Twisted Shadows

AN:Ha. Did you really think I would let this fic die? Not a chance. Okay, sure, so I procrastinate for months, maybe even years, but that doesn't mean I let my discontinued published fics hanging. So, behold, Part 10 of Twisted Shadows. Enjoy. :)

It took only two days for Moordryd's flu to subside. After that, he felt rather composed, walking proudly up to the Dragon Eye compound's security room, where Cain was sitting on a chair, trying to activate their new security cameras set up. He frowned and banged his fist against the monitors while Vizz read an instruction manual.

This still didn't faze things for the leader of the Dragon Eyes. "So how long before you can fix up the security settings of the compound?" Moordryd asked.

Instead, Vizz yanked out a small data board hidden in the instruction manual. "There was a virus in the stolen star gear, boss," he announced.

Instantly Moordryd's calmness dispersed. "What?" he yelled, yanking the information from Vizz's gloved hand. His eyes scanned the analysis before he looked back up. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, frustrated.

"You were sick," Cain mumbled, still paying attention to the monitors. "You told us not to concern you until you were feeling better."

Moordryd gave a loud groan. "I should shoot you!" he cried, tossing away the data board. "Something like this should be reported! Immediately! You do realize that we're one of the suspects for the cause of all this, right?"

"At the time, you weren't there to hear our report," Vizz pointed out, backing away slowly.

"So it slipped your mind? You imbecile!" He sighed and stormed out.

"Whoa," Vizz gasped, blinking in shock as he adjusted his goggles. "Somebody got up on the wrong side of the bed."

"I'll say," Cain agreed, looking up. "These past few days, Moordryd's temper is really flaring up easily. If you pay more attention, you can just see that gray cloud hovering over his head…"

"Well, let's see how his temper works when we go to a rescheduled Down City council meeting," Vizz murmured, then turned back to the instruction manual and smote his forehead. "Oh, so that's how you rewire dead circuits!"

- - -

While Artha and Kitt were out somewhere in Dragon City, Parm was in Mortis' Dragon Temple, continuing to analyze even more information on the virus. Mortis saw him, and approached him as the young genius, who still had his face in his VIDDComp. "Take a break, Parmon," the Dragon Priest suggested, placing a hand on the genius' shoulder "You've investigated this case enough."

Parm stared at him in shock. "Have you any idea how serious this is, Mortis?" he retorted. "We must solve this case. If only Artha was here right now. He didn't give me enough information on whatever happened yesterday on the streets."

"I believe Artha is on a date with Kitt. That doesn't seem important; you can contact him via comm-link."

Parm shook his head. "No," he said. "I don't want to interrupt their fun. They did enough already."

Mortis lifted his head in acknowledgement of the boy's respect for his friends. He frowned when he saw an immense amount of digital coding scrolling past the green holographic screen of the computer. "What are you doing?" he said.

Parm immediately replied without any thought. Realizing what he had just said made him jump in the air with a high-pitched shriek as he turned to a very aghast Mortis.

"Hacking? Into what?"

"Er…" Parm stuttered, trembling as Mortis towered over him. "It's…"

"Wait, when did you learn to hack?"

"…would you believe me if I said I knew some people at my mother's Tech-Academy – "

"Forget I asked. Now, who's system are you hacking into?"

"…D.C.M - "

"Do you realize how much trouble you're getting yourself into, Parmon?" Mortis barked as Parm cowered. "You're committing a felony against a local high-security system! To make things worse, when the security's already higher than usual!"

"Look, Mortis, I need to do this," Parm responded firmly, with authority. "The only way we are ever going to figure out how this virus will be stopped is to go into the main source: the hospital. They take care of all of the victims of the dragons. They should have enough information to make a more detailed hypothesis about what's in our hands."

Mortis groaned and placed his face in his hand. "Parmon, do you realize what you're risking at the moment with this crime?" he said. "We can't use evil for good, as they say."

Parm stared into the dark eyes of Mortis' helmet. "Sometimes, evil isn't always evil if it's for a worthwhile cause," he said, before turning back to the computer as Mortis walked away.

Access to the mainframe. Finally, his reward for those past five hours in a vain (yet barely successful) attempt at activating a different IP address, temporarily disabling the security system, finding the mainframe.

Now, to find all the files related to the sick dragons.

Parm typed in another command, and was greeted by an overwhelming amount of files. He saw one labeled "Fracshun". A wave of pity crossed him. He checked the amount of files he was looking at –

Magna Draconis, that was a lot.

