Number One:
The challenge demands satisfaction.
Peter the Panda signs the letter with a flourish before folding it up and placing it in the envelope, along with a highlighted copy of page 284 of the OWCA conduct manual.
The page with a clause long forgotten, one that allows him to do what he's doing right now.
He seals the envelope, then wanders down to the mail room of the Seattle OWCA branch. The intern manning the room looks up as he hands the letter over.
"Where is this going, sir?" the intern asks, his voice small and timid.
Peter smirks as he pulls out his notepad, scribbling down a name and branch. The intern gulps and scribbles a series of numbers and letters onto the front of the envelope.
"Your letter will arrive in Danville in three to five days, Agent P," the intern says.
Peter smiles and tips his fedora to the intern as he leaves the mail room.
If they apologize, no need for further action.
Four days and 1,906 miles later, Perry the Platypus pulls a single letter out of his inbox in Danville's mail room. There's no intern here, as Carl is far too busy elsewhere in the branch. He reads the return address as he walks back to his desk.
Peter the Panda, the nuclear bomb that dropped on his relationship with Heinz almost a year ago. Homewrecker isn't quite the word he'd use, as he and Heinz hadn't been dating yet at the time.
For the past few months, he and Peter have been sending each other passive-aggressive letters. Perry can only wonder what on earth he wants now.
He sits down in the chair in his cubicle, absently turning on his computer as he opens the envelope. Two pieces of paper, one being a photocopied page from the OWCA handbook, the other being the letter from Peter the Panda.
Perry's eyes go wide as he reads the letter. Peter wants to do what? Is that even allowed?
Reading the highlighted segment on the photocopied handbook, he shakes his head. It is.
Apparently, Peter the Panda wants to duel him for his nemesis. What a ridiculous idea.
He has to accept. The other choice, refusing to duel and conceding his nemesis to Peter the Panda, is not an option.
Peter will be in Danville in three days, not enough time to send a response by snail mail. Email will have to do.
Perry opens his email, drafting the most passive aggressive acceptance he can possibly think of while running through the necessities of a duel in his head. His reports can wait.
All he needs is a second, and he knows exactly who it's going to be.
Number Two:
If they don't, grab a friend, that's your second.
Pinky is getting the mail when Perry walks up to him. The other agent is dressed casually, but his face has the steely determination only seen when he's on duty.
"Everything alright, Mr. Fletcher?" he asks, keeping up his civilian persona as much as possible.
Perry hands him a letter. Don't let your family see this, he signs. And tell me your decision as soon as you read it.
Pinky gulps and accepts the envelope, a strange weight settling in his gut. Perry walks back across the street like nothing happened.
As soon as Pinky puts the family's mail on the kitchen counter, he slips down into his lair and opens the letter.
His mouth drops open as he reads. Perry wants him to be his second for a duel? OWCA hasn't had duels since the 1800's. And they didn't take out the clause that allows them in the handbook after duels faded out of fashion.
Apparently. Pinky has a feeling that clause will disappear, replaced by one that expressly forbids duels, as soon as the shots ring out.
What does a second even do? Pinky pulls out his phone and looks it up. Attempt to forge a truce, apparently (although with how Perry has his letter worded, he's not sure that's going to be a possibility). Figure out the conditions of the duel. A second will gather the weapons, arrange for the doctor.
Pinky figures Carl can help out with both of those things. He's the only one Perry and Peter would both trust.
The last line of Perry's letter says that Peter's second will be in touch tomorrow, should he accept.
Does he accept? Perry and Peter seem to be determined to go through with this duel. He might as well do his best to reduce the bloodshed.
Pinky sighs. I'll do it, he texts Perry.
Forty-three seconds later, Perry sends him a thumbs-up emoji.
God, he hopes they can resolve this conflict before a duel actually takes place.
Knowing Peter and Perry, though, they'll end up somewhere with pistols, ready to count off paces and fire.
Why oh why did he let himself get roped into this?
Number Three:
Have your seconds meet face to face. Negotiate a peace, or negotiate a time and place.
