Tomorrow would be the day, because if it hadn't there wouldn't be any use. Yesterday was useless, the day before that was useless. The day before, the day before, the day before. It drove him to the brinks of insanity, although it was truly a metaphor. There was no doubt he was already insane, but that's besides the point.
"If Dorkwing was out of the picture, it'd be easier!" Megavolt flipped a cheap, flimsy, lawn chair at the thin, echoing, walls. The metal bars that barely held the chair together shattered instantly to noise, ringing filling the dry morning heat. The rat yelped, covering his ears in a frenzy. It didn't take long before his teeth smashed into rage once more. "I mean, who does he think he is!?" Megavolt gave a dramatic pause, staring at a lamp in the corners of his room. It whispered condolences, and watered advice to vegetation. It was the only voice Megavolt ever learned to trust.
Isn't it obvious? With him, life wouldn't be easy still. You'd be able to dip into so many crime waves that there wouldn't be a point anymore.
"At least I'd still get a chance. He takes away everything, ruins everything."
If not him, then who else? Wouldn't you think the same of them? What if the thing that got in the way of the things you desired was yourself?
Megavolt blinked through his goggles, squinting as if his vision could determine the words themselves. "Well you're a bit pensive today, aren't you?" The rat smirked, turning his back on the voiceless lamp; he knew what it said was integrity. Elmo trailed to the window, snapping the pane open on its trembling frames. The sweet odors of summer filled his nostrils thickly with pollen and sweat. He let his arms hang loosely over the edge, staring below at the decaying apartment complex he had created a shallow living in. Despite the humidity, small breezes painted his face with a sense of content. The sunlight had barely sketched the horizon, but sure enough it would transform into another typical morning. What if he were the problem? What if Darkwing Duck had only casted light to the issue, not invent it?
What if that was why Darkwing did what he did? Sure he cast crooks into jail cells as need be, but what if it were something deeper than that? There were plenty of occasions where villains turned into "heros" after they found some insight in the purple cape. Even aside from the big obvious ones: Reginald Bushroot, Tuskernini, Morgana McCawber. Yes, those occurrences changed the villain world entirely, shaking the community on the very hinges of devastation.
Bushroot wasn't really a hero, but he wouldn't pass as a villain either. Megavolt observed that the scientist had too much of a good heart to be one, and that on multiple occasions Darkwing, whenever he could, would appeal to that part of him. Sometimes it would even work, as long as Bushroot didn't have a good reason to hold a grudge against him at the time of the appeals. The vegetable was too gullible, and therefore couldn't entirely be trusted, despite how good he could get the job done.
Tuskernini was just a joke to his own name. There were many petty imbeciles who dared inherit a crime name, but Tuskernini was amongst the worst of them. In a way, he was a spin off of Darkwing himself, when it came to ridiculous dressing numbers. Darkwing had only made the "villain's" flaws more apparent, shoving blinding lights against the shadows the walrus kept hidden under a translucent blanket. However, for Megavolt, Tuskernini being put into a rehabilitation program was the last straw. It was a line only meant to be crossed by the wittiest of the best; Tuskernini was not admitted to be one of them. Negaduck even mustered the strength to quote how "squishy" the guy's gotten after the whole affair, even if it was just another disguise to throw Darkwing off guard. Small hints of good morale sprinkled Tuskernini like white sugar on a white sheet of thickly coated cake. It may have been hard to tell, but the sprinkles were there all the same. It was no doubt where those tints of morale came from, and it was because of Darkwing that Tuskernini had even manufactured such an idea; he had fallen into his own trap of hero's work, while Darkwing Duck sat idly by, with that stupid smug across his beak Megavolt was much beyond used to.
Megavolt only ever met Morgana once, before she was converted by the ignorant fool she fell for. He remembered that moment clearly, moreso because she was such a menace back in those days. If speaking her name didn't slaughter you, her presence would. When she first surfaced into the criminal-dingus community, hardly any authority of power took her seriously. Those were the same individuals that were dipped into their own manufactured acids, the same ones that were strangled and choked in their cradle beds, the same ones who were never heard from again. If they were, it would be on a tombstone. Morgana McCawber wasn't a toddler's toy to jingle in a child's hand, she was a pistol that never missed a target, a pistol that could blow out brains before the victim could breathe. She was a serpent that could love you with its eyes before drooling poison over your drink in hand.
She was horrifying, but she got her points across. You toyed with her, you were toying plans for a grave. If a man attempted to grab beneath her dress, she'd hack his hand off with a butcher's knife. If you complimented her, she arched an eyebrow. If you insulted her, she'd list a hitman the same night. It didn't matter who you were, because you should have known better than to pluck the hairs off the alpha of the food chain.
