And I've got another few chapters for you to enjoy again! As always, thanks to Lies!

Several days after Daisy's declaration of her idea, she was knocking on Donald's door again. By now, a routine had developed for these daily visits. After her knock, Ducksworth would let her in, Donald would eagerly rush down the stairs and trip on the tenth step, and then the two ducks would walk here and there around the mansion talking about anything from the Scarlet's latest news to the parties Donald was forced to attend. Today they were walking down one of the many illuminated hallways of the giant mansion, with Daisy holding one of the books Donald had won at the auction. In an effort to practice Donald's memorization, he was pointing out various rooms they were passing, and often led her inside to take a look.

"… And this is my uncle's office." Donald tapped lightly on a locked door that had Scrooge's name in fancy gold lettering. "It's where he does his paperwork, and he goes in that giant vault of his at least once a day to count everything inside."

Daisy looked the door up and down carefully, doing a different memorization than Donald. "Is he in there?"

"Nah – ah, I mean, no." Donald cleared his throat, hoping Daisy hadn't heard the slip of his country tongue. "He's out with his… girlfriends." He wished that was the verbal slip-up. "He probably won't be back until late tonight, if they go easy on him."

Daisy crushed the book against her chest, amazed that such an opportunity had come so quickly. "Really… so… maybe… we could look inside? I'm curious."

Donald pulled his hand away from the door, shifting his eyes around. "I… I don't know… He's still pretty mad at me for all the money I spent on the auction… I'm only just now getting my hearing back." The long and loud lecture Scrooge had given him was awful, yet Donald still hadn't regretted it. The joy on Daisy's face when he had given her the first book was worth every coin. Perhaps she would never return his feelings, but at the very least he had made her happy, and that was a wondrous thing all on its own.

"Oh, he'll never find out. I just want a quick look." Daisy remembered those feelings Donald kept for her, as he wasn't able to keep them a secret, given how he seemed so happy with Daisy at his side. Keeping note of that, she reached out and lightly brushed her fingers on his sleeve, giving it a small tug. "Pretty please?" Oddly, the book felt heavier after she used his feelings to her advantage. She figured her arms were getting tired, that was all.

Donald stared intensely at those fingers, and any more objections over the suggestion shattered in an instant. "… I… I guess a few minutes wouldn't hurt, and I don't see Ducksworth around." He dug into one of his pockets, and pulled out a small silver ring of keys. "These should open every door in the mansion… it's supposed to be for emergencies. But I'll just relock it when we leave." After a few hardy tries, he found the right key, and the two stepped into a room so cold, Daisy thought they had perhaps unlocked a giant refrigerator instead. After she got over the initial chill, she stepped into the business room that was completely devoid of any personal affects. No portraits or photographs, no plants or fancy furniture, and even the walls looked like they hadn't been painted in years. It only contained things absolutely necessary for monetary growth, such as desks, typewriters, and stacks of papers that were taller than both ducks combined.

"He doesn't turn on the heat in his room." Donald explained as he saw Daisy shiver. "He's always doing something crazy to save himself money."

"Where is the money?" Daisy asked as she walked in circles. "I don't see a vault anywhere."

"You're not supposed to." Donald knocked on one of the vaults, making metal clangs echo back and forth in the small quarters. "It was painted over to look like a normal wall. See that clock?" There was a hanging clock squarely in the center of the wall, ticking softly as black arrows depicted the time in a wooden frame. "You move the arrows at a certain time, and the vault opens."

"Interesting." Daisy could have followed up with that time that was, but that would have been too risky. She casually made her way to the biggest desk in the room, trying to find any important documents among the confusing typed pages. "One day this will be your office. Are you going to change anything?"

"Everything, if I get any say in it!" Donald followed her to the desk, and spotted a familiar paper among the business works. "Oh, come on… he still hasn't sent this?" He picked it up, reviewing it in his hands. "I was writing a letter and he wanted to 'inspect' it, make sure I did it 'right', and he still hasn't sent it out! That doggone stubborn…" He muttered various insults about the old miser, unaware that Daisy was flexing her hand across the desk, drifting around for anything with a time frame on it. It was difficult to decipher most of the office mumbo-jumble at first hand, and she was close to giving up on this first try. But then her eyes came upon a yellow paper with three names – Magica DeSpell, Brigitta McBridge, and Goldie O'Glit, the names of his girlfriends. Each one had a different time written next to their names. Anyone who didn't know about the vault and the clock would have thought it was only a schedule of the dates.