Pinky painstakingly slides down the chute to his lair, cursing the slide-greasing man's inability to work on a schedule. His eyes go wide once he sees another junior agent already standing there.
"Hello, Agent Chinchilla," she says. "Charles, yes?"
"Just call me Pinky, dude," Pinky says. "Everybody does. Who are you?"
"I'm Agent Eagle, from Seattle division, but you may call me Ellie. After all, we are going to plan a duel."
"Oh, so you're Peter's second." Understanding dawns on Pinky's face.
"I am," Ellie says.
"Look, dude, this is all really weird. I don't really want to do this, but Perry and Peter aren't going to budge."
"Yes, this is all quite strange," Ellie says. "I would rather not be in this position as well."
Pinky sighs. "I suppose if they're set on it, we might as well keep them alive."
"We shall do our best."
"I don't even know anything about duels," Pinky groans. "How am I supposed to be a good second?"
"I researched duels for a while yesterday, and I have a few suggestions."
"Lay 'em on me, dude."
"We could have a single shot duel, where each combatant only fires once," Ellie suggests. "That would reduce the bloodshed significantly if they were to both aim towards the sky or miss."
Pinky nods. "Sounds good, dude. Anything else?"
"Traditionally, duels take place at dawn in a neutral location. As this is Perry's home town, a neutral location will be somewhat hard to secure."
"We could have it on top of the local OWCA HQ?" Pinky suggests. "Perry's almost never there, and the roof is usually locked."
"Ah, but if the roof is locked, how would we get up to it?"
"Simple, dude. The intern for the Tri-State Area has the keys to everything. He can get us neutral weapons and be our doctor too."
"Are you sure he will be amicable to assisting this duel?"
"Dude, if we pay him he'll do it." It's true, Carl will do almost anything if you pay him enough. "We'll split four ways?"
"That seems agreeable. So they shall duel at dawn, on the roof of the local OWCA headquarters, let's say two days from now?"
"Sounds good, my dude."
They shake hands, and Ellie gives him her number to keep in touch before she leaves.
Pinky stares after her. He still can't believe they're doing this, although it's feeling a little more real now.
It almost feels like they're in a movie. A movie with real life consequences.
Most disputes die, and no one shoots.
"You want me to supply the guns, be the medic, let you onto the roof, and keep Major Monogram from catching wind of any of this," Carl says, eyebrows furrowed.
Pinky nods. "That's the plan, dude."
"All that for nothing?"
"Oh shoot, I forgot to mention that. We'll pay you, uh," Pinky racks his brain for an appropriate amount. "Four hundred from each of us?"
Carl's eyebrows shoot up. "How many of you are there?"
"Two duelists and two seconds, so four of us," Pinky says. "We don't want any witnesses. So you'll get 1,600 bucks. Sound good?"
"Sounds good," Carl says. "This is on Friday?"
Pinky nods. "Friday at dawn. I'll pick you up at your place, we'll pay you once we get there, you provide the guns, the secrecy, and the roof."
"I'll see what I can do. See you on Friday morning, Agent P," Carl says.
"Friday morning," Pinky confirms, and the monitor shuts off.
He stares up at his reflection on the darkened screen. He's really going to do this. They're really going to do this.
What a strange world they live in.
Number Four:
If they don't reach a peace, that's alright. Time to get some pistols and a doctor on site.
Carl wakes up to harsh rapping on the front door of his studio apartment. He groans and rolls out of bed to throw on the clothes he laid out yesterday.
"I'm up," he calls out to Pinky so he'll stop banging on the door. Hopefully Pinky hasn't woken up the whole building with whatever he was doing to knock. It practically sounded like he was drumming on the door.
He picks up his purple-framed glasses from the flimsy table by his bed and puts them on, then unplugs his phone and puts it in his pocket. As he looks around the room, his eyes fall on the two cases he brought home from OWCA yesterday. The black one with two identical standard-issue pistols from the weapons vault (plus ammo), and the red trauma kit borrowed from Medical.
Carefully, he puts both cases as well as everything else he needs for the day in his beat-up backpack.
