THE NEGAVERSE

St. Canard

Two Years After the Battle for St. Canard

Sssshhhhh

The faint whisper of an artist's spray can could barely be heard among the eerie whine of a dark Negaverse night. To the young man painting, it was a good sound. It would be easy to dismiss the boy's work as mere vandalism, if he weren't so talented. He should have been in school and under the wing of an older, more experienced artist who could give him guidance and advice. A mentor who worked in a more "respectable" medium. But this boy had his own personal reasons for working alone, and for breaking the law.

Ssshhhhhh

After the absence of everyone's favorite megalomaniac could no longer be kept a secret, there was war, and there had been plenty of thugs waiting in the wings to fill the Negaduck-shaped mold in the world. If "President" Grizzlikoff "filled in" any more he'd explode. Nowadays, St. Canard was fairly stable in a Soviet police-state sort of way. Even in the Negaverse, Grizzlykoff was Grizzlikoff. He'd done everything by the book, if down the barrel of a gun, and so he became president. All the decent people had been too afraid to vote.

Shhhhhhhh

The disappearance of Negaduck had planted a seed of hope in the hearts of the citizens of St. Canard, especially the young. This particular young one was simply expressing himself in the medium that came naturally to him. Getting away with it would prove to be much more difficult.

"Allright Rembrandt! Put your hands up where I can see 'em!"

Red-handed was the only way the boy could be caught. He was a cardinal! The 14-year-old kid raised his crimson hands ever so slowly, the tiny device in his beak ready to be squeezed at just the right moment. Two policemen were closing in on either side of the cardinal closer and closer.

He shut his eyes and bit down hard.

WheeeeeEEEEEE BOOOM!" Klackity clackity clackity clack! SheeeeeeeeEEEEE Booom! BOOM!

Hundreds of firecrackers exploded from the cardinal's nearby backpack, careening and pinwheeling dangerously in every direction, spitting lots of smoke, sparks, and fire!

The boy barreled past the policemen in the commotion, hurdled over a chain-link fence, and ran down a dark alley, ducking into an adjacent slum apartment building. The boy breathed heavily as neighborhood dogs barked in the noise. The police would know he was in the area. He had to get out of there before even more police came.

...Your cheatin' heart will make you weep
You'll cry and cry and try to sleep
But sleep won't come the whole night through
Your cheatin' heart will tell on you...

Meanwhile, lazily rounding the corner was an old pickup truck. Its cargo? A sty of fat, sleeping pigs. Its driver? Darkwing would have recognized him. Duane, or rather, the Negaverse version of him was dozing behind the weathered wheel. His eyes opened periodically to give a brief snapshot of the road ahead while Hank Williams droned from the radio.

Baboom!

Nega-Duane jolted from his sleep. He looked in his rear view mirrors. He was alone. The street lights flashed yellow.

"Pothole or somethin'" he mumbled, turning the corner.

The boy sat still and silent in the truck bed for a long time, not daring to make a move or a sound, even as the sun rose and pigs nuzzled his face with their tickly snouts. It was only after Duane had driven nearly to the edge of town that the boy smiled and patted the pigs grunting happily on either side of him.

"Don't know what y'all're so happy about." The cardinal said. "You're on the road to bacon city."

One of the pigs squealed uncertainly.

"You don't wanna know."

The teenager crawled to the back of the truck, and opened it.

"That's all I can do for you. Sorry. You're the best company I've had in a long time."

And with that, the boy hopped off the truck.

After a while of sticking to the shadows, and just when he began to know where he was...

"Aaaaah!"

The cardinal felt a searing, sharp pain that started in his back and with lightning speed, shot throughout his whole body.. The boy fell over on his face with a thud. Behind his felled victim was a member of Grizzlikoff's secret police, still holding his stun gun.

"You're lucky he wants you alive."

Nega-St. Canard's early risers awoke to get as much work done as possible. Curfew ended at sunrise. Some earlybirds were in for a visual treat as they passed a wall of an abandoned urban lot: a beautifully painted mural depicting The Friendly Five, Darkwing Duck, and a young girl who the resistance nicknamed "The Princess." These were the people who stood for hope in the bleak Negaverse. Apparently, someone thought hope still had a chance.