The redhead sighed as he checked several of the files. This wasn't going anywhere. All he found was that most of the targeted dragons were still in unstable conditions and further investigation. Searching up 'virus' wasn't going to get you anywhere, unless you want to search through a million files for the right one –

Dates.

He looked at the differing dates on each dragon's file. It stated when they arrived at the medical center. The other glorious thing was how it was listed in date created, from newest to oldest.

Let's do that virus search, Parm thought triumphantly.

His fingers skimmed the keyboard. As expected, an even more overwhelming number of file names appeared on the screen. Parm quickly assumed that three's the charm.

He clicked on the third file. A sense of power and victory overcame him as a triumphant, and creepily malevolent grin crossed his face. "Bingo," he whispered to himself, and began his research.

- - -

"No, on second thought, I want the Draconee-Crunch bar instead!"

The black-haired cashier groaned loudly as she pulled her hand away from the bag of Dracee-Bits she was about to get. "Four words, kid," she hissed, clawing thin air with one hand. "Make. Up. Your. Mind!"

"Why did I agree to do this…?" Parm moaned, burying his face in his hands. "Just give him the one with the most sugar!"

Lance huffed and folded his arms in a very sophisticated manner. "This takes time, you know!" he retorted, looking at both Parm and Lii. "Your choice of candy will affect how hyper you get."

Lii's head collided with the counter. "I need a vacation," she muttered under her breath.

"And may I inquire why?" Parm said, looking for a change in conversation, besides candy.

He rolled his eyes when the girl looked up with a raised eyebrow. "Inquire," he began. "To ask."

"Low business," Lii sighed, resting her cheek against her fist. "Other people too. The vacation thing, I mean. Like, permanent. Less infected gear or whatever in the foreign places."

"What, nobody's buying anything anymore?" Parm said.

"That's dumb," Lance interjected. He grinned at Lii. "I'm still buying."

"Buy faster," Lii snapped, shifting her eyes towards the younger redhead. "Yep. Ever since this whole virus thing happened, the money's going way down. Profits are falling faster than racers off their dragons. Business is bad, as you know, especially for gear. Now gear industries are going bankrupt and Work Town people are in jeopardy."

She looked up to see Lance and Parm staring open-mouthed at her. "Money's my thing," she explained with a small smirk. "Words aren't." She snatched the Draconee-Crunch bar off the racks. When she saw Lance with his fingers rubbing his temple, she rolled her eyes and put it back.

"Well, not to worry," Parm said. "I'm sure Dragon City Medical is coming up with a solution right now."

"D.C.M's got nothing," Lii retorted. "All they know is 'oh, virus. Let's spend all this time investigating the main problem of it instead of trying to cure the dragons'."

"Can I have the – " Lance started.

"Talking. Wait."

Lance muttered something under his breath as Parm shook his head. This girl needed to learn more. "For your information, they can't cure the virus yet, if they don't know what's wrong!" Parm said.

"Then what's taking them so long?" Lii countered. "It's been a month now. They should've found at least a way to stall and stop the virus from infecting other dragons and gear!"

Parm paused at this sudden observation. "I know more about it than the simple standards of what it is!" he argued.

"How?"

"…I have friends within the D.C.M. They know how many dragons suffered, and how many died."

"Big deal," Lii said. "The death rates? Only 20 of the infected dragons."

Parm suddenly closed his mouth, interested with what she had to say. When she didn't say anything and continued to stare in confusion at Parm, he groaned. "Continue," he said.

"Scales," Lii cursed. "Can't you pick up on it so I don't have to talk so much? Do you realize how carefully the deaths of the dragons were? The guy who robbed from the Dragon City bank and stole a dragon had that dragon die. That racer a few weeks ago with the tentacle gear died. This seems to be mainly targeted at criminals."

"You know, now that I think about it…" Parm mused. "But why?"

"Viruses now follow justice, since people can't do it anymore," Lii drawled with another casual eye roll.

"I don't like your attitude, by the way. And, er, yes, that's what it seems. But only perhaps since it's being passed on with a certain source of draconium – "

"Question," Lii suddenly butted in. The expression on her face showed a twinge of intrigue, not the casual laid-back manner of the snarky, anti-social cashier. "Your nurse friends…did they say there was a source of draconium?"

Parm froze.

Nowhere in the file did it mention a draconium source of any kind. Which meant the virus was biased, but in a way it wasn't.

But…how could that be?

