Darkwing Duck Year Zero

Episode 1: Concrete Facts Part 3

Darkwing was rushing out of the building as fast as he could, not bothering to see if the pair of SHUSH agents were going to stop him or follow him. He wondered if they, too, knew that McDuck Enterprises's lab was being broken into right at that moment, or perhaps he should have warned them. But he didn't have time. His best friend was in danger.

Once outside, he jumped on the Ratcatcher and raced through town. Luckily the two locations weren't that far apart and the streets were tolerable although still lively even this late at night. Not bothering with the parking lot, Darkwing raced right up the sidewalk, swerving around the broken fountain with the missing statue. He immediately saw the hole that was the double-doored, glass entrance, smashed and twisted. He knew he should enter cautiously. But he counted on his contact lenses to warn him if anything approached. Unfortunately, he couldn't see too deep into the building. Fenton had warned him that too much electricity could cause interference.

He saw a body on the ground in the farthest corner and rushed inside. It was Launchpad, unconscious and bleeding from his temple.

"WANDA, how is Launchpad?" Darkwing asked.

"He appears to be doing fine, although is unconscious," WANDA reported, showing his partner's heartbeat, temperature and blood pressure through his contact lenses. "He may have a concussion, but is currently not in critical condition."

"Gosalyn, are you sure you didn't get any footage of what broke in?" Darkwing asked, realizing that he hadn't secured the premises. He couldn't hear anything moving around, and anything that big was certain to make a lot of noise.

"No. Whatever it is, it took out the power," Gosalyn said. "The power for the whole block. No lights, no alarms, nothing. The lab has its own generator, but it's only running what is necessary, including a silent alarm that's informed the police. But no cameras are running."

There was a loud crash farther in the building which made Darkwing jump.

"Whatever it is is still here," Darkwing said. He had to go investigate, but first, Launchpad needed to be taken somewhere safe.

Grabbing his friend's jacket by the shoulders, Darkwing pulled Launchpad toward what looked to be a side room. When the police arrive on the scene, they would be too busy looking at the debris to check every place. As long as Launchpad didn't come to and go wandering around, he should be safe from both villain and the prying eyes of the police.

With the sidekick taken care of, Darkwing silently moved through McDuck Enterprise Lab, blinking off the contact lenses as the interference got so bad, his night vision was useless. Instead he pulled out his less-than-advanced flashlight. The flashlight was small so it could easily be carry it around, but the bulb was weak and left most of the hallways in shadows. He almost felt like he was in a horror movie, his heart thumping as he imagined some sort of monster attacking him any minute.

Luckily, the creature left enough of a trail that he knew exactly where it went. As he crept forward, once in a while, he heard scurrying to the sides, which would cause him to spin around jerkily. But always, there was nothing there. He wondered if Mr. McDuck had some sort of security system in place. If so, he hoped that it wouldn't think he was an intruder.

From the time he fought Taurus Bulba, he had an idea where the intruder was going. It was heading for the room that had the Ramrod. However, he didn't make it the whole way.

Suddenly, the floor and walls around him trembled in a syncopated rhythm which he recognized as something running. But by the vibrations, it was more like a freight train than anything.

He got a glimpse of something reflecting white light from his flashlight. It was massive, at least six feet like WANDA had guessed, but the details of the person—because it was bipedal and didn't look like a monster from what Darkwing glimpsed—were obscured by the dark and how the light reflected off of it.

Darkwing had to jump out of the way, ramming into the wall least he be run over by the immense intruder. And even as he nursed a few scrapes and bruises, he raced after the intruder, following the rumbling and vibrations. He blinked rapidly, trying to get his contact lenses to work, but they kept glitching from the lab's equipment.

"Come on. Heat signature mode," Darkwing growled at the tech, and he shook his head. Surprisingly, it worked. However, it didn't help him trace whatever he was chasing. Whatever it was, it wasn't warmer than the walls surrounding them.

And it was also faster than Darkwing. The crashing and vibrations quickly ebbed, and by the time he returned to the front entrance, the intruder was gone. It had left cracked footprints several feet outside of the lab where they ended.

"How did something that big just disappear?" Darkwing demanded of the night air.

It was right at that time that several police cars sped with screeching sirens into the parking lot.

Darkwing started racing to the Ratcatcher, but then remembered that Launchpad was still inside. He only had a minute before the police would start surrounding the building to get him and Launchpad out without being caught. He hated that he had to hide from the police, but not everyone was cool with vigilantes. He wished that reality was more like the Darkwing Duck show he watched as a kid, where all the good guys worked together, nobody really got hurt, and everything was wrapped up in an hour-long episode with commercial breaks.

Racing to the storage room, Darkwing groaned at the task before him. Not only was Launchpad still unconscious, but there was no way he would be able to move the much larger duck without someone noticing, especially since he had been in such a hurry that he hadn't tried to hide his motorcycle.

