Darkwing Duck: Year Zero
Episode 1: Concrete Facts Part 2
Darkwing Duck. Terror that flaps in the night. Scourge of the underworld. His name makes criminals quiver in fright. By night, he patrols the dark streets of St. Canard, fighting hard to keep citizens safe. By day, he's a secretary.
Drake sighed as Lana continued.
"Now don't feel overwhelmed. Even though Mr. Swine is the CEO, he's a really great guy. You'll hardly think of him as someone who owns a multi-million dollar company," Lana said.
The elevator stopped and the doors opened with a ding. They had reached the top floor of the high-rise, and through the window, Drake could see all of St. Canard below him. Although he was good with heights, he felt a combination of wonder and vertigo.
"Before we get you started with orientation—which is just a video and signing a few papers, so be prepared to be bored a little—Mr. Swine wants to meet you," Lana said. "I hope you're okay with jumping in with both feet, because Mr. Swine is a big believer of learning on the job."
"I'm really good with thinking on my feet," Drake said. After all, how difficult of duties did a secretary—er—Executive Assistant—have?
"That's great," Lana said, marching down the hall. "Here we are." She stopped at a large door with a gold plaque on it with the name "Swenlin Swine." "And remember, don't ever mention that you're an actor. He absolutely hates actors."
"Yes, but that's not—"
"Oh, uh…" Drake muttered, not sure how to reply to that since she already warned him twice. Then another question popped into his head.
"Ready?" Lana said with a big smile. She turned the knob and opened the door.
"Wait, I have one more question," Drake said, nervous energy surging through him as he realized he knew nothing about the company. Should he know about it? It was a multi-million dollar company, but he didn't recall ever hearing the name A Wing and an Eye, Inc.
"Too late," Lana whispered and beamed. "Mr. Swine, I'd like to introduce you to Mr. Mallard. The temp agency sent him over."
The office space wasn't like anything Drake had seen before. He guessed that was because his experience with office spaces consisted of his talent agent and what he had seen on TV. He expected a large desk made of oak or perhaps some rare wood with a high-back, swivel chair that would make Mr. Swine look intimidating. His desk would be neat and organized with a state-of-the-art computer, a paper weight and maybe an impressive trophy. The wall behind the desk would be covered with awards and college degrees. Drake also imagined a few plants.
But the office was mostly empty space. Drop cloths covered the floor and in the middle of the room, a man was kneeling over a wire frame as he slathered a gray material over it with his bare hands. Instead of wearing a power suit like any CEO would wear, he had on cover-alls splattered with the gray stuff. He turned around and smiled.
Mr. Swine was a handsome man, tall and muscular, and would have been intimidating if it wasn't for his disarming smile and his messy appearance. His face was splattered and smudged with gray as if he had wiped away some sweat with his hands.
"Wonderful," Mr. Swine said, standing up. His voice was melodic and cultured, deep without being rumbling. "Mr. Mallard, is it? Thank you for coming over so quickly. It will be a pleasure to work with you." He held out his hand to shake with Drake.
Drake looked down at Mr. Swine's hand. He was a tall man with wide shoulders, and looked as if could bench-press double what Drake weighted. But despite his football player physic, the man's hands weren't thick and meaty as he would have assumed. They were large, but Mr. Swine's fingers were long, not quite slender, but skilled. And they were covered in the gray goo.
"Oh, sorry about that," Mr. Swine said, chuckling. He grabbed a towel off the floor and started wiping his hands. "Sometimes when I'm working, I forget about keeping things clean. You should see my dry-cleaning bill." He winked.
Drake smiled, understanding now how Lana said Mr. Swine didn't seem like a CEO. The pig seemed more like someone you could go out and have a beer with and watch a game. He waited for Mr. Swine to clean off his hands before going in for the hand shake.
"Good grip," Mr. Swine said, his own handshake strong. He turned Drake's hand over. "And nice hands. They look like man's hands."
"Uh…thanks?" Drake said as Mr. Swine turned his hand over and around, not letting go.
"Come over here," Mr. Swine said, pulling Drake across the room and positioning him. "Hold up your hand like this. Thumb extended. Swivel to the left a little. Now hold it."
Drake froze, watching Mr. Swine rush back to the wire figure and reach into a bucket for more gray goo, slathering gobs on the wire and working it until it started imitating Drake's hand.
"Is that…cement?" Drake asked.
"That's right," Mr. Swine said, grabbing a flat trowel-like tool and shaping the cement. "I've had to re-do this hand several times. Lana doesn't have the carpals for it, no offense."
"None taken, sir," Lana said, her voice laced with humor. "However, Mr. Mallard will still need to go through orientation and some paper work. Shall I come back later or will this take long?"
"He can do it tomorrow," Mr. Swine said. "Don't worry, Mr. Mallard. We'll make sure your timecard will have all of this recorded. Please, don't move."
Drake lifted his arm back where it was, not realizing he had lowered it slightly. He focused on the wire frame that Mr. Swine was working on, seeing that it somewhat resembled a man posing while leaning against something. "So, do you make a lot of cement statues?" He winced inwardly, thinking that this might reveal his ignorance about what kind of a business A Wing and an Eye, Inc was.
"Concrete statues," Mr. Swine corrected, nodding as Lara left the room. "It's called cement until it dries, then it's concrete."
"Oh," Drake said and waited for more of an explanation from Mr. Swine, but didn't get any. The minutes passed by, and his arm began feeling a little tired. He tried to focus on the CEO's technique of sculpting the hand. His mind was starting to wander when Mr. Swine spoke again.
"I've made several statues. Most are privately commissioned but I've done several for the city," Mr. Swine said, his tone slow since his concentration was mainly on his work. "There's about a dozen in the city zoo, and a few in the park. The mayor and I are good friends, so he gets the city to pay for a few each year." Mr. Swine chuckled.