"Maybe I should send it out myself." Donald rolled up the paper, oblivious that one other paper was now missing from the desk. "At this rate, my nephews are going to think I abandoned them."

"Nephews?" Daisy repeated automatically to keep Donald's attention away from anything that appeared different in the room, such as a yellow corner sticking out of her book. "You have nephews?"

Donald held up three fingers, his beak brightening as he began to talk about his family. "Triplets! Huey, Dewey, and Louie! They're growing like weeds, I tell you! And they're always up to trouble! It was never a dull moment on the farm, let me tell you!" Yet he spoke of his bratty nephews with obvious love, laughing as he remembered various pranks he had endured. "And they're smart kids, too! I'm afraid for whatever school takes them in, but they could rule the world if they wanted! But if I had to pick the smartest, that'd definitely be Dewey… but Huey has the creativity! And Louie's got the stamina! They definitely got it from my side of the family."

As endearing as hearing Donald's family history was, little pricks of detail stood out to Daisy. "Are you telling me there's an entire family out in the country, but Scrooge only took you here? Why didn't he bring anyone else?"

Donald's enthusiasm began to fade, and he brought down his hand. "… Something happened between my Uncle and his sisters, but I don't know what. They can't stand each other. I didn't even know I had an Uncle or even a dead Aunt until this year. Apparently one of those geniuses that were killed in the school explosion was my in-law, and I never would have known if I didn't look into it by accident." Sighing, he walked to the window, looking down at the busy people in the street. "Uncle Scrooge said if I came with him to be his heir, he'd start sending money to my nephews for their future… until that happened, he never sent my mother or aunt a single coin. My family in the country scrapes by… so even though I knew I was going to miss everyone, I knew I had to take this chance. And… who knows." He shrugged one shoulder, grabbing onto a faint hope. "Maybe it can be a step forward to bringing the family back together."

The book was now ten times heavier. Daisy had to bend over to keep it in her arms, filled with confused anger. Where did Donald get off being so… so… so thoughtful? He was rich, so he was supposed to be cruel! He was supposed to be exactly like Scrooge, not giving a care about anyone! He had privilege, he had advantages, but he only wanted them in order to help his family? This was horrible, he was so nice! Why was he such a good guy? He was actually kind of wonderful! He was actually kind of sweet! He was actually kind of the person she wanted when she recruited for the revolutionaries! And this was the guy she wanted to bring to ruin by robbing him. "… Oh, no."

"Oh, no!" Donald inadvertently echoed her negativity as he caught sight of a disgusting image down below. "I'd recognize that gross green guy anywhere… what is Duke Gladstone Gander doing here?" He turned tail and marched out of the room, forgetting to lock the door behind him. Daisy went after him, only glad for the Duke's presence if it meant she no longer had to think about Donald's good qualities. They managed to make it to the front door, and Donald swung it open before Gladstone had a chance to knock. "Gander! What do you want?"

"Lucky me." Gladstone had his annoying smile, his hand still in the knock-ready position. "You opened it before I had to dirty my hand." He tipped his hat to Daisy, and offered his hand, which she didn't take. "Ma cherie, a pleasure as always. You're quite difficult to find… so I figured maybe you'd be wasting your time with Donald again and came calling."

"Why don't you back off, you royal pain?" Donald stepped in front of Daisy defensively, refusing to be ignored. "Whatever you're doing, you can knock it off right now! She's already got her heart set on someone!" Daisy readied an eyeroll, expecting Donald to proclaim that he was her true or some rubbish, but to her continuing shock Donald went a different way. "She's with that Scarlet fellow, so neither of us has a chance with her. So leave her alone!"