"WANDA, are there any other exits in this building?" Darkwing asked the computer.

"There are several," WANDA said, bringing up the blueprints on Darkwing's contacts. "The closest one is marked in red."

Darkwing quickly memorized the directions before blinking off the image so he could have his complete vision unimpeded. After some grunts and a few choice words, he was able to pick up and arrange Launchpad in a sort of fireman's carry. He congratulated himself for the achievement. This wasn't the first time he had to haul around his friend's knocked-out butt, but after a few months of building more super hero muscles, it wasn't as hard as before.

But he wasn't fast enough. Just as he crept out of the storage closet and headed toward the exit, several flashlights landed on him.

"Uh-oh."

"This is the St. Canard PD. Drop the body and put your hands up," a gruff voice ordered.

"Don't shoot. I'm Darkwing Duck. You know, the guy who saved the city not that long ago," Darkwing said, carefully lowering Launchpad. "The mayor gave me the key to the city." He turned around, giving the police a good look at his costume.

Beyond the flashlights, he saw a few officers lower their weapons, but a few did not.

"I repeat: Put your hands up," the same voice called.

"Come on, Redford. It's Darkwing Duck," someone shouted.

"And he's been found at the scene of a crime," Redford yelled back. "We follow protocol, even with celebrities." By the tone, this Redford didn't like the vigilante.

"It's okay, fellas," another voice called out. "He's with us."

The flashlights fell and in their wake was J followed by his large partner who would even tower over Launchpad. The grizzly bear SHUSH agent glowered when she saw Darkwing.

Unsure what was going on, Darkwing faced J as he approached. The short goose stuck his hands in his pockets, looking just as ease among the rubble of the crime scene as he would in his own home lounging on a couch.

"I was hoping we'd run into you, Darkwing Duck," J said with a half-smile. "SHUSH has been wanting to get in contact with you, but you're a hard man to find."
"Why are you looking for me?" Darkwing asked.

"Not really looking for you per say. But let's just say that we have a common friend who thinks that we would work well together," J said with a wink.

"What friend would that be?" Darkwing asked. He had a feeling that he could trust J, but he felt wary, probably because he was still trying to burn off the adrenaline rush from chasing the monster that broke into one of the most secure labs in the city.

J's eyes quickly went to his partner, then back to Darkwing. "We'll talk about that later." His smile was gone.

Did he not trust his partner?

"For now, we'd like to work with you on this assignment," J continued. "We both think alike since we were staking out the same place, so it would only benefit both of us to work together. And considering that you had a man here at McDuck's place when we hadn't even considered it, you're one step ahead of us." J nodded to Launchpad's body before calling over his shoulder. "Let's get this guy some help. Someone call an EMT in here."

"Wait," Darkwing said, leaning protectively over Launchpad's body. Everything was moving so fast, he wasn't sure what he should decide. But his instincts were telling him to at least guard Launchpad's identity. Why didn't he insist on his friend getting a disguise? He reached for his cape, and ripped off a strip before tying it around Launchpad's eyes. It wasn't much, but it would have to do. "Okay. Please, help him." He trusted WANDA's scan of Launchpad, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

"So, does this mean we're working together?" J asked, holding out a hand.

"This isn't SHUSH protocol," Vladimira growled, finally speaking up. She glared at Darkwing. "There is a reason we do no use consultants. We cannot trust anyone who isn't an agent."

"Gryz, this is my call. If I'm wrong, you can write me up," J said confidently, offering his hand again to Darkwing.

Darkwing looked at it, feeling a sense of relief that he and Launchpad wouldn't be in this alone. This was his first big case since the Fearsome Four had been brought through the Ramrod, and while this wasn't nearly as overwhelming as fighting Quackerjack, Bushroot, Megavolt, and Liquidator along with Taurus Bulba, he still felt as if he needed more help.

Darkwing took J's hand. "Just this once," he said, shaking. "Let's say this is a trial run, okay?"

J smiled. "Sounds like a plan. But don't be surprised if I don't take no for an answer," he said.

Darkwing got the feeling that J was used to getting what he wanted, and he wasn't certain if that was always a good thing, but he was glad that they were allies. He wouldn't want someone like J for an enemy.

The EMTs rushed forward and went to Launchpad once they spotted the prone figure. Aside from lowering the blindfold to check for pupil response, they didn't seem all that concerned by the situation. Perhaps it was the presence of Darkwing Duck or being involved in a SHUSH case, but they were professional in their work. They put Launchpad on a stretcher, but were told not to take him away, especially once they announced that their patient would be fine.

J said, "It looks like the perimeter has been checked out. We're good to take a look inside."
"Hooter, once more, I want to voice my displeasure of allowing this…man to remain on the scene," Gryzlikoff said, her arms folded as if to prevent them from doing some sort of harm. "If he is the perpetrator, he will use this time to hide evidence."

