot!"
"Suck gas, evil doer!" Darkwing had a gun of his own, which spread a torrent of smoke which confused Tuskerninni and sent him stumbling in circles, dropping the money. As Darkwing came closer, the penguins retreated and Tuskerninni saw no choice but to join them, all the while with Darkwing etched into his mind. The caped figure brought fear and terror, true to his introduction, but Tuskerninni couldn't help but feel impressed. Something about this 'Darkwing Duck' felt surreal and tantalising, as if he were a character that leaped off the movie screen into reality.
Tuskerninni and his penguins successfully got away from Darkwing's eyes and started to plot their next crime. It was then that Tuskerninni began to wonder; if Darkwing Duck can bring theatricality and spectacle to crimefighting, why can't he do the same for crime? If people weren't going to be wowed by his movies, who's to say they weren't going to be wowed by his burglary. Not only would he gain the riches and wealth he should have gained from his films, but would have a whole new creative outlet with unlimited possibilities. Besides, he had paid big money for those working flying machines and weapons, no point in letting them go to waste.
From that point, Tuskerninni strived to incorporate his acting and movie-making expertise into his criminal undertakings, bringing forth costumes and stage props as aids for his robberies. The victims, the guards that got tied up and the confused onlookers became his audience, and their screams and shudders were as good as applause. Even after being spoiled by the myriad screams of the crowds, he still looked at Darkwing Duck like his most important critic. If Darkwing Duck were terrified, or at least felt a state of urgency about the situation that had been created, Tuskerninni knew that his crime was truly successful, even if he did go to jail afterwards.
That's why he had no choice but to slip into that funk. The terror and the state of urgency was completely absent in his last caper. But why?
After a while of thought, Tuskerninni came to a realisation that felt like another hard punch. What he had been doing in that last caper was no different from what he had been doing for all of his criminal career. He hadn't left his comfort zone, he hadn't done anything new. That is not what a filmmaker is supposed to do...well, some think it is, but Tuskerninni knew he was better than most of those so-called filmmakers, and most of those so-called supervillains as well. He didn't need plant or water or electric powers to commit the perfect crime, and damned if he wasn't going to prove it! Darkwing's words only meant he had to try harder and think of something new. But what?
The time Tuskerninni had in prison was spent thinking, daydreaming and scheming of something totally unexpected and new, as he lay in his cell, worked his tiring jobs and scoffed down the food in the mess hall. Loads of mental preparation was needed soon, he thought, as he was certain any minute that his precious penguins would bust him out. When training them for his movies and crimes, he taught them thinking as well, along with other talents. Any night now, he kept thinking with a sense of excitement and a small bit of nervousness, they'll be here and then the plan can begin.
They didn't disappoint. After a week of the usual prison stuff, Tuskerninni had been spending another night lying awake in thought, trying to ignore Sal, when a noise caught his attention. Tunneling was among the many talents he had taught the penguins, and while it came in handy when he was in the company of the Mallards, it seemed more of a relief at that moment. Two penguins popped in, wearing miners' hats and staring at their master with anticipation. Joy overcame Tuskerninni, that lessened a little when Sal began to wake up.
"Take care of him," said Tuskerninni to the penguins, "He seems like a snitch." The train of thought to that one was that Sal seemed pathetic, and snitches are always pathetic, so do the math. After the two penguins beat up Sal for a while, another penguin popped out of the hole, carrying Tuskerninni's clothes, and the four dived down to freedom. At the end of the hole, another two penguins were piloting another of Tuskerninni's flying machines, let their master and co-workers on and flew away. Tuskerninni giggled with joy at the escape, knowing that the guards would be too stupid to catch him, and even if he ended up freeing Sal, the latter wouldn't do much once he was free anyway.
The crew arrived at the hideout, and Tuskerninni, now dressed in top hat and tails, entered jumping, giggling and prancing. One penguin had that 'what the heck' look in his face, so Tuskerninni felt he had to elaborate. "Boys, I believe this is the beginning of something big." The crew still looked confused. "You see, for years, we have stolen and plundered with the most elaborate and flamboyant methods possible, but now I think that has grown a bit stale, and I'm pretty sure you'll agree." The penguins nodded, more out of respect for their master then genuine belief. "We are artistes, and it is our duty to take risks! To challenge the tiny brains of our audience! To gain our critics' seal of approval. To do this, we must up the ante! Raise the stakes! It's no good if we just steal money! Only the most insipid filmmakers do their work just for money! We need to go into a new direction! My previous undertakings may have been brilliant, but we always went to jail in the end! No blood was shed! And Darkwing Duck ends up saying I'm just the same as any other criminal!"