"I can understand why you'd give up so easily." Gladstone chuckled, once more taking no threat from Donald's anger. "That display at the auction really proved how difficult a time you're having blending into our society. It's the talk of the town. I feel rather sorry for your Uncle, having to teach you how to behave like a civilized person." It landed a powerful blow to Donald's ego, and the delicate grasp he wanted to keep on his family bonds.

Seeing Donald so wounded made Daisy's book turn to lead, and she pushed her way out of the mansion. "A-actually, I need to get home!" She tried to run past both boys, the book's emotional weight slowed her down.

Gladstone calmly grabbed the door and slammed it in Donald's face, taking his time to walk and catch up to Daisy. "Allow me to escort you. These streets can be dangerous, especially with masked loons running around… A girl as lovely as you needn't lower herself to the likes of the Scarlet or Donald Duck. Why don't we have lunch at my place?"

The book was heavier with each step away from Donald and Scrooge's mansion. "I'm not very hungry. I would really like to go home by myself."

Gladstone raised an eyebrow at what he considered strange behavior. "… Perhaps I didn't make myself clear last time. I am Duke Gladstone Gander, one of the richest and most powerful men in all of France. Any woman would be blessed to have my good luck shine on them."

"Then why don't you find one of those other women?" All the anger that she normally suppressed in Donald's presence was very eager to find a chance to release itself.

Gladstone walked in front of Daisy, demanding her utmost attention. "Maybe I'm the one who's misunderstanding things, because it almost sounds like you're telling me you don't want me around."

"That's exactly what I'm saying, stupiede!" Now this was the attitude that was expected of the wealthy! This was how Donald was supposed to be acting! "I'm Donald's friend and not yours! And I'm not looking to change it! I'm not your cherie, I don't care how much money or power you have, or why you think you're better than Donald! Frankly, I think Donald Duck is ten times the man you are!" She pushed him hard on the chest, stuck her beak in the air, and continued on her way. Strange how the book felt lighter now.

Gladstone looked down at his chest in shock. Where did his good luck go? How could a woman that bad off even think of telling him no, let alone touching him? He was still flabbergasted even when she was out of sight. "She… she… she told me no?" He told no one in particular, feeling a rush of fury he had never experienced before. "SHE told ME no?" It came in hand with the first time he had ever been rejected for anything in his life, the first time someone told him he couldn't have what he wanted. He wasn't handling it well, given the ugly way his handsome face was beginning to transform. "Who… who does that gueux think she is?"

"SHE told ME no! Who… who does that salope think she is?" Gladstone wasn't the only one who had been thrown off his egotistical pedestal. Mortimer Rodawn was almost spitting as he seethed in Duke Fantome's office at the Tache Bank, who was enjoying a delicate chamomile tea today. Fantome savored the smell as the rat raved and wore out his welcome on the carpet. "My family has helped bring culture and art to this pigsty of a city! I took down those useless canals in order to bring these theaters to life! And what does she do? She kisses criminals and lets street urchins in her home, but slams the door in my face!" He grabbed his cheeks as if no one would know what he was talking about otherwise. "Myyy face!"

"Shocking." He did a quick look at the wall to make sure he had time to deal with this pest. "Women can be foolish and fickle creatures, as I've told you before."

"You've told me lots of things, but none of them have helped me get her!" Mortimer slammed his hands down on the desk, causing the tea set nearby to rattle. "You said you would help me! What is it going to take for her to shut up and be mine?"

Fantome put his tea cup down on his desk. "You really want her. And you would do anything to have her."

"Yes, exactly!" Mortimer clenched his fists, desperate to make the more powerful man before him understand. "That beauty, those riches, they should be mine, after all the hard work I've done for her and this city! I'll do whatever it takes to make her my bride!"

When Mortimer saw Fantome smile, he took it as a good sign. Yet as the duke rose out of his seat, blocking the sunlight and nearly swallowing Mortimer whole in his shadow, there was absolutely nothing pleasant to be gained from Fantome's expression. Though the men were of equal height, Fantome appeared to tower over Mortimer, and the room almost became shrouded in the same shade as Fantome's black clothes. A shiver of terror went through the rat, feeling that he had shrunk down, and that he was facing someone – something - terribly inhuman. "Speaking hypothetically, of course…" Even his voice was now dripping with shadows, an alluring darkness that Mortimer found no way to escape from. "… Would you even go past the law… go past blood… to make her wear your ring?"