Drake wondered if A Wing and an Eye, Inc was an art gallery, but that didn't make sense. Lana said the company was a multi-million dollar business, and he couldn't imagine that concrete statues cost that much. Plus, why would they need a whole two floors of office employees for an art gallery. He was tempted to sneak a peek at his phone, but he worried that would make him move his hand while modeling for his employer. Instead, he decided to reveal his ignorance and ask more questions.
"I'm so sorry, but I really don't know much about A Wing and an Eye, Inc," Drake said, trying to keep still. "What is it? What kind of business?"
"That's classified," Mr. Swine said, glaring at Drake.
Drake tensed but relaxed when Mr. Swine laughed heartily.
"Just kidding," Mr. Swine said. "We sell cement mixture."
"Ah," Drake said. He should have guessed.
"Well, cement and the occasional concrete statue," Mr. Swine said. "I wish that I could make enough on my art, but sadly the world needs more cement mix than statues. But I can say with pride that we make the best cement mixture in the world. A majority of St. Canard's contractors are using A Wing and an Eye cement for their buildings. It last longer with less cracks, and our quick-drying cement dries twice as fast as our competitors."
Drake had never heard so much pride while describing something so mundane. But the price on the company did make sense. You couldn't build a city without cement.
"That's as good as I'm going to get for the moment," Mr. Swine said, straightening up. "Come over here and stir this cement."
Drake did as he was told, wishing he wore something other than his only suit. However, he did take his coat and tie off.
"Right. There's a smock over there that my last assistant used," Mr. Swine said, indicating something hanging from a hook on the wall. "If your clothes are dirty, submit your dry-cleaning bill to Lana. She'll take care of that."
"Is this how it's going to be every day?" Drake asked, grabbing the cloth that resembled a hospital gown and tied it over his clothes."
"Not exactly, but you might want to bring some clothes you can get dirty to change into," Mr. Swine said, dipping his hands into the bucket and slathering more cement on the wire frame. "Art like this can't wait. Once I start, I have to finish before the cement dries."
Drake followed Mr. Swine's instructions, getting into a rhythm of stirring the different buckets of cement that were lined up, adding water or more powder when told to. He didn't flinch when told to get his hands dirty, throwing globs of cement onto the wire frame.
"People often ask me why I don't just work with clay," Mr. Swine said, as he was involved in his task. "More right here. Fill in that gap. Clay is easier to work with and can be worked on for days if necessary until the finish product is done. But I find it temperamental. Cement is honest, keeps its shape much better than clay. There's some shrinkage when cement dries, but clay can warp and crack if it dries too quickly or too slowly. And then you have to cook it to make it hard, in which case if there's an air pocket, it can explode in the kiln. But with cement, it dries just how it's set. Your only enemy is gravity, but if you can support it, shape it, and have enough patience, then it'll come out. I like cement because you have to be quick, and you have to be decisive. You can't just toss the cement in a bucket of water and start all over if you don't like it. You have only one chance."
Drake worked and listened, impressed at how deft Mr. Swine worked with the cement. It was amazing how he could carve out intricate details from such a crude medium. And although the statue was only half formed, the parts that Mr. Swine had finished looked real enough to be alive.
"My goodness. Is it that time already?" Mr. Swine said, looking at the clock. "I'm sorry, Mr. Mallard. I've kept you well past quitting time."
Drake looked up, seeing that it was a quarter past six. He was only supposed to stay until five. "I didn't realize it was that late," Drake said.
"There's a washroom over there. Clean up and head out. Lana's probably gone, but just write down the time on your card, and she'll sign it in the morning," Mr. Swine said. "And don't worry about the overtime."
"Are you sure? The statue isn't finished," Drake said. The head and most of the torso was completed, depicting a duck in a suit, but the legs were still rough edges and malformed.
"You go ahead. I can finish this on my own," Mr. Swine assured him.
"Thanks," Drake said, going to the washroom. He washed up and called out to his boss, "See you tomorrow."
"Have a good evening, Mr. Mallard," Mr. Swine said with a wave.
Drake found his timecard on the desk outside, he wrote down the time and summoned the elevator. He expected it to take some time to get up to the top floor, and he was even considering taking the stairs even at this height before the doors opened up.
Heading down, the elevator stopped at a few floors, other employees getting off of work at the same time. One floor opened to several security guards and a full-body scanner similar to what could be found at the airport. Two men got on at that floor, and several more employees were standing in line, waiting to be scanned and then searched by the security guards.
Drake remembered what the guard on the ground floor had told him about the building being serious about security, but what he saw seemed a lot more than needing a specific fob for a specific floor. But hadn't the security guard mentioned that a computer company was working for the government?
Drake continued to wonder about such security during the rest of the ride down, following the other riders of the elevator to the front door.
"Have a good night," the same security guard that Drake talked to early called out, waving to the group.
Only Drake replied, the others focused on leaving or looking at their cell phones. "You too," Drake said, trying to remember the man's name. It was a simple name, but he couldn't recall it.
"Take care, Drake Mallard."
Hearing his name, Drake turned, giving one last wave to the security guard who had remembered his name. The man must have a really good memory.
Darkwing Duck raced through the city, keeping his eyes and ears open to crime. Normally he would hear about it through a Bluetooth device connected to WANDA who monitored all law enforcement channels, siphoning the minor chatter and sending him the really good crimes. Next to him sat Launchpad in the Ratcatcher's sidecar, his head back, mouth open, snoring peacefully despite how fast they were traveling and the tight corners Darkwing took.
Darkwing learned that Launchpad could sleep through anything.
"So, you said that you found a job today?" Gosalyn's voice spoke through the Bluetooth. She was still back at the orphanage, speaking through a cell phone to Darkwing. She also could see everything with a mini camera through a pair of contact lenses he wore in his eye, based off of Fenton's Gizmo Lense design, so she was technically part of the action. It was the only way to keep her from sneaking out of the orphanage, but she still bristled at being kept out of the action.