"I would never," Darkwing defended. He understood the SHUSH agent about not trusting him, but laying down such a claim against him had crossed the line. "If you haven't been told, I'm considered a hero in this city."

Gryzlikoff snorted, her nose wrinkled. "Not everyone says that." Her eyes roamed over the police officers that were securing the scene with police tape, sifting through the rubble for evidence, and taking pictures. Some had admiration on their faces for the masked hero, others were filled with pure contempt, and some still hadn't made up their minds about him.

And the public opinion of him was probably just as divided.

"If you have any problems with me, you can talk to the mayor," Darkwing said with a smile. "Or just watch the Youtube video of me and her together."

"Ah, yes, the award you received on the word of a megalomaniac," Gryzlikoff sneered with a half-shrug. "I do believe she may have words about that rash decision. Or were you talking about her pleading for you to clean up the mess that you made."

"That wasn't my fault," Darkwing shouted, seeing red at those words. He didn't often lose his temper, but the female bear's words were really getting to him. "I stopped a major disaster from happening."

"So, when Taurus Bulba opened a rip in the universe and summoned four dangerous criminals from another world, there was absolutely no connection between you and…what were their names…Quackerjack, Liquidator, Bushroot and Megavolt?" Gryzlikoff smiled smugly.

Darkwing's teeth ground together. His emotions tossed from indignation to guilt. It wasn't until Gryzlikoff said something that he felt the sting that he was partially responsible for the destruction of St. Canard.

"Okay, you two. Break it up," J said, taking a single step forward. He may not have put himself in the middle physically, but it was enough of an indication that he needed to get involved. "Gryz, you organize a search of the block and see if anyone saw anything nearby. Whatever made this much destruction must still be in the area."

Grzylikoff gave Darkwing one last look before turning around and marching away. Despite her race, she did not lumber or move like most bears did. She had a deadly grace about her as she stalked away.

"Come on," J said, motioning for Darkwing to follow him. "I'll be interested in what you think about the break-in. Just, please, don't touch anything. I know you're not used to police standards and etiquette, but if we're going to work together, we're both going to have to get used to a few things."

"Like your partner?" Darkwing asked, glancing over his shoulder. "She's a real piece of work."

"Agent Gryzlikoff is one of the best," J said, his tone no-nonsense. "I've been lucky to work with her on and off for almost a decade. I won't tolerate any of SHUSH agents being criticized, especially when they are doing their job."

Darkwing hadn't expected to be chastised, but looking back, he saw that J had handled both his partner and Darkwing in a professional manner. He stepped into their argument with little involvement so that it wasn't a big deal, but he waited until the two of them were alone to criticize Darkwing. It showed that J had good judgement and people skills as well as loyalty.

However, despite that he liked J, Darkwing disliked how things were turning out so far with this partnership.

"So, what do you think?" J asked, turning to business but his easy-going nature returned. "What's your take on this?"

Darkwing knew it wouldn't do either of them any good by keeping things to himself. "The big picture: This is corporate espionage. Whoever is doing this, they're stealing company secrets for someone, or they're auctioning them off to the highest bidder."

J raised an eyebrow. "You don't think they're stealing for themselves. From what we know, the suspect would make a lot more money by using what they stole for themselves."

"And more than likely they would get caught," Darkwing Duck said. "Software companies, a medical lab, a robotics company, and now McDuck's lab has been hit. If one company came out with breakthroughs in so many different aspects of industry, that would make them an obvious suspect. But if they sold what they stole to individual companies, those companies could always say that they were working on the same projects as their competitors."

"That's some good detective work," J said, ducking through a hole in the wall. "But what if the organization that stole everything didn't care if they were caught? What if their goal wasn't just to steal, but to bring the world to its knees through financial means?"

Darkwing stopped in his tracks. "You're talking about FOWL?"

"Yes," J said, stopping as well. They stood between one hallway and the broken doors to the lab that the creature had broken into.

"But Gryzlikoff said that FOWL wasn't involved in these thefts," Darkwing said, recalling the announcement earlier.

J waved that off. "That was a lie, one we had to say. Not only do we not have any proof that FOWL is involved, but to make that announcement prematurely could have drastic consequences for the victims. If investors heard that the companies were targeted by FOWL, then there would be a lot of changes down at Wall Street. Which might also be FOWL's motive as well. We have a strong belief that Scrooge McDuck is one of FOWL's targets, and this incident could certainly drop his name in regards to the DOW."

Darkwing nodded at the reasoning, but he still didn't believe that FOWL was involved. J was right, sort of. McDuck wasn't one of FOWL's targets; he was the target. Anything before the incident in St. Canard last week was only in preparation for the war that was to come. It didn't make sense for them to hit the same lab twice.