Mortimer couldn't find the ability to blink, lest he vanish and never see light again. He wanted to say that this was only a joke but there was not one ounce of humor to found in any of this. The same feelings of terror hid behind Mortimer, telling him to drop the matter and get out. Yet as afraid of he had become for the duke, the feelings of pride – trampled pride, battered pride, the thought that a beautiful and royal woman would take a filthy commoner into her home, but not he! – took control of his throat, after a hard swallow. "… Y-Yes. Yes, I would. Anything to make her mine!"

"That's just what I like to hear." The duke walked around his desk, and the room filled with sunlight again, and Mortimer felt able to breathe normally again. "Come with me. I'd like you to do some favors for me, and in turn, I'll help you get the Duchess as a wife." He took his cloak off the coat rack, and was followed by Mortimer as they left the room.

"What kind of favors?" Mortimer stayed behind the Duke, having an idea that trying to walk by his side would set a bad precedent.

"Think of them as little chores." They began to descend a long flight of circular stairs, passing by rooms of people tirelessly typing away reports and counting money. "I had promised Duke Roger Rabbit a visit tonight, but some important matters have come up that I simply can't get away from. So I want you to escort some representatives in my honor to his place. Be there at ten o'clock, sharp."

"You just want me to be a chauffeur?" Wouldn't a Duke have hundreds of servants to do that for him? There were so many questions to be asked about one simple request, but as the two left the stairs, they were nearly bumped into by a redheaded dog, who quickly realized the error of her path and took three steps backwards.

"I'm so sorry, my lords." She said very quickly, doing an impromptu curtsey while trying to balance the wooden weaved box in her hands.

Mortimer snorted dismissively at her, but Fantome bowed politely, taking her hand for a moment. "Lady Roxanne Shyster, this is a lovely surprise." He glanced to Mortimer, who quickly bowed as well now that he was under someone else's control. "Lord Mortimer Rodawn, I believe you've become quite close to Sylvester Shyster due to your investments… this is his daughter, Roxanne. An upcoming lady of good society."

"I'm just here to see my father." She pulled her hand away when she got the chance, hugging the box close to her chest. "He's been working so many hours lately, that I'm worried he's not eating right. So I came here to bring him lunch." She lightly opened the top, revealing a few sandwiches inside. "Could you tell me where his office is?"

"On the third floor, third door down from the right." Fantome nodded at her, and then resumed his walk. "If you'll excuse us, Lord Mortimer and I have some business to attend to." Mortimer and Roxanne exchanged a formal nod as well, and the higher-ups left one another without another thought. Roxanne exhaled deeply as she took to the stairs, relieved that her lunch had perfectly hidden Max's invention. Unlike Mortimer, who had submitted to his fear under the cowl of dark shadows, Roxanne embraced her fear with every ascension of each stair step, keeping her head high for the mission.

Normally Mickey didn't like to talk when he was putting in his contacts, as it was a difficult and annoying job. Yet even as he changed from dark blue to bright green, he found himself immersed in conversation. "An open letter system? What does that even mean?"

Ludwig dramatically shoved everything off one of the tables, causing Gyro to panic and try to catch everything that was fragile. "Since no one's caught onto the fact that our newspaper is a false-paper, I came up with a new way to use it!" He began laying down empty pages of future newspapers, entire articles and headlines clear. "If there's anything we can learn from our mess-up with the Duchess, it's that we can't always be there when we need to be. Some problems take time to develop. But we'll cut them off at the pass!"

"What he means is…" Gyro carefully began putting the saved beakers and bottles back on the table. "Problems such as corruption and black-mail aren't things we can catch people directly in the act of. In the paper, the Scarlet will announce that he's willing to take on problems people can't solve or directly prove themselves. We'll give them several locations to drop letters off detailing what they need help with, and to make sure we don't get captured, we'll pick them up at random times."

"Sounds kinda risky." Mickey blinked several times to make sure his contacts were in place. To be fair, he often liked the risk that came with the job. "Might even give some people confidence ta start talkin' 'bout their problems in public."