The penguins seemed rather nervous by that point. Seeing their fear gave Tuskerninni pride, making him want to undertake this new array of crimes even more. "I'm sure you've seen at least one horror film," Tuskerninni continued, "Being in prison gave me time to think, and then I remembered my favourite horror films as a teenager. Ah, if you haven't seen Horror at Heron House, you are truly missing out on something. The way the suspense was built up was marvellous! People died left and right, but you never saw the killer! Pondering over this made me realise why Darkwing Duck said what he said! If we are to stand out from the crowd, we need to make our crimes more subtle...and yet more..." Tuskerninni held out a knife, which caused the penguins to huddle together. A laugh emitted from Tuskerninni's throat, as he now knew what he had in mind would be successful. He looked at the knife with a small hint of nervousness, since, despite all his weaponry, he had never actually killed anyone. As of now, though, it seemed killing was absolutely necessary and was the next logical step. Artists have to take risks, right?
The most treasured moments of Tuskerninni were those when he felt like he had been transported into the very movies he loved to watch. The lonely stretch of land, crawling with bare trees and thorns, where the hero would encounter the monster. Where Tuskerninni was felt like the embodiment of all horror movie finales, and it had plenty of places to hide to boot. The effect was completed by the sole penguin coming along shuddering and looking around him, as if there really were ghosts about in this strange place. "That's it. If you believe, so will the audience! Now let's look for a suitable actor!"
Creeping through the woods in a black tracksuit, Tuskerninni searched for potential victims. After just a few seconds of looking, he found a car, framed by the crooked claws of two trees. A tiny little peek, and Tuskerninni saw two dog teenagers, a girl and a boy, obviously trying to make love without any interruptions. This was perfect. This and the cool wind blowing in his face and the creaking of the branches. All the makings of a classic.
"Roll it!" The still scared penguin picked up the movie camera and began to 'roll it' as it were. Eying the romantic teenagers, Tuskerninni pulled out a knife with a gloved hand and slinked towards his prey...
Slowly, Drake Mallard arose from his sleep, yet he chose to stay in bed. Last night had brought an especially tiring Bushroot caper, and he could still feel the thorns in his posterior even after they had been removed. The thoughts of thorns began to fade as Launchpad arrived with breakfast in bed: an egg with toast soldiers, a glass of orange juice, and the morning paper. After downing the orange juice, Drake took a look at the paper, half out of interest in the world's events and half to see if there were any more crimes that needed stopping.
A string of murders had occurred. A teenage couple found dead. A woman in the park found dead. A man found dead. Even recent escapee Sal Magget found dead.
"Woah," was all Launchpad could say when he saw this news.
"LP," said Drake, scratching his chin, "These murders seemed to happen when we were fighting Bushroot. Maybe he was trying to distract us..."
"You know, Drake, maybe we should let the cops handle this."
"There have been quite a few jailbreaks recently, and Negaduck and some of his cronies are still at large!"
"How can you be sure it's them?"
"This seems just like the sort of thing Negaduck would do!"
"You know, Drake, you said the same thing when the ice cream shop ran out of your favourite flavour..." said Launchpad, beginning to slink away.
"Be serious, LP! This is a matter I have to look into!"
So that night, Drake became Darkwing and scoured the city for Negaduck, leaving Launchpad at home as he was sure to be a bother. From what Darkwing had read of the murders, they followed no real pattern, and random destruction was Negaduck's calling card.
"Hiding in the dark shadows of St Canard," Darkwing said to himself, "the grim yet heroic Darkwing Duck seeks out his foe to brutally punish him for his grisly murders." After a while, Darkwing found Negaduck, carrying a huge tub of something, and in a flash, swooped down and knocked Negaduck in the head.
"Well, well," said Negaduck, grinning smugly, "Another great entrance from Dorkwing Duck!"
"Okay, Negaduck, I know it was you who killed those defenceless innocents last night! Well, Sal may have not been a defenceless innocent but it was still bad!"
"What are you talking about?"
"You know, the string of murders last night? It was in the papers?"
"Oh, those. As much as I'd like to take credit for them, you can tell it wasn't me! When I kill people, I let them know I did it! I don't keep it a mystery!"
"Oh. Well, what's that?"
"My aunty's home-made lemonade! Real powerful stuff! That's why I'm going to dump it in the St Canard drinking water!"