As he puts the black case in the backpack, the knots in his stomach twist up tighter. He's not trained for any of this. He's just an intern. Caught up in the middle of something that hasn't happened since 1836, according to OWCA's ancient records (which he had the pleasure of re-arranging last summer).
He has a feeling that this will be the very last entry in the dueling records. A morbid part of him wonders if he'll be pulling out a quill and ink to record the results of this duel. It wouldn't make much sense to write with ballpoint pen on such a historical document, now would it?
OWCA duels are traditionally done to the death, as he found out last night. He's not sure he wants to be involved in this, but it's too late to back out now. He doesn't even have to watch, since he'll turn around so he can have plausible deniability.
Carl scarfs down a granola bar, then puts on his backpack and opens the door. Pinky stands there, looking as normal as ever, one eyebrow raised.
"Yeah, I'm ready," Carl says, answering Pinky's unspoken question.
It's like four in the morning, not even light out yet, and here he is about to aid and abet a duel. It's certainly the strangest thing he's ever done, but he's sure that Pinky has seen worse. Agents see and do the strangest things, and even the junior agents are no exception.
Pinky doesn't say anything in response, he merely gestures for Carl to follow him.
You pay him in advance, you treat him with civility.
It's only a twenty minute drive from Carl's apartment to OWCA headquarters. Pinky pulls into the parking lot, where a few other vehicles are parked. He recognizes the completely average sedans of the two agents on the night security shift, the minivan the night janitor drives, and Perry's motorcycle. A sleek black convertible is parked in a far corner of the parking lot. Pinky has the feeling that it's Peter's car. Perfect for a jerk like him.
Pinky parks in his usual spot, about three quarters of the way back and near the middle. He and Carl get out and head towards the building. Perry and Peter are already standing there about twenty feet apart, glaring at each other. Perry's scrolling through something on his phone, Peter is merely leaning up against a pole.
Perry's wearing his glasses. That and the single silver stud in his left ear are the only deviations from his usual outfit.
Another car pulls into the parking lot before Pinky has too much time to get cold. A lime-green smart car that parks right up near the front. Agent E, Ellie, gets out of the car. "Are we all here?" she asks.
Pinky nods. "I think we are, dude."
"Then let's get moving," Peter grumbles. "I don't have all day."
Pay Carl first, Perry signs. Then we'll go up.
Agent E hands Carl a check, Pinky hands over a somewhat rumpled envelope of cash, Perry gives Carl a much neater envelope likely also containing a check, and Peter just pulls out a wad of cash from his back pocket. Carl tucks everything into his backpack, then pulls out a key ring.
"Let's go," he says, and turns to unlock the main doors of the OWCA building.
Number Five:
Duel before the sun is in the sky. Pick a place to die where it's high and dry.
The walk up to the roof is long and quiet. Each footfall echoes in the silent stairwell.
Not even Carl, the eternal chatterbox, speaks. Maybe it's too early, maybe he's freaked out. This is something rather unusual for an intern to do.
Next to him, Perry is completely silent. Pinky wonders what's going through his mind. Is he afraid?
He's Agent P. He's not afraid. Not him, not the only agent to test completely fearless on all of OWCA's tests.
Behind him, Peter is also silent, although maybe that's just him. A complete and utter stoic, silent asshole.
Not unlike Perry in a lot of ways, really.
Actually, Perry isn't an asshole, he's mostly just kind of cold to anybody that doesn't know him. Peter is the one that suggested they duel, for no good reason (that Pinky knows of).
Ellie doesn't seem to have anything to say either. Pinky doesn't really know her that well, so he has no idea what's going on in her mind.
The door at the top of the staircase creaks open, and they emerge onto the roof. It's still dark, but the barest pinpricks of light are shining at the very edges of the horizon. Not a cloud is in sight, yet the dawn somehow manages to be void of its usual color.
Maybe even the Earth itself knows how big of deal today is, and doesn't want to paint the sky with bold colors before the combatants bloody each other.
How poetic it is, that one of the agents will kill the other at dawn. Dawn is the time for new life, the time for celebration and rebirth. And yet today, it will be an end of one of the duelists.