"We'll announce the system in a day or two." Ludwig took the voice changing microchip out of his pocket, and tossed it towards Mickey, who playfully caught it on his tongue. "Just leave the writing up to the geniuses. You've already got a job tonight!"

"To check up on Duke Roger Rabbit," The Scarlet spoke in his altered voice, practicing the proper inflection. "And see what, if any, connections he has to Duke Medecin's death or Duke Tache's schemes. Piece of cake." He adjusted his hat and gloves, the last bits of his uniform in place.

"You're in a good mood." Gyro tried to keep the beakers on the table, as Ludwig was continuing to push them away as he started writing drafts on the papers. "I take it that means things with the Duchess are going smoothly?"

"She still doesn't suspect a thing." So Mickey believed, as the first morning after the disastrous night, Minnie had flooded Mickey with concerns about how the Scarlet had treated him. Mickey fibbed that the hero had gotten away, though as he described the battle in the bedroom, he kept flip-flopping over who was truly stronger. Despite initial confusion, Minnie had stuck with the story given to her, and thankfully never brought up the subject of her sudden sleep. "We're in the clear."

"At least until she decides to kiss you again." Gyro was all but juggling the beakers now in an effort to protect them, which made him miss Mickey's embarrassed flush.

"Unless Duke Rabbit is friendlier than what people say, I think I'll be free of kisses tonight." He headed for the exit before any further teasing could be lodged his way, though he felt a small victory as he heard Gyro yelp, followed by the sounds of shattered glass.

It was still difficult to see out of her right eye, but Clarabelle never voiced her complaint. Horace had done that plenty on the carriage over that night, with Lord Mortimer driving the horses. Every time Horace brought up the scalding that was still clear on his friend's face, she interrupted and said it was her fault. She had deserved the painful attack since she had failed her beloved duke so disgracefully. Tonight would be different. She'd get the job done right, and the duke would reward her for her efforts.

Roger Rabbit's mansion was nothing to brag about, but it still showed he had come from a well standing family. Though he was known as being dull in mind, he was warm in heart, and when his servants spoke merrily of him, it was easy to tell they meant every word. Duchess Minnie had tried to convince him to donate to those less fortunate like she did, but every time the other Dukes would bully him into keeping his wealth. He was easily cowed and cornered, doing whatever he was told in order to keep the peace. At this time of night, he sent most of his servants home, only keeping a handful in case of an emergency. He was most likely getting ready to sleep after the meeting tonight, which is exactly what the trio was counting on.

Mortimer climbed down off of the carriage once they stopped, his face becoming paler and paler with every second as he finally understood what they were really here for. Horace and Clarabelle climbed out of the carriage, and Horace grumbled to see Mortimer's fear so easy on his face. "Don't suppose ya could try ta look any less guilty."

"Shut up, it's my first time." Mortimer rubbed his neck, trying to see if it was possibly to physically push down the lump in his throat. He knocked three times on the door, and when a maid opened the door, he tried speaking louder as a way to sound less conscious. "We're here to see Lord Roger Rabbit! We were invited! We're representatives of Duke Fantome Tache!" The maid took a moment to let her ears recover, and then curtseyed, stepping aside to let them in. She stayed with the carriage to watch over it, and Horace took the lead.

"Fantome told me where Roger sleeps. Let's just get this over with quickly." He walked ahead of Clarabelle, hoping to keep her out of the ensuing struggle as much as possible so nothing could be used against her in the future. He'd have liked to keep her out entirely, but her blind love, now almost literal, gave her strong footsteps as they headed toward the bedroom. Stopping at the large wooden doors, Mortimer looked around to make sure any other servants weren't in sight. Horace began to pull out his gun from its holster, and slowly swung the door open.

"Good evening, officer!"

Roger Rabbit hadn't been the one to greet them, though he was in the room, standing next to his bed in his bright red pajamas. Judging by the small half-eaten cake on the nearby desk, he'd been having a late night snack with the other person in the room. Lazily slumped in a wooden chair, the Scarlet waved jovially at the intruders, bits of cake sprinkled around his mouth. "I don't suppose you brought any milk with you. The Duke has good taste in sweets, but they can be a tad dry."