"Well, a crime's a crime." With that, Darkwing and Negaduck had a small fight that left Negaduck confused and in handcuffs and Darkwing disappointed that he didn't find the murderer. He slunk right into the shadows of the city again, until he heard a familiar laugh. Quackerjack! It was a stretch, but Darkwing thought that Quackerjack could be the murderer, as the victims may have been people that didn't want to buy his toys. He knew how desperate Quackerjack could be when it came to his toys. That's why, when sneaking from the shadows, Darkwing saw Quackerjack and some giant green army men hijacking a truck carrying action figures.
"Get the action figures!" cried Quackerjack to an army man, "It annoys me so much when my toys get neglected because everyone wants an action figure of their favourite superhero! I don't need licenses, I have original ideas!"
"Game's over, Quackerjack!" said Darkwing, holding his gas gun.
"Fire!" With their master's command, the green soldiers fired at Darkwing, and he rolled over to avoid their shooting.
"What's the matter, Quackerjack? Afraid of going mano-a-mano?"
"Hold your fire!" said Quackerjack to his robots, "I accept your challenge Dipwing! It's playtime!"
Before the battle of two sworn foes could begin, a loud scream pierced through the night, causing both ducks to run to the source. A woman found dead with a knife through her head.
"Ew!" said Quackerjack, and Darkwing would be lying if he said he didn't feel the same way. Still, among the disgust and horror, there was excitement, for he was on the murderer's trail. In fact, he just saw the shadowed culprit run away, and thus gave chase.
"Stop right there, you murdering scumbag!" cried Darkwing, raising his hand in the air as he gained on the figure. Seeing this opponent, the figure held out another knife, and pretended to clean it. The fear Darkwing had tried to keep hidden erupted. "OK, I don't want any trouble." The knife then flew through the air, which made Darkwing tumble over in shock. When he took the hat off his eyes, he saw the knife had missed him and the murderer had escaped.
"Oh, you should have seen him," giggled Tuskerninni as he took off his mask, "As frightened as a fieldmouse!" The knowledge that he made Darkwing feel terrified was a seal of approval from his most renowned critic. "Now, let's review our footage so far!"
Tuskerninni and his penguins once again watched every murder, every death. Where the screams were silenced by a penguin holding the victim's throat, and where Tuskerninni used that now-precious knife. Rewatching these, Tuskerninni felt a strange nausea. Did he really kill those people? Even that girl whose frightened eyes reminded him so much of Margaret. That Margaret, she was such a timid soul. That initial sense of shock wore off when he remembered how it felt. He had committed so many capers and yet never killed anyone, no matter how much he threatened. Taking that into consideration, killing those people, even if he had no personal beef with all but Sal, felt like a massive weight lifted off his shoulders. It also brought forth a sense of different accomplishment; he tried something new and succeeded at it, and that was a reflection of his true genius.
"But it's still not enough!" Still with a piece of the thrill he gained from his random murders, Tuskerninni felt himself falling back into a funk. And why? Once again, he found himself putting his thinking cap on, until it came to him: he wasn't evil enough! Audiences crave evil! The jester and the plant duck and the freak with the metal beak, they could hardly be considered evil! Were Tuskerninni to show his true evil, he'd go down in history and his portrait would be painted in no time. How to be truly evil, though? Perhaps he should start off small and build it up somehow? Even if his evil deed was small though, Darkwing Duck should lay witness to it.
But could he really be 'evil'? Weren't his murders evil enough, killing that woman who looked like dear...
"That's it! That'll really make an impact! Boys, I have a plan!"
Margaret, despite receiving a massive fortune, preferred a more simple life. Living in a semi-detached three story house, she spent her existence unmarried, a little overworked but still happy. She had heard of her brother's many malicious capers, and of course, was concerned about them, and yet had never visited him in prison or anything of that nature. That might have been due to her timid nature, or simple denial that someone she had known for so many years could just rob a bank.
When she saw him standing in her kitchen, she screamed.
"What's the matter, dear?"
"Well..."
"Aren't you pleased to see me?"
Regaining herself, she tried to answer, "Well, it's always good to see a family member, but you...you should be in prison..."
"Should I? This city is my canvas!"
"Well...uh...what can I say?"
"Oh, you. You don't need to say anything; you just need to help me!"
"I'm not stealing anything!"
"I've grown past that! Remember when we were children, and we collaborated on some little film projects?"
"W-what does that have to d-do with..."
"Well, I'm doing something like that to show Darkwing Duck, and I believe you have loads of potential for my damsel in distress!"
Before Margaret could say anything, two penguins leapt out of the shadows, dumping a large bag over her head.
At his secret hideout on top of the bridge, Darkwing sat, analysing the knife to find any DNA or evidence. Launchpad and Gosalyn were in the room with him, the former didn't want to be left home where the murderer could get him, and the latter had homework to do. As Darkwing tried to find evidence, Gosalyn piped in. "You know, dad, I just noticed something about the murders."