"But the thing that we're having a hard time figuring out is who inside the organization could be capable of doing all this," J said, gesturing to the debris littering the hallway. "What we know about FOWL, they don't have anyone with the muscle capable of this. They also tend to shy away from magic, especially after they recruited The Blot. There is some chatter that they have recently brought in a genius scientist who might be capable of creating a robot."

"It wasn't a robot," Darkwing insisted, not sure if he was following everything that J said. He was an actor and a hero, not a stock broker.

"Did you get a good look at it?" J asked.

"No," Darkwing admitted. "But it didn't have any warmth."

"No heat?" J repeated. "You're right. It couldn't be a robot. And it can't be alive."

Darkwing folded his arms. "Do you have any idea what it could be?"

J frowned, looking downright menacing. "No. SHUSH hasn't come across anything like that. This is something completely new. FOWL must have some new toy that we haven't figured out."

If it even is FOWL, Drake thought, although he didn't want to say anything. Something told him that J was like a dog with a bone. He wanted to chase FOWL, so whatever this was had to do with FOWL.

"I assume that you've taken a look at the other crime scene," J said, looking around the rubble. "Anything you'd like to share?"

"No," Darkwing said honestly. WANDA was scanning the area just as she did back at Paladine, but she was coming up with just as much evidence as before.

"Us, too," J said. "I suspect we'll find the same here, but maybe forensics will get luck—"

Darkwing heard something behind him. In a flash, he drew his gas gun and launched a canister at the space he saw debris falling. The canister hit drywall and began releasing a cloud of purple smoke.

"Nice shootin'," J said, coughing.

"Sorry," Darkwing said, inwardly sighing at his mistake. He had been trying to act professional and cool around J. It was obvious that the SHUSH agent had been around the block although he still looked young enough to be just south of forty, but he had a lot more experience and years on the masked duck.

However, he swore he had seen something move, and not just debris falling from the broken ceiling. As J moved farther down the hall to get away from the smoke, coughing, Darkwing changed the settings of his lenses and looked around. He was used to the smoke and only coughed a little. He found his gas canister, dented, and frowned. Drywall wouldn't have dented the canister. And there was some sort of dust on it as well. He lifted up the canister, finding crumbs of concrete.

He glanced around the broken wall, looking for a support column that would indicate broken concrete, but just like Paladine, there wasn't any near the destructive path of the creature.

"WANDA, can you find any other sources of concrete near here?" Darkwing whispered to his computer.

"Support columns are indicated," WANDA said, showing the blueprints of the building with several red blinking dots. None were anywhere close to where he was.

"What about in your scans? Any places with broken concrete?" Darkwing asked.

"None," WANDA said, for once negating any sarcastic comments.

"What's up?" Gosalyn's voice came through to Darkwing.

He nearly jumped since the teenage girl had been completely silent until then.

"Have you been watching?" Darkwing asked.

"Sorry, but Matron was doing bed checks," Gosalyn said. "Anything interesting happened?"

"I'll catch you up tomorrow," Darkwing said. "I was just wondering where this concrete dust came from. None of the walls are made of concrete, and the columns aren't damaged."

"There is a small source of concrete three feet to your left, although I didn't pick it up on my scans earlier," WANDA said.

A red arrow indicated where it was for Darkwing. He reached out, finding a chunk about as big as his fist. The surface was craggy and rough and parts were crumbling. It definitely was the source of the dust. But Darkwing's fingers felt that the other sides of the concrete were smooth and round. He turned it over, taking in the broken form of a sculpted mouse that looked very familiar.

"What is that?" Gosalyn asked.

"It's a clue," Darkwing said, although he was confused. This didn't make sense.

"Yeah, but what is it?" Gosalyn asked again.

Darkwing was about to tell Gosalyn that he'll explain later when he heard J talking in the corridor. He glanced back, seeing that he was talking to someone in a McDuck lab coat. Was it an employee who worked here? They were talking in hushed voices.

Darkwing whispered to WANDA to enhance the audio in his Bluetooth device, and suddenly both of the voices came in loud and clear. He did trust J to a point, but he wasn't certain if that trust ran both ways.

"…the security system is completely off-line. It's going to take a day to get it back to running," the employee said. "Until then, security guards will be patrolling both outside and inside the lab."

"I understand that Mr. McDuck will want to protect his assets, but my men and the St. Canard PD still need access to the crime scene," J said. "Were you able to find out what was stolen?"

"It wasn't that hard," the employee said. "All our top-secret information is kept in several vaults, and only one was broken into."

"So what is it?"

The employee hesitated. "I'm not sure if Mr. McDuck will appreciate me announcing this to you before I can inform him."

"Do you want me to arrest you for obstruction of justice?" J asked. His voice was neutral but still threatening.

The employee sighed. "Normally, I would ask for a warrant considering how top-secret a lot of the projects this lab has behind steel walls, but in light of the situation and the subject of the project, I hope Mr. McDuck understands the wisdom of sharing this information with the police."

There was a few beats of silence.