"Vous!" All three villains shouted in shocked unison, but only Horace was able to gather his wits enough to do something about it. He raised his gun, shooting to get the mission done, and while Roger yelled in horror and tried to duck under the bed, the Scarlet stood up on his chair, moving his cape in front of the range of shots – the cape impossibly solidified for a few brief seconds, and the useless bullets bounced off and rolled on the floor.

"I warned the Chief what would happen if I found the police were being bad boys again." He jumped off the chair, grabbing it by its legs. "Can't blame me for trying." In one swift move he threw the chair into Horace's chest, and given the small doorway they were trying to enter, all three bodies were knocked over. He left the room, locking the door behind him, though he could still Roger wailing pitifully under the bed, moaning "I don't want any trouble!" over and over again.

Clarabelle was the first to get up, the angry red on her face beginning to match her burnt wound. "Someone just grab him!" She made her best attempt to do so, swinging her hands at him, but he dodged with ease, bobbing back and forth.

"What happened to your face?" He questioned as he ducked under her tight fingers. "Are you all right?" Clarabelle didn't know what was more annoying, that he was avoiding capture without a sweat or that he actually sounded concerned about her. "I think you need to see a doctor. We could cut this early and get you to a good one…"

"I got him, I got him!" Mortimer was the next to get up and foolishly get into the fight. He ran into the scene, swooping down to try and pick up the short hero, but all the Scarlet had to do was tilt to a side, and Clarabelle's kick aimed for him took Mortimer down in the stomach.

"Nice shot, my lady." He tipped his hat in gratitude, and then picked up the pace as the two began to chase after him. He led them back to Horace, and as the horse was beginning to sit up, he found his shoulders being used for as balance for the Scarlet to somersault over. He had no time to react before Mortimer and Clarabelle's bodies slammed into him, creating a dizzy pile of miscreants on the floor again. The Scarlet hummed as he walked to the recovering baddies, and dipped in his hand to retrieve Horace's gun. "If you're not going to play nice with this, then I can't let you have it. Now let's see here." He flipped the gun over, and lightly bonked Horace on the forehead with it. "Given Roger's cowardice, I doubt he'll tell anyone about this, so I suggest you leave and never bother him again." Then he bonked Mortimer with more force. "Leave the Duchess be, or else I'll get rid of those pesky teeth of yours." He held the butt of the gun over Clarabelle's face, but didn't touch her. "As for you… I suspect whoever is behind all this is also behind your wound. You'd best leave him for your good."

None of them were enjoying the lecture, but as they all made a grab for him, the Scarlet jumped back, sticking the new gun in his waist belt. Mortimer got on his hands and knees, snarling at whom he considered his worst enemy. "You really think you can keep up with this game of cat and mouse all night? It's three against one, we have to win!" He began to rise with the others, trying to regain his confidence. "Got anything to say to that?"

"Two things, actually." He held up two fingers, waited, and then smiled as he heard the sound of police sirens outside. "First, while Roger may be a coward, his servants love him enough to at least try to help, and I sincerely doubt the entire police force would help you commit murder. Second…" he grinned with a pearly white flash of teeth. "… The Duchess is an excellent kisser, so neener neener neener."

The Scarlet probably enjoyed watching the bloodcurdling rage flowing through Mortimer too much, even as the rat made a throttling move towards the hero's neck. Again, it was far too simple to dodge, and as the police began to bang on the front doors, The Scarlet passed the time by effortlessly weaving in and out of the many limbs wanting to assault him. The police forced the door open by the time the Scarlet made it to an adjacent window, kicking it open. "Lord Mortimer, always a displeasure. My lady, I do hope you seek help. And officer…" He tsked, shaking his head. "… it is the duty of a gentleman to aid his lady. I hope you remember that." With one last jump, he was in the night, gone.

