A/N: Wunderbar und glockenspiel! Ich habe die antwort gefunden!

A/N to self: Quick, post it before it runs away!

A/N: Believe it or not, but the things we experience in life help us to write.

LUNCH CALL

Vladimir Goudenov Grizlykoff stared at the alarm clock beside his bed.

6.00.
7.29.
8.34.
8.57.
9.01.
9.04.
9.05.
9.05.
9.06.

"Enough of this." Vladimir sighed and pushed his covers off. He looked in his cupboard for something to wear, staring past all his suits and fumbled in the back for a T-shirt instead. He discovered he didn't have many to choose from. "I shall go for a walk." He decided in his fit of boredom and went looking in his drawer for his jeans.

It wasn't fair. How could Director Hooter pull him off this case? Was he really being emotional? No! Grizlykoff sighed and turned his laptop on to check his emails. He clicked on the new message that he knew would be filled with long fancy words and plenty of advice.

'My dear VG.

It is good to hear word from you although I am sorry to find you not of happier spirits.

I must say that "emotionally compromised" is quite a dramatic claim to place upon the mind of any upholder of the justice system. I am gratified you think so highly of me as to turn to me for advice! Frequently it is simple words that have proven the most powerful tools in the world because they can shake the very foundations of understanding. Words can twist truth into lies and confuse truth with deceit and this has been the way of words since the dawn of civilisation. In such cases like this I recommend that an individual considers two things: the validity of the source and the credence to the argument they have espoused. It is only you that can make the decision of what you are going to do with these words that have been spoken.

As you embark upon your quiet day of rest do not dishearten. Use your time to contemplate and perhaps you might reawaken your faith in the truths that you know of the world. Try and remember, Vladimir, that there is no need to carry so much of the world upon your shoulders. Have faith that your system will work.

Perhaps if you can find the time you would care to visit?

Emery Tibold Grizlykoff'

Vladimir grunted as he slowly deciphered his brother's prose on the screen. "Emery, I have not yet explained to you Darkwing Duck ..." He pressed the reply icon to tell his brother about the Duck that was out there ... out of control, not following proper protocol and without the due paperwork filed. The bear shuddered in horror. "Aiyee."

"That chaotic and unruly individual!" He rubbed his eyes. Duck amok and bear down ... Then he jolted in shock as a terrifying idea dawned on him.
He really was emotionally compromised. Not about the case ... but about Darkwing Duck. Vladimir's tendency to interfere and try to bring order and legitimacy to Darkwing's methods was exactly why Hooter had taken him off this case.

He stared at the blank email. "Yes, so I know the problem." He sat back in his chair. "So then ... I must make it not a problem." He rubbed his head. "Impossible." He muttered. "What does Hooter see in that gossamer duck?" He asked himself.

The laptop buzzed electrically back at him in the stillness of his flat.

"I just do not know." He thought for a moment and summing up his problem he typed back in reply of his brother, attempting to reply in the same tone.

'Thank you, Emery for your insight.

How I wish I were calm like you always are, my brother.' He paused. 'Perhaps next week when this case is finalised then there will be time for us to speak in person.

Your brother,

Vladimir Goudenov Grizlykoff.'

Vladimir went out and walked absently through the streets.

For the first time since joining S.H.U.S.H. he was having a forced day off. Was he really being emotional about his ad hoc cohort? This notion did not sit well in his stomach. No, he did not feel very happy at all that he was wrong about Darkwing Duck. This wallowing in misery was sickening also. He stared into the window of a garden shop. He needed a distraction from his thoughts.

He paused, looking at the purple and yellow spotted plants alongside the monsteria delicosia and his stomach grumbled with hunger, making him realise that it must be past lunchtime. He didn't feel like rich food from a cafe. What about the carnival on the docks? He was heading in that direction and surely there would be a hotdog vendor there? He started walking with a defining purpose now: food.

"Way to go, dad." Gosalyn patted Drake's arm encouragingly. "You ate all of your Shock Steak."

'I'm guessing Morgana put only a little Shock in that steak.' Drake glanced up at Morgana, recalling how carefully she had portioned out the meal. "Thank you for dinner, Morgana." Drake said, eyeing Gosalyn pointedly as he started stacking the dishes together.
"Yeah, that was awesome, as usual!" Gosalyn chimed in agreement.

Before she could respond the doorbell rang and Morgana went to answer it. Drake handed a carefully loaded pile of plates to Gosalyn and started collecting the condiments from the table.

"It's for you, Drake." Morgana called.

Drake abandoned Morgana's formal dining room and rushed to the door. He found his new supervisor Lawrence Eider standing on the porch, stifling a yawn.

"Good afternoon, Drake. The CEO wants to talk to you."

It was nothing like Hooter's office. The CEO's office at the Hamil Corporation was new age and lacking entirely in the personality department. Drake Mallard stepped through the open doorway without the dramatic entrance of Darkwing Duck to reinforce his confidence.