The orphanage had a required bedtime, and Gosalyn adhered to it. She even volunteered to sleep in the same room with the little kids, who slept better if they had a "big sister" to go to if they woke up in the middle of the night. Gosalyn didn't do it to be helpful. She found out that once the children went to sleep, she could talk all she wanted on the phone and not a single child would wake up.
"Yeah, a really good one," Darkwing said. "It's just temp work, but I really like my boss. I was thinking of applying for a permanent position within the company." It was strange to help Mr. Swine make a concrete statue, but he could see himself doing that every day. Especially for the wage he was getting.
"What's the job?" Gosalyn asked.
"I'm a…er…an Executive Assistant," Darkwing muttered quickly.
Gosalyn snorted. "You're a secretary?"
"No," Darkwing defended. "I'm the assistant to a CEO. Not a secretary."
"According to the definition of Executive Assistant—" WANDA began without prompting.
"I know what an Executive Assistant is, thank you WANDA," Darkwing interrupted.
"You're totally a secretary," Gosalyn said with a laugh. "Isn't that a woman's job?"
"That's so sexist," Darkwing said. "I expected more from you Gosalyn."
"Hey, I'm all for equality in the workforce. I didn't peg you as an advocate."
Darkwing knew when he was being teased. He decided to remain silent on the matter from now on.
"So, have you heard anything else from the social worker?" Gosalyn asked as she did every night.
"Not yet," Darkwing said, knowing that this would pain Gosalyn. "Hopefully tomorrow."
"Yeah," Gosalyn said, covering up her disappointment.
"But I did sign off on the house," Darkwing said. "I'll be able to move in Friday."
"Gee, I hope I'll be there to see it," Gosalyn muttered.
"Don't be too impatient," Darkwing said, trying to joke to cheer up the duckling. "I'm going to put you to work helping me fix it up. We're lucky it passed most of its safety inspection, although nobody is allowed in the basement until the black mold is gone."
Gosalyn didn't reply to his ribbing.
Not for the first time, Darkwing wondered about his decision to foster a teenage girl. Despite how well she worked with him and Launchpad during the Ramrod incident, he was ill-equipped to being a father—even a foster father. He wasn't even old enough to have biologically fathered a teenager. Yet at the tender age of twenty-five, he was taking on that civic duty.
With hope and a pray, he wouldn't have to do it for long. He reminded himself to get Fenton on the phone to see if he has any new ideas on how to find Gosalyn's grandfather.
"Darkwing, a robbery has been reported between 5th and Storkview," WANDA's voice came through the Bluetooth. "An alarm was set off in the Crowwell Towers, and police are heading to the scene."
"Finally," Gosalyn huffed into her mic.
"We're heading there now." Darkwing watched his monitor on the Ratcatcher light up as WANDA plotted the shortest route to the Crowwell Towers. Luckily they were already in the business district, and would be at the Towers in a matter of minutes. As he drove, he was still able to ready his gas gun and wake Launchpad with a lurch, his sidekick shouting as he was jostled.
"Look alive, Launchpad," Darkwing said. "It's time to get dangerous."
"Whoa. It looks as if someone already did," Launchpad said as they turned a corner and got a good look at Crowwell Towers. The flagpole in front of the large building was lit up as legally they were required to, and the two spotlights perfectly showed the damage done to the building.
There was a large, gaping hole in the industrial glass somewhere near the tenth floor, Darkwing guessed. Two long lines of broken glass and concrete dripped down all the way to the large front entrance of the building where the sidewalk was cracked as if something very heavy had dropped onto it. One police cruiser had already arrived, blue and red lights flashing, and two more were coming down the street.
"Wow. So cool," Gosalyn said into the Bluetooth speaker. "Get in there, Darkwing."
"This isn't a video game," Darkwing muttered as he parked the Ratcatcher. Lately he felt as if Gosalyn was treating him like her avatar in a first person shooter, and she was quick to order him around.
He and Launchpad jumped out of their vehicle and kept to the shadows. Not only was Darkwing Duck not appreciated by everyone on the force—there were a few that Darkwing could count on to give him some leads—they also had to keep Launchpad out of line of sight since the sidekick had yet to pick a disguise. Launchpad may not be all that famous, but because of Scrooge McDuck's connections to St. Canard, it would be better to be safe than sorry.
When the officers had their backs turned, Darkwing and Launchpad snuck into the building, the front doors busted open with as much force as the window on the tenth floor.
"It looks as if whoever broke in came through the front doors," Darkwing said, blinking on his contact lenses to turn on night vision. He couldn't use a flashlight lest the officers outside think he was the burglar and rush in. Darkwing begrudgingly admitted that Fenton's invention was very useful in times like this.
The front doors lay fifteen feet inside the building, the metal frames crumpled and twisted, glass scattered to the four corners.
"And whoever made this mess was big," Launchpad said. The tile under their feet had been broken, an ill-defined footprint formed from the impact. He put his own foot in the footprint to show just how small his boot was in comparison.
"I think whoever did this is gone, but just in case, let's be careful," Darkwing said, going farther in.
The footprints led to the stairway, and the two raced upward only to slow down after a few floors, huffing and puffing when they finally made it to the tenth floor where the door had been torn from its hinges.
"You should have taken the elevators," Gosalyn said.
"Thank you. That was so helpful," Darkwing grumbled as he stepped over some debris and headed in.
And walked into something that looked like a scene from a post-apocalyptic movie. The front desk had been picked up and thrown through a wall, papers and electronic parts scattered across the foyer in front of the elevators. A set of enforced doors with security locks had been bent but had stubbornly hung onto their hinges. Beyond those doors, rows of cubicles, desks, computers and other office equipment had been plowed through as if they were nothing but corn in a field. From what Darkwing could see, the trail led to an office in the back, then headed to the outside wall consisting of square windows where the thief had broken out and climbed down.