A slight breeze whispers over the roof, causing Pinky to shiver. Carl opens his backpack and pulls out the black box containing the pistols. Perry and Peter walk to opposite sides of the roof, Pinky and Ellie walk over to Carl.
"I cleaned them last night," Carl says. "They should be good to go."
Ellie smiles thinly. "Your pick, Pinky."
Pinky examines both guns with a critical eye. They're identical, so he picks the one closest to him, as well as some ammo, and walks over to Perry.
Perry is gazing over the edge of the roof, towards where the suburbs of Danville lie. "Everything okay, dude?" Pinky asks.
It's a beautiful day to die, Perry signs with a strange expression on his face. It almost seems like a waste, huh?
Pinky doesn't quite know what to say to that.
Number Six:
Leave a note for your next of kin, tell 'em where you been.
Perry accepts the pistol that Pinky hands him. It's the same model that every red-band is required to carry, the same one that's tucked away with his knives in the secret panel in his desk. Carl must have chosen this on purpose, knowing that both Peter and Perry are red-bands.
Of course, Peter is probably one of those agents that doesn't actually carry this exact pistol. He's probably modified it (or, let's be honest, had R&D modify it) to make it a faster shot, more accurate, perhaps even deadlier.
But now, with a plain, unmodified pistol, all those field advantages become moot. Peter might even be at a disadvantage now, unused to a normal gun.
Perry sighs and loads the clip into the pistol. He should probably be giving instructions to Pinky on what to do if he loses (or if he wins). But he can't. All he can do is stare out into the distance towards 2308 Maple Drive.
He's got to win. What would happen to Candace and Phineas and Ferb if he didn't?
Actually, he knows what would happen. OWCA will come and deliver a letter (a letter he updated last night, just in case) to them. They will stay and answer questions.
And then all five of them will get their memories altered. They'll think he died in a car accident,
Perry's been on the other side of that procedure before. He's had to be the one to erase memories. It's not a pleasant thing, not something he enjoys.
But it has to happen. He knows it has to happen. That doesn't mean he likes it.
Perry fiddles with the safety on his gun. This morning is do or die. Maybe even both, Peter the Panda is a damn good shot.
This is it, huh? This is where everything he's done catches up to him?
It might be. It just might be.
Pray that hell or heaven lets you in.
Agent E hands Peter his pistol, already loaded. Peter takes it with a mumbled "thanks". He fiddles with the trigger as he remembers exactly why he's here.
One week ago, Professor Mystery (there's no way in hell Peter will call him Daniel anymore) broke up with Peter, for good this time. Even going so far as to completely leave the Seattle area with one of his faux identities, leaving no trace of where he went.
That afternoon, Peter had sent the letter to Perry. Four days later, he showed up in Danville to take in the sights and learn more about where he's going to live.
Assuming that he wins this morning's duel, he'll take over as Heinz's nemesis, as per OWCA's guidelines. If he can't have a good relationship with his nemesis, then Perry (that pompous prick) can't either.
Then again, he might die today. Perry rose through the ranks quickly for a reason, he doesn't do anything halfway. Especially if it involves Heinz.
God, he can't stand that man. Too many musical numbers, too petty, too over-the-top. Peter could probably tolerate him as a nemesis, but as a partner? Personally, he thinks Perry's gone nuts.
Just another reason to remove him from his nemesis. Peter wouldn't let silly feelings get in the way. He's made that mistake already.
He's never been religious, but he prays that at least hell will let him in. He's too far gone down this path to even consider heaven, but he can at least hope for not being in a state of eternal stasis.
Although would that be a personal form of hell for him? Who knows.
Both of these outcomes are forms of personal hell, really. The only way to avoid any of it is to call the duel off, make peace.
And that isn't an option.
Number Seven:
Confess your sins, ready for the moment of adrenaline, when you finally face your opponent.
Ellie stands a short distance away from Peter, watching him as he fiddles with his gun. She really has no idea what's going on in his mind. Is he repenting for what he's done in the past, or is he preparing himself to shoot Agent Platypus? Will he take deadly aim, or will he throw everything away and point his sights towards the sky?