"Okay, I'll take the Draconee-Yum bar," Lance's voice piped up.

Lii reached for it, then quickly stuffed one of each kind into a bag and tossed it at Lance. "For my best customer," the half brunette half bluenette quickly said. She turned towards Parm. "Twenty-seven drakkals."

Parm groaned and glared at a grinning Lance.

- - -

Usually Moordryd could tolerate noise; no, wait, there were conditions when he couldn't. Now was probably a bad time for noise, due to the fact that he still felt rather tired and stressed.

The hubbub in the Down City Council of Twelve was the current thing bothering him.

He groaned, sitting with his arms folded on the desk and his head rested on them. It was also a bad time for noise because it wouldn't stop and it wasn't to his slightest interest, yet. It only covered the issues he already knew about.

"There is no logical explanation for this!" a voice, probably Kudgyl's, cried. "You're taking it on us that green draconium is responsible for all this?"

"I second Kudgyl," another voice; Grip of the Dragon leader Phistus', no doubt, agreed. "Remember, all colors and types of gear have been infected somehow, and we ourselves have no idea about the infecting of green draconium!"

"Yeah, yeah, please get to the point already," Vociferous' voice drawled.

"That is the point, you ignorant fool," Phistus growled, glaring at Vociferous, who shrugged casually and sat back in his chair.

"I mean, what is the point of why the dragons are getting infected," Vociferous replied.

"What?" Moordryd started, his head snapping upwards instantly.

Vociferous gave one of his fox-like smirks. "See?" he said smugly. "Not even you, Moordryd Paynn, thought about that."

"Oh, well, forgive me then," Moordryd said through a false smile of gratitude, though his eyes narrowed and the phrase "I wanna kill you" echoed in his head. "So, what have you come up with?"

"I dunno. That's why I'm asking the council!" The pink-haired man rolled his eyes at Moordryd, like it was completely obvious.

"I wanna kill you," Moordryd growled, the thought that ricocheted in Moordryd's mind finally escaping through his lips.

"Enough!" Phistus snapped, gripping his large hammer. "This meeting isn't about your little, unimportant rivalries. It's about this virus, this worrisome breakout in the city."

"It got five of my Magma-class dragons and my hauling Bull-class dragon!" the Dragon Flares leader Pyrrah yelled, her eyes blazing with anger.

"That's nothing!" a man named Dorsull retorted. "The Dragon Fish not only lost six of our dragons, but one was lost."

"So the virus is fatal?" a blue-haired lady named Shurykyn said as she exchanged glances with her Inner Order leader Khatah, Chukks, and Sarjo.

"Even the crew elders puzzle over this," Khatah sighed, looking dejected. "Truly, this is a mystery."

"A mystery that needs to be solved very soon!" Wulph barked, rather annoyed (no surprise, really, as the Army of the Dragon leader was usually annoyed). "We're doing nothing but fussing and arguing while there are issues about this virus that need to be resolved!"

"Wulph is right," Phistus said. "As Vociferous said earlier, we have discussed the how, but we haven't discussed the why."

"The why…" Moordryd murmured, in the debate now. "The why can't always be predicted right. But, how far the why will go is truthful. Already, over a hundred dragons suffered the virus. Several of those dragons have died, say, 20 of the infected population, but it seems biased to criminals. This is, obviously, a concerning amount already."

"As you said, obviously," Hazaard said. "Paynn is right. It's all a matter of how far this'll go. There's this rumor that this isn't natural; something may be controlling the virus and how it spreads."

"But that's impossible!" Pyrrah argued with her lieutenant. "How can that be?"

"Has anybody ever thought of control gear yet?" Marianis pointed out.

The seven crews currently there that meeting turned their attention to the Dragon Fish leader. "Think about it," she continued explaining. "It's too balanced to be natural; there must be someone behind this. Control gear will make dragons do anything. It's also black draconium, which means black draconium is the best use to infect. The company I know best who uses black draconium for gear is Paynn Incorporated…"

"I object!" Moordryd cried, instant accusations and complaints being targeted at him as Swayy, Rancydd and Cain slowly backed away from him. "My father and I myself do not have that experience of infection."

"So, you admit that you don't have experience to infect a multitude of dragons, but you can infect," Marianis said, a triumphant smirk on her face.

"Shut up, Marianis!" Moordryd yelled, on his feet now and glaring at the Dragon Fish leader, his eyes flickering with detest as more complaints were hurled at him.