The police officers that entered searched the palace, trying to discover what had happened and questioned the trio watching the window. For now, they were unable to hear anyone. Mortimer ground his teeth, seething as any last doubts about his new debt to Fantome were erased. He would have Minnie, and the Scarlet would pay for trying to take what had always been his. Clarabelle's eyes watered, knowing she had failed her love again, and that this punishment would definitely be more severe, no matter how much she deserved it.

"… Remember ta aid my lady…?" Horace hissed, his fingers digging so deeply in his fists that he was certain he had started to bleed. "What… What… What do ya think I've been tryin' ta do all along, salaud?" He screamed at the top of his lungs, not giving a damn that everyone could hear him and needing to voice his outrage. With the Scarlet's continued interference, Clarabelle would be the ultimate victim, and there was nothing Horace could conceivably do about it. Duke Fantome had money, had power, had Clarabelle's love, and all Horace had was a badge and gun. No one man could take on the Fantome. How dare the Scarlet try to claim that was a possible feat? The wind echoed his howl, creating a stronger enemy in a pathetic man.

Things were much quieter at Duke Fantome's mansion. The Duke was leading Pete to a place that few people knew of and even fewer got access to, with lights dimming down as they went further and further down into the basement. Fantome was collected and calm as per the norm, but Pete was disgruntled on this dark night. "I don't get it, sir!" He huffed, trying to cross his arms over his large stomach. "We've got almost all the names of the revolutionaries, thanks to Katarina! Why don't you want my guys to arrest them all?"

"Patience, Pete. All good things come to those who wait." They stopped at an ordinary looking wall that only held a painting of the Duke when he was a young boy. "I want every individual looked into… I don't want a miss a chance to grab a perfectly good pawn. They all have histories that are worth sharing." He reached up and pressed the golden frame around the portrait, clicking into something behind the wall.

"But if we arrest them now," Pete argued, used to the sight of the wall sliding open to the left, now that it had been unlocked by the hidden device. "Then we can stop the revolution!"

Fantome chuckled low as he entered the disguised room, new lights flickering on inside. "Who said I wanted to stop the revolution?" That was enough to stop Pete in his tracks, utterly befuddled by what that question could mean. In this new room, Fantome became a silhouette against the dozens of glowing screens that stuck on the walls. It was an almost exact replica of the headquarters where Ludwig and Gyro resided, without the tubes filled with vigilante outfits. There was also a genius typing away at a keyboard, who didn't bother to lift his head as the company came in.

"I want the revolution more than anything in the world." Fantome's voice became lower as he turned from screen to screen, which did not capture the wide range of the city as Ludwig and Gyro's, but still showed the inside of several prominent homes, including Roger's as he still refused to get out from under the bed. "But it must be disorganized… it must not have a true leader. What I want, Chief, is… chaos. Complete and utter chaos, as these fools try to achieve equality and revenge… they'll eventually reach the tipping point, the one thing that will put them over the edge and create blood everywhere!" he swept his arms up high, as if trying to conduct an orchestra of terror in the very room, his voice swelling as he explained his plan. "The First Bloody Sunday, a man couldn't get his wife the treatment she needed, and with one punch, the streets ran red! And when I ran over that damn brat on the Second Bloody Sunday, I saw with my own eyes the beautiful blood running again! And if it happens one more time, it will prove to the Queen that the streets must be cleansed once and for all!" He could see it happening before his very eyes – gunfire and screams as the plague that touched his city was exterminated in glorious hellfire. It was enough to give him joyous maniacal laughter, fully aware of the discomposure he was causing his guests. Pete pressed his back to a wall, feeling cold sweat drip between his eyes, and the typist had stopped touching the keys.

The minutes that took Fantome to calm down felt like an eternity, as he ran a hand down his face as looked like he had never broken out of his charming smile. He touched the chair the typist was on, tugging on the chains that kept his busy worker in place. "Do forgive me… I came here to see you, and here I am, making it all about me. I promise it won't happen again." He patted the back of the chair, feigning friendliness. "As for that… what did you learn about the bullet our good chief got for us?"

"… It's very similar to something I once saw two men work on." The other replied, his throat dry and weary, head hung in pain and submission.

"Is that so?" Fantome swiveled the chair around to have a proper face to face conversation. "Tell me more… Fou."

End of Chapter Ten.