"It's the motherboard to the Ramrod," the employee said. "And several other parts. Crucial parts. They can't exactly duplicate the Ramrod or even piece together one, but they certainly have some of the more interesting parts."

Darkwing's eyes widened, but he kept working among the debris as if he hadn't heard anything. He hoped that J would share this information, but the SHUSH agent did not breech the subject that night. So as Darkwing considered the broken, concrete mouse in his hands, he didn't voice his suspicion that his boss, Mr. Swine of A Wing and an Eye, Inc. might be involved as well. Besides, he wanted to investigate that on his own.

He couldn't imagine Mr. Swine doing anything criminal. Not that jolly man who took so much joy in making statues. Besides, it's not as if the concrete statue mouse could have broken into McDuck Labs. That would just be ridiculous.

Fenton straightened the pillows on the couch one more time, even though it was as neat as a pin. He nervously looked around for anything else that needed to be organized or dusted off, but it wasn't as if the house was all that big. He had his laptop open and ready to run the virtual reality program as well as the goggle devices he had been working on.

Gandra had texted him the day before, giving him a time when she was available and said that it would be best to do it at his house for peace and quiet. And despite how his feelings had changed about the other scientist, he had a compulsion to tidy-up.

He also made it a point to make sure his mother would be at work. He didn't need her hovering around him, asking questions about Gandra and making wild exaggerations about their relationship.

And while the phrase had been tossed around previously, this most certainly wasn't a date. And this time, he meant it. This wasn't even two minds sharing a mutual love for science and curiosity. They were simply going to work together and solve a difficult problem. He needed her help. If he was ever going to help Charity, he had to find a way to make this program work.

The doorbell rang.

Fenton breathed in and out, straightened his tie, and went to the door.

Gandra stood on his doorstep with her headphones looped over her neck like always and a large bag slung around one shoulder and a plastic bag of items in one hand. "Hey, I wasn't sure what kind of gear we'd need to fix your problem, so I may have packed too much." She walked in without being invited. "I hope you like Red Bull, because I'm a total junkie and I bought extras."

"Uh…no thanks," Fenton said.

Gandra took a look around at the wide space that was the kitchen, dining room and TV area. "Nice place. I thought all bachelor pads would be super messy. All the tech guys I know are total slobs."

"Well, I'm not here all that much, and my mom likes to clean," Fenton said, his mouth running before checking with his brain. He hadn't intended to declare that he lived with his mother, not that he cared what Gandra thought about his living arrangement.

"Oh, so your mom is living with you? That's cool," Gandra said, dropping her stuff on the kitchen table.

Fenton paused as he stopped himself from correcting the small distinction. "You can set up right here." He moved them to the dining and kitchen area where they had plenty of space on the table and kitchen counters which had been scrubbed cleaned not that long ago.

"We're going to need more room," Gandra said, pushing the table and chairs up against the wall. "If we get those goofy goggles of yours working, we don't want to be running into things." She gave him a big grin. "And if we have time, we can even make them look cool."

Fenton rolled his eyes. His goggles were totally cool. "Well, we only have five hours to work. That's when Mama comes home."

Gandra's smile turned into a smirk. "Oh, you don't want me to meet your mother?"

"It's not like that," Fenton said with a nervous laugh. "It's just…She'll make it really hard to focus on working."

"Like how?" Gandra said, still using her teasing voice.

"Well, either she'll have us explain every last detail of this project and ask a lot of questions, most of which you'll have answered before. Or she'll insist on making us a huge dinner and watch us eat every bite. And I mean every. Single. Bite. Or she'll plan our wedding," Fenton said, watching as Gandra started setting out her items on the table.

Gandra laughed then stopped suddenly. "Oh my gosh, you're serious." She didn't look amused anymore. Then she burst out laughing. "Is that why you were wearing that outdated suit for our 'not-a-date'?"

Fenton sighed. "Yes. I wanted to make a good impression, and it was something Mama had saved up from my dad." He scratched the back of his neck, feeling uncomfortable about talking about that day. "Let's get started. Let me show you the program I've been working on."

He moved the mouse on his laptop, getting the program set up, when Gandra's hand touched his arm.

"Hey, I didn't say thanks for giving me another chance," Gandra said, all teasing gone. "I'm sorry about the whole Beaks fiasco. I really didn't think anyone would get hurt, but I'm also starting to realize that I haven't always made wise life choices for myself."

Fenton smiled. "I always believe in giving people a second chance. There's good inside of you Gandra, and you have a lot of potential. I really do want to work on this project with you. You were my first choice."

Gandra's eyes widened. "That…really means a lot to me." She then moved her hand away.

And for a moment, Fenton didn't want her to stop touching his arm. But he shook it off. He had been deceived by such gestures before. Not to mention, he still had unresolved feelings as well from the past months. If there was anything that Charity had taught him it was that even the love for a friend could just be as powerful as romantic love. For now, that was all he wanted to accept at the moment.