"That's Paladine," Gosalyn's voice said.
"Paladine?"
"It's an anti-pirate software company. I saw their company symbol back there," Gosalyn said. "They make firewalls, anti-virus programs, stuff like that. Grandpa used them for all his computers. They're one of the best."
"Then they must have had something this guy wanted," Launchpad said with wide eyes. "Really bad."
"I don't think whoever did this was just some regular guy," Darkwing noted. "I don't even think Gizmoduck could have put a desk that size through the wall." He moved through the desk pieces and computer parts, blinking in a way that engaged another feature of his contacts. "And I don't see any heat signatures, so whoever they were, they're not here anymore."
"Did they leave any clues?" Gosalyn asked. Leave to her to keep them on track.
Darkwing blinked through the other features in his lenses, little good they did. Fenton wasn't thinking about detective work when he made them. But luckily, as a learning AI based off of a little android named BOYD, WANDA was quickly learning how to be useful in an investigation.
"WANDA, do you have anything for me?" Darkwing asked.
"Looking through the video footage, I'm guessing that your suspect is over six feet tall and weighs approximately three thousand pounds," WANDA said. She brought up a replay of the footprints back in the lobby as well as the gaping hole in the building, showing the equation she used to determine her numbers.
"He'll be easy to pick out of a lineup," Gosalyn joked.
"That's if anyone can apprehend him," Darkwing said grimly. "Like I said, I don't think this was done by a regular guy. Maybe not even someone living."
"A robot? Or an android?" Launchpad asked, immediately going to the sci-fi aspect. He might not be wrong.
"I doubt it," WANDA said, her know-it-all personally coming out as she voiced her opinion, which was probably right. "Even Gizmoduck's first model wasn't this heavy, and he was made of reinforced steel. My guess is that whatever this guy was made of, it isn't flesh or metal, but something heavier and denser."
"Can you scan for any foreign materials?" Darkwing asked.
"What do you think I am?" WANDA asked, her voice turning as sassy as Gosalyn's. "I'm not some made-up science on some CSI show. I can't scan every single little molecule and determine that it doesn't belong in all this mess."
"Okay, okay, okay," Darkwing said quickly, seeing Launchpad snort. He had the same Bluetooth device and was able to hear and communicate just as much as Darkwing. "But can you just…scan to see if something looks out of place? Anything? Within your abilities, WANDA? Work with me."
"I'll do what I can," WANDA said.
Darkwing made another mental note to ask Fenton if there was any way to reprogram WANDA's personality. He was certain that Gosalyn was a bad influence on her.
"Scan complete," WANDA reported. "Nothing out of the ordinary."
"Nothing?" Darkwing repeated.
"Nothing. Just drywall, furniture, office supplies, glass and concrete," WANDA said. "And I also found Waldo."
"Concrete?" Darkwing asked.
"Yes, concrete," WANDA said.
"You know, dry cement," Gosalyn added. "They use it to build large buildings. That's not unusual."
Perhaps it was because he heard more about concrete and cement that day, but he was curious. "Where's the concrete?" Darkwing asked. His vision changed, red circles appearing to show where the concrete was situated. He had expected large chunks of it, perhaps with some rebar poking out of it, but instead there were just crumbs and dust. He looked around the room. "It doesn't make sense."
"What doesn't, DW?" Launchpad asked, bending over to look at the concrete.
"The walls would have concrete and the pillars. It's part of the building's structure. See, there and there. But here, there's no pillar or wall," Darkwing said, pinching some of the concrete.
"Which means that the baddie tracked it in," Gosalyn reasoned. "By the way, guys, the cops are entering the building. You might want to get out."
"How do you know?" Launchpad asked, knowing Gosalyn could only see what they could see with their contact lenses.
"I'm watching the news," Gosalyn said. "They just went inside with guns out. Move it."
"I'm so glad I got you that phone," Darkwing said, smiling. "Come on, LP."
"But if the cops are coming up, how are we going to get out?" Launchpad asked as he watched Darkwing march to the hole in the window.
"Where he got out, we can too," Darkwing said, switching out the gas canister for the grappling hook in his gun, aiming it for the building across the street. "Hang onto me, LP."
The taller duck picked up Darkwing and held on tight.
"Not that tight," Darkwing squeaked out, not realizing that his finger had pressed the trigger.
The two of them shot out of the building, both crying out in fear having not prepared themselves for the grapping gun to pull them away.
"You guys get to have all the fun," Gosalyn grumbled in their ear pieces.
The next day over breakfast, Drake watched the news over a bowl of cereal, getting ready for his second day at work. Not surprising, the break-in at Paladine was the top story and took up most of the news hour. Even the local sports team's incredible win the same night was overshadowed by the robbery.
The news anchor showed some footage of the police entering the building last night, and luckily they didn't record Darkwing and Launchpad's less-than-graceful exit. There wasn't any new information that Drake didn't know himself, except that SHUSH had stepped in to help with the investigation. An agent even gave a statement.
As Drake carefully drank his milk from his bowl so not to spill it on his suit, he watched as a large brown bear in a dark suit stood in front of the pulpit, looking at the reporters in such a menacing way, it was almost as if she blamed them for the crime. She was tall and imposing, and she had one eye covered in scars with a white pupil which only added to her dangerous aura. The flashing of several cameras in her face didn't seem to faze her.
On the screen, the name Agent Vladimira Gryzlikoff appeared at the bottom of the screen, and when the SHUSH agent spoke, she had a deep voice with a cultured, Russian accent that was only evident in some of her syllables.
"SHUSH has some leads to the culprit who broke into Paladine late last night, and we know that this wasn't his first target, but it was the first to happen in St. Canard. We have some of our best agents on this investigation and will find and prosecute him or her to the full extent of the law. That is all."
The reporters jostled for attention, calling out questions left and right.
"Do you have any suspects?"
"Can you tell us what was stolen from Paladine?"