The large chair was facing an even larger screen on the wall beside them. In the chair sat a familiar black haired vampire.
"Hello, Malduck. If I am not mistaken you have something for me?"
"Hello, Drake. It has not escaped my attention that you have a problem." Malduck twisted her chair to face him properly and clasped her fingers as she looked up at him with her dark eyes.
"So I take it that Rattray isn't back from his holiday yet." Drake sat down in the chair opposite the acting CEO.
"It might surprise you, Drake, but not all vampires are soldiers like you or I."
"I'm not a soldier. If I were, I wouldn't be faced with this nightmare because I'd be one of hundreds of others, following orders. Letting criminals slip by while I'm too busy filing paperwork."
"Oh! All that hot blood in you." The master gazed at him. "What if I used the term 'Peacekeeper' instead?"

"I don't care what you call it." Drake stated pointedly. "The only job I'm interested in doing is the one that involves me making my own decisions about what's right and wrong."
"Interesting ..." Malduck swiveled her chair to face the screen again. "Marvin, please display your search results for us." The screen lit up on a scanned grey and yellowed photograph of a group in military uniform. "This was taken back before everything was electronic."
"Thanks, I'm sure I could've figured that out." Drake muttered, his eyes busy tracing the people in the picture. He leaned forwards, scrutinizing the military line up. "That's my dad, third from the left."
"Do you want to know ... that is, it won't surprise you as to why he left the military?"
"It won't surprise me?"
"He relieved his superior of command. He apparently got a prime case of 'I can't follow that order; it's wrong'."
"He mutinied? Is that why it was classified?"
"I can't begin to guess all the possible reasons as to why the government departments like to classify things." Malduck waved her hand dismissively.
"One reason is to prevent mass hysteria." Drake reasoned. "Just think; if you vampires came out in the open ..."
"But everyone does know about us, Drake. Most everyone knows what 'vampire' means. Most everyone knows how to stop a vampire should they be so driven to do it." Malduck leaned towards him across the table. "Think about it! People just choose to dismiss this information as fiction because we don't bother them. There's been no mass hysteria about vampires since I took over and as far as I am aware we are not classified."
'... Except perhaps into the supernatural and or horror themes section of the local library.' Drake raised an eyebrow. "It's a pity the same can't be said about aliens."

"Well, there aren't any aliens in this story." Malduck pointed at the screen. "Marvin has managed to locate your father's legal testament for you. Drake Mallard served under platoon leader Storkein Harris."
"He served with Curtis Mane too, of course." Drake looked at the younger picture of the recently deceased. "Do we know if he supported my father's decision to mutiny?"
"Curtis Mane was a human rights activist for ... nearly as long as you've been alive, Drake. His speeches on civil rights were inspirational to countless people around the globe. Essentially he's spent his whole life supporting your father's decision." She paused, her voice turning softer. "That Mane will be sorely missed."

Drake was faced with well over thirty faces in the 473rd infantry platoon of the Calisota Corp.
"How many of the company were reported to be in on this argument?"
Malduck sat back, an unenthused look on her face. "That's the thing about wars, Drake. Most of them don't come back. As it turns out, there are only four people from the entire platoon that are still alive, and we know that must include the killer." She handed Drake some crisp A4 pages. "We've identified the remaining soldiers for you. Your father's statement is there and I've printed out the photograph so you can have a closer look."
"Thank you." Drake appreciated, rather disappointed that it hadn't been him to have found this information, "I would've gotten it myself but Grizlykoff's interference has proved quite a setback."
"I know that, Drake." Malduck told him. "You have nothing to prove here."

Drake sat back, somewhat mentally overturned by the sincere helpfulness of Malduck. "Thank you for the advice ... And for the lead."
"Thank Marvin." The acting CEO waved her hand to the computer screen.
"Uh ... thanks ... Marvin." Drake frowned, staring at the screen as the colour changed from white to blue.
"You're welcome." The mechanical almost sexless voice said from the speakers in the roof. "If you'll excuse me, Malduck, there's a revolt in progress on space station B35 in universe ZGHT180/37 to which I have patched access and would like to give more attention to assist."
"Sure. Good luck with that."
The screen changed colour to black, before the company logo came up and covered the screen in pulsing red. It looked like a swirling capital H that could've been a capital B or even the number 13.

"So, who's on this list?"

Launchpad woke up suddenly and discovered his feet up on a desk. He looked around and after a couple blinks he remembered that this was the office of his small aircraft hanger on the edge of the city. "Huh? Why'd I wake up for?" He yawned and stretched in the chair.

The mobile phone rang again. "That'll be DW-" he looked at it "... yep."

Launchpad answered his phone. "Uh-hi, DW."
"Are you alright, Launchpad?"
Launchpad looked out the large office window at the peaceful aeroplanes in the hanger. "Sure." He yawned. "What's up, buddy?"
"The murderer has a possible three targets left. Cameron Lott, Judge Peeking, and I'm close on the tail of the third one now. I need you to check out this address for me."

Launchpad wrote it down on the detective's notebook he kept in his pocket. "Ritzy."
"You're looking for Preena String."
"Hey, she's married to Ham; they're your old high school buddies-we met them a couple months ago!"
"Yes. Preena's dad Cameron Lott may be the next target. I need you to find out where he is and keep him safe from our firebug murderer."
"Sure thing, DW. I'll go 'round right now." Launchpad ended the call. He jumped out of his chair and straight into action.