Fenton presented the program to Gandra, demonstrating what the virtual reality would look like on his screen as well as how it would assimilate real life events. He didn't jump right into the code of the program, instead he showed her the experiments he had performed on his little avatar to imitate the nanites she had implanted in her own skin.

She laughed as the Fenton-avatar burned to a crisp at the demonstration.

"It's not funny," Fenton said.

"It kind of is," Gandra said. "Mainly because you already rendered the details of your avatar with burned feathers."

"I've been using an AI program to help with the details, so that wasn't entirely me," Fenton said, leaving out that the AI program was BOYD. The little robot had an eye for details.

"You even have little smoke cartoon lines," Gandra said. "But you're right, it wouldn't be funny seeing that several times. Now, let's fix up Mini-Fenton and see if we can get the code working."

They set up a shared system where their two computers could exchange data, and they went to work. Gandra focused on the code related to the virtual reality experiment while Fenton continued on his original problem of having an organic-to-electrical link-up. Three hours of work and two Red Bulls later, Gandra leaned back in her chair and groaned in frustration, her gloved hands in her hair.

"This doesn't make sense," Gandra growled, pretending to shake her computer.

"I told you," Fenton said, folding his arms.

"They work. The nanites work," Gandra said. "I'm living proof that they work. So why does your stupid program keep killing Mini-Fenton?"

"Well, either you are an anomaly or there is a variable that the program cannot imitate with code alone," Fenton said. "I told you. The organic-to-electrical link-up is necessary for this program to work. We need absolutely immersive virtual reality to imitate real-life scenarios."

Gandra filled her lungs and released. "Okay, Suits. You convinced me. Let's look at the Gizmoduck buffer and these goggles of yours."

Once more, they delved into their computers, both looking through so much code that their eyes began to hurt. And they both knew that they should get up and walk around, rest their eyes, and come back with refreshed brains, but they always kept thinking that they would find the problem in the next line of code.

Finally, Gandra clapped her hands, pointing. "Ah-ha. I found it."

Looking away from his computer, Fenton blinked and rubbed his eyes as they had turned blurry for a moment. "What is it? Where did you find it?"

"It was your buffer," Gandra said. "You just copy and pasted it into the program without changing some of the keywords, didn't you?"

Fenton grimaced. "Yeah, but I didn't think it would be a problem. I'm still me. It's still my brain. The neural link-up should have still worked."

"Yeah, that's if you were controlling Gizmoduck," Gandra said. She picked up her laptop and pointed to the avatar on the screen. "But this isn't Gizmoduck."

"Oh? Ooooooh," Fenton said, realizing his blunder. "The program was still running the files titled 'Gizmoduck' but I named my avatar 'Fenton'. The program has been trying to move the wrong avatar."

"Exactly," Gandra said. "So, if we were just to go into your avatar file and change his name to the right ane…" She right clicked on the avatar and performed a simple name change. Soon, Mini-Fenton now had the name "Gizmoduck" inside the virtual reality program. "Now try it." She tossed the goggles to Fenton.

Fenton fumbled with the goggles before slipping them over his head. "Well, here goes nothing." He pressed the button on the side to turn them on. The blue loading screen filled his vision before the grassy field appeared. And his avatar's arms were already raised in the exact position his own hands were in. He moved his hands in front of his face, flexing his fingers. The virtual reality avatar imitated him. In fact, save for a few pixelated shadows and some lag, it was as if he were looking at his own hands.

"We did it," he said with a laugh. "We did it!"

"Congratulations, Suits," Gandra said. "You've now made a video game much more advanced than anyone ever has."

Despite her sarcasm, he could tell that she was impressed by her tone. And he wasn't about to explain once more his reasons for creating the virtual reality program. But she was right in that this was the first of its kind. The program itself was impressive, but with the buffer and the neural link-up, this new technology could advance civilization far into the future.

"And I couldn't do it without you," Fenton said. "Come on in and join me."

"But I don't have an avatar," Gandra said. "Or am I going to look like you."

"Yeah, you're just going to look like me," Fenton said. "It'll be a good look on you."

A second Fenton appeared in the field, although the way the avatar stood and the expression on his face definitely was Gandra's personality peeking through.

"You're going to have a hard time selling this if everyone is going to look like you," Gandra said in her voice. The program wasn't yet setup with sound, so it was a good thing they were in the same room.

"I'm working on a part of the program that can access recent memories so that any new user will be able to make an avatar-duplicate of themselves instantly," Fenton said. "The same will be true for any items or scenario a user would want. If someone wants to bake a cake in virtual reality, they just have to think of the ingredients and they would appear."

"You've got a lot of work ahead of you, Suits," Gandra said, putting a hand on her hips. "You're really amazing, you know that Fenton?"