"Is there any truth in the rumors that SHUSH's director, Von Drake, was murdered by someone inside the organization?"
"Have Paladine's computer programs been compromised? Can people trust the security programs that they have bought from Paladine?"
"Is it true that this robbery was committed by FOWL?"
This last question was the only thing that turned Agent Gryzlikoff around. She squared her shoulders and looked the camera head one with one dark eye and one blind eye. "This has nothing to do with FOWL, nor is it linked to the incident that happened at McDuck Enterprises lab. That is all." And she walked off.
Drake turned off the TV and put his bowl in the sink that was almost completely filled with dishes. He promised himself to clean them after work and—his eyes roamed over the warehouse he was living in at the moment, taking in the messy blankets that Launchpad had left behind, the take-out cartons in the overflowing garbage, and the pile of dirty clothes that were spilling out of the basket. He'd have to do some cleaning eventually.
But that would have to wait. With traffic, he was just barely going to be on-time. He grabbed his keys, locked up and ran for his car.
After navigating through the traffic on the streets—he made it to the high-rise and headed for the elevators.
"Good morning, Mr. Mallard!"
"Oh, good morning to you, too," Drake said, seeing the same security guard from the day before. He had made good time, so he stopped to talk just to get the guy's name. If he had been polite enough to remember his name, he could do the same. "You must work a long shift."
"Ah, my partner's out sick, so I'm picking up some overtime," the security guard said with a big smile.
Drake had been nervous the day before, so he really took a look at the security guard. By the shape of his beak, the guy was a goose. And he was unusually short for one, standing almost a head smaller than Drake. But he held himself with confidence and ease as if nothing could surprise him.
Drake took a look at the guard's name tag, reading a single letter: "J." He remembered that the guy's name was simple, but he hadn't thought it was that simple.
"I guess I better get back up there, J," Drake said, pointing a thumb upward. He wished he had more to say, but he wasn't the best with small talk.
"Of course. Of course," J said, nodding. "You be careful."
Drake was turning away but spun around quickly. "What was that?"
"I said 'You have a good day'," J said with a big smile.
Drake nodded but was uneasy. He could have sworn that J had said something completely different. Strange.
In the elevator, Drake scanned his fob and he went straight to the top, which took him some time considering how many people shared the car with him. In the end, he was a few minutes late. He cursed that he hadn't taken into account how long it would take him to get up to the top floor.
"Sorry, I'm late," Drake said to Lana as he rushed down the hall.
"Oh, no problems," Lana said. "Mr. Swine was here until very late, so he's not in yet. Let's get you started on orientation."
Lana set him up with a company video to watch which went through basic information about the business, followed by information about office safety, sexual harassment and company procedures. He was then given a lot of paper work to fill out, in which he did at the desk outside of Mr. Swine's office, which, he guessed, was going to be his desk. He hardly started when Mr. Swine marched over, barely off the elevators.
"Mallard, stop what you're doing and follow me," Mr. Swine said, not stopping a beat as he walked into his office.
"Okay," Drake said, putting his pen down. He followed Mr. Swine into his office, stopping only a few minutes to take in the concrete statue that was now mostly dried and complete. It was a work of art.
Mr. Swine pulled open a closet door and pulled out one large lamp after another. "Put these around the room."
Drake did as he was told, knowing from past experience that these particular lamps were used in photography. He did his best to position the lights equally around the statue as Mr. Swine pulled out a camera and tripod. For the next hour, he ran around the room, moving lights, holding up reflectors as his boss took one picture after another. He had done some modeling work when he couldn't get acting parts, and he could tell that Mr. Swine had an eye for the camera. He was also just as nitpicky as some of the photographers in Hollywood.
"That's great," Mr. Swine said after he had gotten enough pictures from every angle. "Put the lights away and go through the pictures. Send the best ones to this email address."
Drake watched Mr. Swine rush out of the office, leaving him alone. As he was putting all the lights away, he wondered if this was the same Mr. Swine that he had met yesterday. That one was calm, cool-headed and what he would term as a "fun" boss. But this one was rush-rush, no pleasantries and—not quite rude—but brisk. It was more what he expected from a CEO.
Not wanting to bother Lana and prove he couldn't cut it as an Executive Assistant, Drake took the camera off the tripod and headed to his desk. After looking around, he found the USB cord to plug it into his computer and downloaded all the pictures. He hoped he had an eye for art, because he grabbed a couple dozen of them from different angles and put them in a zip folder.
"Mallard, time to go," Mr. Swine said heading up the hallway and grabbing his jacket.
"Go where? And I'm not done yet," Drake said, feeling a little panicked. He hadn't yet emailed the photos, nor did he have an email to send it from. "Should I use your email account to send them?"
"There should be one saved on the computer. Click on the email icon," Mr. Swine said, his professional face still on. "Hurry up. We have a meeting in twenty minutes." He started toward the elevators.
Drake brought up the email, and as Mr. Swine said, it was saved from the browser as "Swine_Executive_Assistant ." He quickly loaded the zip folder, typed in the email and sent it, grabbing his own jacket and his bag just as Mr. Swine stepped onto the elevators. He jumped on just as the doors were closing.
Maybe being a "secretary" wasn't as easy as he thought.
Drake turned out to be Mr. Swine's driver as well, which he didn't mind considering the vehicle was the newest model of Ferrari and gloated at being behind the wheel. The meeting was at a five-star restaurant with a man who had won the bid to build several new highways and bridges in preparation for the next summer Olympics seven years in the making. Drake stayed and ate at the table with the others but didn't say much throughout the meeting. He wasn't even sure if he should take notes, but tried to mentally remember a few details just in case. He vowed to download a note-taking app later for future meetings.
After the meeting, they went back to the office for Mr. Swine to send him off on several more errands, including coffee, picking up his dry-cleaning, and buying several magazines for his boss, many of which were business or art related. When Drake returned to the office, he was once more given a list of responsibilities, barely having time to finish the paperwork he was given at the beginning of the day.