"How do you know so much about the why then, Moordryd?" Marianis countered.

"Now you're being paranoid," Moordryd snapped angrily. "It was a well-thought prediction! Can I blame it if I'm smarter than all of you fools?"

He took the time to let the rest of the angry protests come at him before he continued. "There is no draconium source for the virus!" he said. "Dragon City Medical never mentioned a draconium source! This rules out black draconium to be the cause, and yes," – here he gave Phistus a look – "green draconium. That means draconium-related infections are crossed out."

"Well, apparently, you're just so smart, and so is your old man!" Vociferous spoke up in argument. "I wouldn't be surprised if you came up with a way to infect gear without us looking!"

"You're forgetting about your crew, Vociferous," Rancydd retorted.

"What about the Dragon Fish?" Pyrrah suggested, glaring at them. "You know well about events like this."

"Take the blame on me, will you, Pyrrah?" Marianis snapped back, clenching her fists. "The person who accuses usually did it!"

I gotta remember that, Moordryd noted mentally.

More voices rang out in protest and agreement and almost everyone there was on his or her feet. "You don't look very well," Cain said, glancing at Moordryd.

"Headache," Moordryd mumbled back.

"Since when does the out-of-control events and noise give you a headache?" Swayy scoffed. "I thought you liked all that."

"Since I didn't get enough rest last night, I'm not feeling drac, got it?" Moordryd responded. "That was one of the hardest dragon thefts we managed to pull off last night. I expect better."

"You mean your father expects better," Cain pointed out.

Moordryd tensed. "Yeah…whatever," he said. Already Word had given him more lectures than he could handle, almost every minute, noting every mistake he did.

"You haven't found what I'm looking for yet, and every single day you fail what you must do," Word had told him yesterday. That day Moordryd had to dodge a paperweight that was thrown at him. "I'm tired of this, Moordryd," Word had said when he woke up at his father's citadel. "Do better, or you'll regret every single moment of your life."

"Stupid Phistus," Moordryd muttered, wanting to take his mind off his father. "Can he shut them up already?"

"Hey, wanna play Scales?" Cain asked, tapping his shoulder as he held a hand of cards. He turned back to Rancydd and Swayy as he slapped down three cards face-down on an empty chair. "Three sevens," he announced.

"Scales," Swayy said.

Moordryd placed his head back on the desk and groaned as Cain frowned and grabbed the pile of cards placed on the chair.

- - -

Parm wasn't the only one that did a little hacking.

The gray eyes moved back and forth with intrigue as they studied the research on the file about the virus. Word shook his head with disgust and pressed a button on his control panel. He was immediately logged off the D.C.M mainframe, and his monitors returned to normal, with images of the happenings of Dragon City.

His eyes narrowed in frustration. Where are you…? he thought.

This mastermind behind this whole virus fiasco was indeed a worthy nemesis against Word's current plans. The unsung overlord still aimed to make that mastermind his ally.

However, as Word dug deeper into the situation, this person could just as well turn against him. Perhaps he or she would try to sabotage his company's business, even if it was already dropping in profits rapidly.

The reminiscence about his industry's situation made Word scowl. He was playing with somebody dangerous. A menace. Yes, take the advantage of becoming their collaborators if you can, so you can pull off whatever it is you need to pull off, but at what risk?

Like many others, Word had noticed the death rates, and how focused they were on criminals. If, perhaps, this deviant was actually harming dragons for the better will of Word's opposition…?

No. No, that was impossible. Why would that person be targeting other innocent dragons then? Maybe…a red herring…?

This issue is very, very perplexing, Word thought grimly. Am I prepared for it?

He pressed a button on his earpiece. "This is Word Paynn," he said. "I want you to up the security maintenance of Paynn Incorporated. Security cameras; install them everywhere. I am not exaggerating; the vents, the bathrooms, I mean it. I want guards on specified posts 24/7."

"I, er, really don't think we need this, Mr. Paynn…" the voice on the other line suggested meekly.

"Do not question my orders or you'll be fired!" Word snarled. "Now do as I say!"

"Y-yes, Mr. Paynn, sir!" the voice stammered, and the conversation was cut off.

Word grumbled and rested a claw on his forehead. Turning to his left, he sensed the movement of his wraith dragons. He heard a small, menacing growl from one of them. Claws scratched against the floor.

Word chuckled, comforted by the wraith's show of strength.

I still have the upper hand. My new rival won't be able to double-cross me now…

To Be Continued...