Fenton felt a warmth on his cheeks, and he was glad that he hadn't yet programed such body reactions for his avatar. "Uh…thanks. I couldn't have done it without you finding the problem with the code."

Gandra looked downward. "Well…if you want more help, I have a few ideas."

"Really?" Fenton asked. "Like what?"

"Well…" Gandra walked over to him and put her hand on Fenton. At least, her avatar touched his, but they didn't touch in real life. "…did you feel that?"

"No," Fenton said. He was slightly disappointed. Why did he think that would be the case?

"I think I can make it so people can feel in this world," Gandra said. "And not just touch. Smell and taste as well. And maybe eventually, I can make it so that people can interact in this world without having to move in reality."

Fenton's heart raced. It was an amazing proposition. More than he imagined. He had a single goal in mind when starting this project and the possibilities for using it other than helping Charity was a bonus, but with Gandra's help, this could become even better.

"That would be amazing," Fenton said.

"Or it might not," Gandra said. "Because if you could feel my touch, then if the assimilation you set up fails, you would really get hurt." She—at least the other Fenton avatar—raised her hand with a finger pointed down, as if she were going to hit a key on a keyboard.

And that's when Fenton remembered that his avatar was still hooked up to the nanite experiment. "What? Wait a minute!"

"Boop," Gandra said, pressing the key.

Fenton's avatar blinked out of existence as the program ran the experiment, and although he knew that the program couldn't hurt him, he still flinched. When his avatar returned, it had been upgraded with blue lines running through his hands. He flexed them, seeing a small charge of electricity spark out of his hands. The graphics weren't that great, but they were at least there. BOYD must have worked on that little detail recently.

"That's cool," Fenton said. He looked up at Gandra. "See, it's the neural link-up that was needed for the experiment to work. We are the missing variable. Without the organic component, it's not accurate."

"There's some things that a computer can't imitate," Gandra said with a smile.

Fenton smiled too and then burst out laughing.

"What?" Gandra asked.

"I'm sorry. It's really weird talking to myself with your voice," Fenton said, laughing some more. "If we're going to be working, I'm going to have to make you a new avatar."

"No way," Gandra said, shaking her head. "I'm going to make my avatar. The last time some guy made me an avatar, he gave me these ridiculously large—" She was making a cupping motion around her chest—which Fenton didn't appreciate her doing with his avatar—when there came a sound that stopped her.

Fenton froze, recognizing the sound of a key in the lock. "Mama!" he shouted, ripping off his goggles.

Gandra was just taking off hers when Fenton yanked her away, dragging her to his room. She protested only a little as she was shoved inside and the door pulled shut.

"Fenton, what's all that noise?" Maria called from the front door. "Why are you slamming doors?"

"Sorry, Mama," Fenton called, cautiously leaving his bedroom door in case Gandra decided she wasn't going to hide. "I had a window open. It was the wind."

The front door closed and keys jangled in the bowl by the door. "Did you have a friend over?"

Fenton thought of the two computers on the kitchen table. His mother—a detective with the police department—would obviously have figured out that he had a guest. "Uh…yeah. Someone from work. They just left," he said, walking into the dining room. He kissed his mother on the cheek.

"They left their computer?" Maria asked.

"Yeah, they wanted me to look at this program and bring it back tomorrow," Fenton lied. "I'll clean it up now."

"Don't worry," Maria said. "I'm just glad that you're meeting new people and making friends." She picked up one of the goggles. "And having some fun playing games."

Fenton hadn't played computer games since college, but he could see how his mom leaped to those conclusions. Games that you could play with VR goggles were becoming more and more popular lately. He decided not to correct his mother.

"You tell your friend that he's welcome over here any time," Maria said.

He also decided not to correct the gender of his friend.

"You've been so mopey and down ever since what happened to your friend, Charity," Maria said, touching his cheek.

His mother knew the whole story. After coming back from Ithaquack that last time, he had told her everything from beginning to end, although it took some time to convince her, especially since all the interaction she had with Charity had been that family dinner he had brought the lovebird to. It had been enough to start a whirlwind of rumors among his family that Charity was his girlfriend, and together he and his mother had a hard time explaining how that wasn't true and announcing the unfortunate news that she was in a coma, although they replaced the cause from supernatural to a simple car accident.

Fenton patted his mother's hand, his sorrow coming back. And although the connection between them had broken with the curse, they were still bonded together through the obstacles they face and the debt he felt toward her. Not to mention, Charity was his friend. He wasn't going to abandon her.

"Everything will be alright. You'll see," Maria said. She may see a lot of bad things while on the job, but it never stopped her optimistic attitude when it came to Fenton's life.

"I know, Mama," Fenton said. "I'll clean up here." He gathered up all of Gandra's items, packing them up as best he could.

Maria picked up a can of Red Bull, frowning. "I didn't know you liked this stuff." She knew her son to be more an avid coffee drinker.