It was coming close to four o' clock when Drake heard Mr. Swine calling for him inside his office. Drake stood up, cracked his back after bending over his computer for over an hour, and went inside.
"Yes, Mr. Swine," Drake said, dreading what he would be asked to do next. Was it another to-do list or was it a task that he felt ill-prepared to perform?
Mr. Swine was back in his coveralls, a dab of cement on his nose, and working with something small. "Put some gloves on. I need to make a bunch of these before the cement dries."
Drake did as he was told, almost relieved that Mr. Swine was creating. Perhaps the boss he met yesterday would be back. Drake found some work gloves that were too big for him, but put them on anyway. He had forgotten about bringing other clothes, so he had to be careful to not get dirty.
Mr. Swine cracked open what he had in his hand. "Careful. It should be solid, but it could fall apart. I think I have the mixture right."
Drake saw that Mr. Swine had a type of mold that he had cracked open, tapping softly on both sides until a fist-sized statue of a mouse dropped out. It didn't have a lot of definition or detail, but it had a round nose, big ears and a tail that curled around its body.
"Set it on the table over there. I'll have the next one ready in no time," Mr. Swine said, his tone more at ease as he slathered more cement inside the mold.
In less than half an hour, they had several dozen mice sitting on the table with only a couple of them falling apart.
"That was a good batch," Mr. Swine said, tossing Drake a wet towel for his gloves and washing off any splatter. "That's two days down. What do you think of the job, Mr. Mallard?"
Drake wasn't sure about having a boss ask him that question so candidly, but he was prone to be honest. "Truthfully, I would prefer days like yesterday than today."
Mr. Swine gave a belly laugh. "I, too, Mr. Mallard, but unfortunately even us CEOs can't play all day. The world turns, the moon revolves, and we must scurry like mice after our cheese. Unfortunately, this job will be more days like today than yesterday."
"That's fine," Drake said, cockiness tinging his tone. "I wasn't exactly looking for an easy job. It wasn't all that bad."
"I saw that you did enjoy driving my car," Mr. Swine said. "Want to take it for another spin?"
Drake's eyes danced but he looked at the clock. It was almost quitting time.
"Yes, I see that I might be paying a little more over-time," Mr. Swine said, noticing the clock as well. "But something important came up. One of my statues seemed to have been damaged. I've been asked to go look at it to see if it could be repaired."
Drake's eyebrows tilted down. "That's terrible."
"Yes, but unfortunately, everyone is an art critic," Mr. Swine said. "Grab your things unless you want to come back and finish your paperwork."
Drake did not. He made sure he had everything in his bag and followed Mr. Swine back down to the parking garage where the Ferrari was stored. One quick ride later, they were in front of McDuck Enterprises Lab where a beautiful fountain was partially destroyed and disrupted by the statue falling from its pedestal in the middle.
The statue was the most surprising part of the whole thing.
"Taurus Bulba!" Drake cried out as he saw the subject of the statue.
"Yes. He was sort of a vain man, but he had an excellent figure," Mr. Swine said, examining the fallen statue. "It's a shame, but considering his sordid history, I guess I'm not surprised that someone decided to deface the statue. I'm sure that Mr. McDuck would have had it removed eventually." He turned to speak to a group of construction workers and lab employees, all of them gesturing to the statue, the fountain and a large crane.
Drake wasn't sure if he should listen in on the conversation and take notes, but something caught his attention. The statue appeared to be broken in far too many places. How it fell from the pedestal right into the fountain, only one side of it should have been damaged but that was not the case. Careful of the water, he reached out and felt along the statue's horn where a piece had been broken off. Part of it crumbled under his fingers.
Using the statue as a bridge, he examined the pedestal. The way the concrete felt where the statue had been, it looked as if it had broken naturally instead of someone cutting it away. In that case, it wasn't defaced. But the rest of the fountain showed no cracks, no signs of wear from the elements, hardly even any algae growing in the moist areas. The fountain couldn't be that old for the statue to break naturally.
So how did it happen? It couldn't have been done by someone with flesh and blood.
He thought back to the destruction he saw at Paladine. Could what have broken into the software company also have knocked down this statue? But why? Stealing from such a big company as Paladine had its obvious motives, but destroying this statue? Could whoever it be have something against Taurus Bulba? Or be connected to him?
"I would be most appreciative if the statue could be taken to my estate," Mr. Swine said, shaking hands with the foremen of the construction crew. "And I'll make sure that the fountain is repaired at no expense to Mr. McDuck, although if he wants a statue of himself on there instead, I must insist he come by my office."
Sensing that the meeting was wrapping up, Drake jumped off the pedestal and stood right next to his boss as if he had been there the entire time.
"Such a shame," Mr. Swine said again as he walked away, shaking his head. "It was such a wonderful statue."
Drake frowned. "If you don't mind, but Taurus Bulba is a bad guy. He almost destroyed the city. Why do you want to keep his statue?"
"I do not blame the statue for the subject's decisions," Mr. Swine said with a sniff. "And I considered that particular statue to be one of my best. Terrible. Terrible waste."
"But it's broken. Why do you want it?" Drake said. "Didn't you say that once cement sets, there's no changing it? That statue can't be repaired, can it?" He doubted it. He had seen sidewalks that had patches on cracks, and the cracks came back with revenge after a season.
"Oh, I'm sure that there's some use I have for that statue," Mr. Swine said with a smile.
That night, in Darkwing Tower, the masked hero consulted his computer for anything linking Taurus Bulba to the break-in the night previous.
"I'm afraid that I'm not making any solid connection between the two," WANDA said after an extensive search.
"Nothing?" Darkwing asked, skeptical.
"Well, there's the usual social gatherings. Taurus Bulba and several executives from Paladine have been seen together and had pictures taken, but that's flimsy at best," WANDA said. "Taurus Bulba has never been interested in security software, not now or ever. He never worked for Paladine or their rivals, and he hasn't worked together with anyone from Paladine."