"Young lady, you have homework to do. This is a situation for adults."
"Yeah, I know. But it's just that the way the couple died, that's like how the couple got killed in Nightmare on Ash Street!"
"Young lady, this is serious business!"
"And that man died like the way the guy was killed in Monday the 13th! And a woman was found with two scars on her back and one through her neck like in The Massachusetts Knife Massacre!"
"So?"
"Um, you don't think all the murders being reminiscent of horror movies is odd?"
Movies? Of course...well, sort of. "Tuskerninni? You think he did it?"
"I'm not sure. I mean, he's the movie guy, but he's also a joke!"
"Don't underestimate crime, Gosalyn! Anyway, I think you're onto something! We need to check his last known hideouts!"
The abandoned cinema, which was meant to undergo renovations that nobody got around to, was where Tuskerninni made his hideout back during the palaver over Launchpad. He had abandoned it after the police found he was there, but for this performance, it was fitting. Deep in his mind, Tuskerninni had a huge hunch Darkwing would use his powers of deduction to discover he was the murderer, and grinned when thinking of how he would react when he'd find out. That was why he chose the most obvious spot to take Margaret; so Darkwing could easily find him and they could have a real battle. For this occasion, Tuskerninni had picked up a new costume: a black top hat and coat, complete with a gold-trimmed cape and silver cane. Smiling and pondering on what he'd do to his worthy nemesis, he turned towards Margaret, eyes wide and her raven hair a mess, in her popcorn stand prison. His last living relative, and she was so perfect.
"I hope you'll understand, dear sister. I mean, how naive I was as a child, never understanding the true risks of art! Now that I realise the best art requires sacrifices, this will be my greatest performance ever!" She said nothing in response, as she was still shocked that he was the one who committed the murders. "Oh, calm down. Just think, after this your name will go down in history! Not as much as mine, but people will still know your name!" At that moment, Tuskerninni swore he heard footsteps. "Oh, he's here!" With this sign, he grabbed his relative and ran into a theatre. "Get everything ready, boys!"
Cape draped over beak, Darkwing skulked in the hall in his usual overdramatic way. "Okay, Tuskerninni, show yourself!"
"I'm right here, Darkwing Duck!" came the voice from the theatre. Kicking open the door with his webbed feet, Darkwing entered the theatre and saw Tuskerninni, with the other walrus tied up. "Ah, so great you could make it!"
Moving closer to his foe, Darkwing asked, "Who's that? Kinda looks like you in a skirt."
Tuskerninni laughed. "This is my dear sister, and I'm going to kill her like I did those people." Margaret still said nothing, but shuddered and shook her head franticly.
"So it was you!"
"I knew you'd figure it out. I had every confidence in you." The knife came closer to Margaret's throat. "They had to die, you know, it's all part of my little project. Impressed?" The response Tuskerninni got was being kicked in the posterior, causing him to drop the knife and tumble over into the seats. As he got up, he noticed Darkwing had untied Margaret's ropes, and she beganto run away. Tuskerninni did nothing to stop her; he felt the point he tried to make had been made.
"Give it up, Tusker!" said Darkwing as he swooped down into the aisle.
"You underestimate me," said Tuskerninni, looking for his knife, "even after I've proved myself a truly vile villain!" Darkwing punched him again, and he smiled even wider. "Yes, yes! This is what I want to see!" His opponent cocked an eyebrow. "You despise me, don't you? Am I not your greatest enemy?"
"Not really."
"What? Haven't you seen what I've done?"
"Yeah, you killed a few people, but what criminal doesn't?" A false yawn came from Darkwing's mouth that to Tuskerninni felt as bad as a slug to the face.
"But I tried to kill my own sister! Is that not evil?"
"Oh, I could tell you weren't really going to kill her! You had every intention of letting her go!"
"No, I was going to kill her!"
"And I'm Scrooge McDuck! Face it, Tuskerninni, you're no more threatening than your usual garden-variety bank robber..."
"I am nothing like them!" bellowed Tuskerninni as he ran towards Darkwing. All the Masked Mallard had to do was step out of the way, and Tuskerninni ended up tripping over. As he lay on his belly, Darkwing grabbed his arms and slipped on a pair of handcuffs.
"Looks like it's back to jail for you!"
"Our fight can't be over so soon! I'm an unstoppable serial killer! You fear me! You..." In a moment, he saw the look in Darkwing's face and growled. "You..." The growling became laughter in an instant. "Good show, old chap. I always knew you were a worthy adversary."
"Shut up, Tuskerninni. You just like hearing yourself talk."
The End