She has no idea. She doesn't know how he thinks. He's always been a lone wolf (lone panda?), never taking anybody's help or offers of friendship. She barely agreed to go along with this.
Peter had asked her to do a favor for him a week ago. She had accepted before she knew he meant for her to be a second for a duel.
God, she wishes she hadn't done that. She just transferred from England's branch, earned her green band only a week before that. And now, with this, aiding and abetting a duel, she squanders her whole OWCA career. Is it too late for her to back out now?
It probably isn't. Her honor isn't at stake. She could just leave. It wouldn't be hard.
But it wouldn't be fair for her to leave Pinky here. It wouldn't be fair to leave the poor, hapless Danville intern either. Carl, that's his name.
She has to stay. If only to help, if only to keep a promise.
Maybe this is her fatal character flaw. She can't say no.
Number Eight:
Your last chance to negotiate. Send in your seconds, see if they can set the record straight.
Pinky and Ellie meet in the middle of the roof. Carl stands a few feet away, already holding a trauma kit. The first real rays of gray sunlight peek over the horizon.
"So this is happening, huh?" Pinky asks.
"It does seem to be that way," Ellie says. "While we may agree that this duel is rather immature, if it was not this..."
"...they'd just fight anyway," Pinky finishes. "And fighting is banned outside of training."
"At least this way they have an excuse." Ellie sighs. "Horrid as it is."
"Dude, I don't even know why they're dueling. All I know is that it has to do with Doofenshmirtz."
"Who is that?"
"Perry's nemesis."
"Ah. Peter mentioned him."
"What? Why?"
"He said something about how if he couldn't have a good nemesis relationship, nobody could. Personally, I think that is incredibly immature of him, and I tried to talk him out of it, but he refused to listen."
"Dude, that's messed up."
Ellie sighs. "I know.
"Yeah." Pinky gazes around the roof. The sky gets lighter with every passing moment. "I think we better get going, before anybody tries to stop us. Ten paces, right?"
Ellie nods. "Ten paces."
The seconds step away from each other. The last chance to negotiate has passed. Only Fate can judge the combatants now.
Number Nine:
Look 'em in the eye, aim no higher.
Peter looks at the agent standing opposite him. His stance is casually determined, but his eyes betray a smidgen of fear. This is Danville's fearless Agent P. Freaked out over a little duel.
Then again, he's nervous too. And Perry is hiding it very well. If he wasn't an agent, trained to pick apart people's body language, Peter would think Perry was completely unafraid.
But Perry must be freaked out for good reason. Duels can go either way, and with an OWCA duel to the death, things can get deadly real fast.
Is this really worth dying over?
He shakes his head. It's too late for second thoughts. It's been too late for second thoughts.
Summon all the courage you require.
Perry can't see Peter's eyes through his glasses.
He can, however, see the way the other agent's hand shakes almost imperceptibly. Perry can feel how his own hand is slick with sweat, so he grips his pistol just that much harder, steeling himself to turn and count off paces.
Is Peter feeling the same things that he is, uncertainty and stubbornness? Or is this just something that Peter is used to?
Why does Peter want his nemesis, anyway? Is he just trying to be a homewrecker? Or does he genuinely want Heinz as a nemesis?
Somehow, Perry doubts that.
The intern turned around so he could have deniability.
Number Ten:
Count.
One. Two. Three. Four. The gravel crunches under Perry's shoes as Pinky and Agent E count off the paces. His palms are still sweaty, so he briefly transfers the pistol to his other hand to wipe off the sweat. This is the moment of reckoning. Adrenaline courses through his bloodstream.
Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Peter's heart beats in overdrive. Ten paces is nothing, he's accurate for at least five times the distance. He knows Perry's range stats are similar, maybe even a bit better. This is it, do or die.
Nine. Pinky gulps. Three Agents P ascended to the roof today. He's the only one guaranteed to return.
Ten paces. Carl steels himself for the shots, hands clutching the handle of the trauma kit so hard his knuckles turn white.
Deep breath. Steady hand. Clear mind.
No one else was on the roof where it happened...
"Fire!"