"So if Bulba has anything against Paladine, it might be a personal vendetta from his past," Darkwing said. "Keep searching. Go back farther. College. High school. Check their preschool registration."
"I think you're chasing a dead end," Gosalyn's voice came over WANDA's speaker. She had logged onto their private chat during the search. "Taurus Bulba doesn't seem the type to go after someone for a petty vendetta."
Darkwing wanted to argue, but thinking back, Bulba was a very jolly and friendly person, that is, until he tried to destroy St. Canard. Bulba seemed more motivated in progressing his career and science than wanting revenge. Not to mention, why would Bulba destroy his own statue. "Then perhaps who connects Bulba to Paladine is the real culprit. Someone might have something against both of them."
"A common enemy?" Gosalyn asked, sounding interested.
"Or rival company," Darkwing said. "Is there a company who would have something against both Paladine and Bulba, WANDA?"
"Several," WANDA said, bringing up a list. "Including McDuck Enterprise."
"How about narrowing it down to those just in St. Canard?" Gosalyn asked.
As WANDA narrowed down that list, Darkwing felt as if they were once more looking in the wrong direction. He remembered the SHUSH announcement that morning. The agent said that this wasn't the first time this thief had struck. There were other break-ins. Were they exclusive to St. Canard?
"WANDA, search for other break-ins similar to the one last night," Darkwing said. "Specifically with a lot of building damage."
The screen went blank save for Gosalyn's image in the corner before bringing up several entries. "There were several break-ins in LA, one to a robotics company and another software company, both with similar damage to the building and office. In Newark, New Jersey and New York City had a series of robberies with the same MO, the most prominent was a medical lab."
Darkwing frowned. A software company, a robotics company and a medical lab. What did they have in common? He looked up the other companies that WANDA brought up.
"Hey, I remember hearing about the robotics break-in. Grandpa had a friend who worked there, and he kept talking about how they were working on a break-through in prosthetic robotics," Gosalyn said. "He couldn't say much since they were keeping it a big secret."
Darkwing opened up the files on WANDA, looking through each one. "I was wrong," he said after a while. "I don't think this has anything to do with Taurus Bulba."
"Then what is going on?" Gosalyn asked.
"You know a little about Paladine, right?" Darkwing asked her. "Were they coming out with something big? Any rumors about a new project?"
"There's a pretty nasty computer virus going around. It took down a big bank last month," Gosalyn said. "I found some website that has a rumor about their newest security update that can keep out the virus."
"WANDA, what about the medical lab? What were they working on?" Darkwing asked.
"They made an announcement recently about a new type of insulin for diabetes, one that is cheaper to make and works longer," WANDA said, bringing up the article.
They went through the other break-ins and made a list of what was stolen from each place.
Darkwing smiled. He had figured it out. Well, part of it.
"I know that expression. What is it?" Gosalyn asked.
"It's simple," Darkwing said confidently. "It appears we are looking at a case of corporate espionage."
"Huh?" Goslayn asked.
"Someone is stealing secrets from companies, more than likely to sell it to rivalry companies," Darkwing said, touching the brim of his hat. "More than likely, they're hiring some sort of mercenary or thief to break in. Or the thief is selling the information to the highest bidder."
"Then how do we catch this guy?" Gosalyn asked. "Do we have some sort of rouge gallery to find out who has the muscle to pull this off?"
"Er…WANDA, do we have that?" Darkwing asked, uncertain.
"Let me check Facebook," WANDA said sarcastically. "No, we don't have a rouge gallery or directory. Perhaps you should contact Gizmoduck and ask him."
"No!" Darkwing shouted, and he wondered if WANDA was using his rivalry with the mechanical hero of Duckburg against him. "Maybe we can figure out his next target. It seems the culprit hits several targets in each city. Are there any announcements or rumors about some other company that are working on an amazing project or something similar in St. Canard?"
WANDA didn't sigh, but Darkwing was certain she would have at that point. However she brought up several Internet sites. "This is what I've found in the last several months."
"Most of these places are small time labs," Gosalyn said, reading the same list. "Grandpa was familiar with all of them, and even hired some of them to take on minor projects or helping him with the coding. This place did some of the software for the Ramrod."
Not for the first time, Darkwing had to wonder about Gosalyn's upbringing. She had an extraordinary ability to remember facts, was quite smart when it came to science—more than likely due to her grandfather—and was precocious at times, but she was still a teenager and lacked the knowledge and wisdom that came with age. He was glad that she was working with him at that moment.
"This guy is looking for a big payoff," Darkwing said. "Which ones aren't small time?"
"Well, McDuck Enterprise is on here," Gosalyn said. "That was the first that came to mind. Not to mention, they are always coming out with something new, so they're an obvious target."
Darkwing should have picked that up right away. He nodded. "Anyone else?"
"Uh…this place," Gosalyn said. One of the entries on the list lit up. "VantageTech. It's another software company. They're new but they've come out with some amazing stuff. I've heard that they've been contracted by the government."
"What are they working on?" Darkwing asked.
"Nobody knows," Gosalyn replied. "But rumor is that it's some sort of algorithm that's supposed to be used in anti-terrorist tactics. Some think that it'll be able to predict targets."
What Gosalyn said clicked in Darkwing's head. He had heard something similar before, just yesterday. Darkwing clicked on the software company and wasn't surprised that it shared the same building as A Wink and an Eye, Inc. He had heard the same rumors from J, the security guard.
"That's the next target," Darkwing said with confidence.
"Yeah, I think so, too," Gosalyn said. "But what if we're wrong?"
At that moment, the elevator up to Darkwing Towers dinged, and Launchpad stepped out, returning from his commute from Duckburg.