Then Dunkwing Dork showed up at her door. Jazzing his magnificent cape before her eyes, flapping his hat into a tremendous, theatrical bow. Every criminal thought the duck was done for, that he was just another fool for the grave. Morgana did too, at first.
Yet he demonstrated never-failing forgiveness, a dim belief that always burned brighter than the sun that she could change. She could be better than what she was. She could have done better with what she had. She merely had to make those choices for herself, and Darkwing would wait to feel the world turn once she did.
Darkwing brought out the best in others, and with it, shattered the best. If nothing else, that was the reason Megavolt hated him so dearly. Darkwing saw too much potential in what lacked potential, too many gifts in dying curses. He was an obnoxious, ignorant, light that barked away evil like a tiny rodent chasing a mighty lion. He was effective, that's what Darkwing Duck was.
Megavolt knew it was only a matter of time before he too slipped into the duck's realm of good morals and destined purpose. He saw hope in the vigilante, and shunned it. He saw compassion devouring the caped crusader, but the rat liked his pool of lies and loneliness so much more; it was all he knew, and all he would ever know. He refused to have anything slightly different.
What if the thing that got in the way of the things you desired was yourself?
The lamp was whispering again, from the side of his cramped apartment. Elmo didn't bother glancing behind him, there wasn't a need to if he knew the voice. Darkwing was the hand reaching to save the rat from falling, but Elmo had already chosen death. He chose the shadows that consoled myths, rather than the truths that illustrated his flaws for the world to see. Elmo knew the light was the "right" way, but the darkness was so much pleasurable, so much easier, a temptation that always begged him to submit to his oppressed senses. Up until his highschool prom, Elmo never saw the benefit of living an honest life, of treating others with respect when reality only bashed and drowned him with his own kindness. Vengeance was much more appetizing.
Tomorrow would be the day he brought out the worst in Darkwing, and destroyed the worst. It would be Elmo's sweet taste at victory at last, something he longed for yet was deprived of. The rat felt his fingers sparking, a certain kind of hope bubbling in his gut like carbonation. He'd show St. Canard what he was really made of.
Megavolt trailed away from the window, still allowing the thick breezes through the hollow cubicle he dared call home. He stopped dead in his tracks when he reached for the front door knob; the lamp stared back at him, tears glistening the face of its vase. It was aching, begging him to rethink his decisions. It's disconnected cord was snaking to reach him in a tender touch.
The rat rolled his eyes. "Oh please, don't give me that. If I don't get rid of him somehow, he'll just keep going. He'll keep ruining my plans, others plans. He's destroying dreams by trying to save his own. He's just as selfish as the rest of us!"
The lamp gloomed back at him, at a loss for words. It didn't need words for it to express its distress. Megavolt grunted, jingling the door open. "Who says I gotta listen to you anyway? It's my life, my choices." He swung open the door, ready to bolt into destruction. He'd crush the city and its hero in the same night, and without mercy. The best crooks never showed mercy, never shared sympathy, and the ones that did would be the ones to convert. Megavolt wasn't Bushroot, Tuskernini, or Morgana. He was Megavolt, the one and only. He'd stop at nothing to watch this excuse of a city fall and crumble under his fingers.
Elmo screamed in an outrage, entering his apartment once again and slamming the door locked. He wasn't tenderhearted, but he wasn't a soulless stone either. The heartless were just as bad as the gullible. Negaduck cared too much for his own interests than to even care for his allies, if he chose to ever have any. If he did, he'd still dump them anyway. Taurus Bulba was diseased with a lust for murder to feed his vengeance, a vengeance that was never fed no matter how many course meals it was given. It wouldn't be enough, and it never would be enough. True heroes created destruction, but true villains painted blood along every road they glanced at. Did Megavolt truly wish to go down that road?
Elmo slid against the wall, and fell into a sitting position against his molding floorboards that creaked under his weightless build. He knew the lamp was still staring at him, but he no longer cared. He simply let it happen. The rat, instead, glanced at the rising sun once more. Morning seemed to approach faster, pressing Elmo to make up his mind. For once.
An idealistic hero was a sickening thought, but monstrous villains were the plague. Darkwing had won a victory today, and he hadn't even known it. Megavolt's mind was filled to the brim with good intentions.
Author's Note:
Thank you for reading my short story! I hope you've enjoyed it. All criticism is greatly appreciated!
I do not own any Darkwing Duck properties, and neither do I make money off of this story. All reserved rights go to Disney and its original creators.