"Perfect timing, my friend," Darkwing said, greeting Launchpad with a clap on the shoulder which turned into a hug from the enthusiastic pilot. "We have a mission tonight."
"Really? What are we doing?" Launchpad asked.
"We're going on a stake-out."
Darkwing disliked splitting up. If the thief did attack the VantageTech company, he could really use the back-up. Luckily, McDuck Labs wasn't that far away, so Launchpad would be able to join the fight with just a call. He just hoped that the pilot wouldn't cause too much damage on the roads in his beat-up sedan.
In the meantime, he would keep watch on the high-rise and wait for whatever it was that caused so much damage breaking into all those companies. He kept his binoculars locked on the target floor, his lenses flipping through the different settings for anything out of the ordinary.
It was a little past midnight when Darkwing finally saw something. He had been keeping an eye somewhere in the middle of the building that he hadn't noticed two warm signatures rising up on the elevator until it was too late. One of the signatures was large, at least six feet. That must be the muscle.
"Gosalyn, the culprit is here," Darkwing whispered. "Tell Launchpad to get over here quickly."
He raced to the building and went right to the stairs, running up. Once more, he wished he could take the elevators, considering that his target floor was far higher up than the tenths. How did the bad guys get access to the elevators? Didn't they need a fob to use it, especially for a company with such high security?
"This will take all night," Darkwing growled at the seventh floor.
Then he thought of an idea. Taking out his grappling hook, he aimed it up the stair well and shot upward. The hook caught and pulled him upward, although he slammed into a few handrails on the way. Bruised but not completely out of breath, Darkwing made it to the right floor only to find that the door was also securely locked.
"Come on," he growled, yanking on the handle.
"I got it," WANDA said, and with a few beeps, she had the door unlocked.
"Wait, so you can hack into the building's security?" Drake asked.
"Yes."
"Including the elevators?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you say so?" Darkwing yelled.
"You didn't ask," was WANDA's smug reply.
Opening the door, Darkwing slunk into the foyer, remembering the scene from his glimpse in the elevator the day before. However, he expected the thief to be in the process of wrecking his way to whatever it was he was going to steal.
Except that everything was silence. Had he been too slow? Did the thief get what he wanted and left?
He blinked, turning on his night vision. He hardly had time to look around at the pristine foyer with security checkpoint completely intact when something hard slammed into the back of his head. He wobbled on his feet before turning around and facing whatever attacked him.
He was constantly blinking away the stars he was seeing, which only messed with his tech lenses, and half of the time he was fighting blind. He reached out to grab whatever it was, raising his own fist and punching as hard as he could. The thief grunted as his knuckles dug into flesh and bone.
Darkwing sensed that his opponent was big, must be over six feet tall, and concluded that this must be whoever—or whatever—had trashed Paladine. The fact that he was made of flesh and bone didn't bother Darkwing. He must have super powers or be a mutant or space monster or something. Whatever he was, Darkwing Duck was the only thing between him and his goal.
With a few more blinks, Darkwing's lenses worked again, giving a moment of clear night vision, enough for him to leap onto the thief's back and wrapping his arm around his head.
There was choking and gasping, claws digging into Darkwing's protective suit before it uttered a few words. "Hooter. Hooter, get him off of me." The voice wasn't masculine.
A bright light encompassed Darkwing and his opponent, and he had to close his eyes quickly lest he be blinded due to his night vision. He had forgotten that there were two heat signatures he had seen in the elevators. That was a mistake.
"Darkwing Duck?" a voice called. It sounded familiar. "Whoa, hold it. We're on the same side. We're the good guys."
"You are?" Darkwing asked, not sure if he believed the voice.
"We're SHUSH agents," the gargling voice growled.
A spike of fear rushed through Darkwing and he quickly let go of his target.
"What is he doing here?" the gargled voice asked, now that Darkwing was no longer choking her, it came out rich and deep with a slight accent. It, too, sounded familiar.
"First, let me see some identification," Darkwing insisted.
"I'll get the lights," the other voice said. "Gryz, put your piece away."
The overhead lights turned on, and Darkwing saw the agent near him putting a gun back in her holster. He recognized the figure right away as the agent that had made the statement on the news. However, when he turned to the second agent, he was flabbergasted.
"Agent J. Gander Hooter," J said, showing his badge to the masked hero. He was no longer in the security guard garb from before but in a white shirt and tie with black slacks. "This is my partner, Agent Vladimira Gryzlikoff. We're working a case."
"He shouldn't be here," Gryzlikoff snarled.
"Well, I'm guessing he's after the same guy we're after," J said with a grin. "And it seems that we came to the same conclusion that this would be the next target."
"Exactly," Darkwing said, recovering from his surprise. "This place was the most logical—"
"Darkwing! Darkwing!"
Darkwing straightened at Gosalyn's voice shouting at him in his ear. Had she been watching this whole time or had she been distracted? He needed to communicate to her without the SHUSH agents finding out.
"—place to go to. But it seems that it was a false alarm," Darkwing said, hoping that Gosalyn picked up on his hint. "There's nothing going on here."
"Well, not now," Gryzlikoff sneered. "Someone caused enough noise that even if—"
"Darkwing, it's Launchpad," Gosalyn shouted in his ear so much that he couldn't focus on Gryzlikoff's words. "He's not answering. I think he's unconscious."
"What?" Darkwing shouted.
"I said that if you don't leave—" Gryzlikoff continued but Darkwing wasn't paying attention.
"I think you picked the wrong place," Gosalyn said. "It's McDuck Enterprise that's the target. You need to get there now!"
(Author's notes: Yes, you heard me right. I've made Vladimira Gryzlikoff a woman, although technically, she's the daughter of Vladimir Gryzlikoff and is a second generation SHUSH agent. More on her later. I'm also excited to write a younger J. Gander Hooter who will be involved in field world along with his partner.
This chapter was a lot longer than I expected, and I had a lot of set up to do, but I hope that everyone enjoyed it.)