"Oh…yeah. Just barely discovered it," Fenton said with a false smile. He picked up a can that was still half-full and took a mouthful. He nearly spat it out but managed to swallow. "Yum."

Maria shrugged, throwing away the empties.

Fenton retreated to his room with his hands full, still carrying the Red Bull as well. As he shut himself inside his room, he spotted Gandra looking around.

"You like the Spartan style, don't you?" she said.

His room didn't have a lot of personal items. He shrugged, not sure what else to say.

"So, am I to stay the night here or are you going to sneak me out later?" Gandra asked, jumping onto his bed and lounging with a smirk.

Fenton chuckled. "No, you're going out the window." His smile grew bigger.

"Look who finally got a sense of humor," Gandra said, standing up. "Fine, but only because our gender roles are reversed." She slung her bag over her shoulder and opened the window. It was only a three foot drop from the sill.

"And take this…with you," Fenton said, handing over the Red Bull. "How can you drink that?"

"What kind of monster doesn't like Red Bulls?" Gandra asked with a mock serious face, reminding Fenton of their "not-a-date". She swung one leg over the window sill. "So…same time tomorrow?"

Fenton smiled. "Sure. I'll bring the doughnuts," he joked.

Gandra rolled her eyes. "At least have a couple with maple icing on it." She jumped down and disappeared into the night.

Drake went into work with a feeling of unease. He couldn't really believe that Mr. Swine could be involved in the series of robberies, but the presence of the concrete mouse felt like enough evidence for his suspicions to be founded. But that's all they were: suspicions. It may have been a coincidence, in which case, a little good, old-fashioned detective work would clear his boss's name. He was the only one who knew about the mouse, so there wasn't a risk of Mr. Swine's name getting tarnished.

As he went inside the building, his eyes went right to the security guard station, searching for J. But the undercover SHUSH agent was missing from his usual spot. Had something happened? Or was he no longer positioned to keep an eye on Vantage Tech? Or perhaps they caught the thief already. No, if that was the case, it would have been announced on the news that morning.

Whatever the reason, Drake still had a job to do both as Darkwing Duck and as an Executive Assistant. He took the elevator up to his floor, arriving right on time. He had hopes that Mr. Swine had stayed late and thus would come in late just like yesterday—so he would have time to snoop around—but the CEO was bustling about.

"Good, you're here, Mr. Mallard," Mr. Swine said, marching down the hall. "Don't get too comfy. We have meetings back-to-back today, one with a very important investor, and unfortunately, we may be out of the office all day." He sighed. "Even if we hurry, there may not be time to work on my newest creation."

"Oh," Drake said, holding in his disappointment. But he quickly thought up a lie. "I…uh…left my watch here last night. I think I left it in your office. Can I just grab it?"

"Yes, but hurry," Mr. Swine said, looking down at his own watch.

Drake walked inside the empty office and quickly set to work. First, he glanced at the table in the back where the molded mice statues had been left to dry last night. The table was empty save for the few that had broken apart or crumbled while drying. That was a point against Mr. Swine, but that still didn't explain why one of the statues was at the crime scene. Also, could concrete dry that quickly? He recalled Mr. Swine saying something about his fast-drying cement setting much faster than any competitor. How fast was it? He would have to look that up later.

Swiftly, he set about searching the office, but there wasn't much that could be searched. There was little furniture, and aside from a storage closet where the professional photography lights were kept and a small bathroom off to the side, the room was quite bare.

Feeling as if he made no progress in his investigation, he left, not wanting Mr. Swine to become suspicious.

"Didn't find it," Drake said to explain his empty hands. "I must have left it somewhere else."

Mr. Swine merely nodded.

For most of the day, Drake drove Mr. Swine all around town. Not that he minded. Chauffeur seemed a downgrade from Executive Assistant, and he doubted any secretary ever drove their boss anywhere, but he was glad to have another excuse to be behind the wheel of the Ferrari. Just as he promised himself yesterday, he had downloaded a note-taking app and typed up anything that sounded important just in case for each meeting. It was lucky that he did because Mr. Swine liked Drake's initiative and asked to have the notes typed up and printed tomorrow.

It had crossed Drake's mind that if Mr. Swine was stealing secrets for money that one of these meetings might incriminate his boss, and he kept a special ear out for secretive talk or indications that anyone might be a criminal, but as far as he could tell, everyone was a legitimate investor or buyer of cement mixtures for their business. In fact, the more Drake thought about it, the more he was certain that it was a stretch to think that Mr. Swine could be any kind of deviant. Not only was Mr. Swine a pleasant and kind person—even in his business dealings—but he ran a successful business. What motive did he have in committing corporate espionage? He didn't need the money. It couldn't be for revenge. And none of the other common motives didn't seem to apply.

No, there was absolutely no reason why Mr. Swine would be involved.

But there still was the mouse statue. Why was it there? Without a plausible explanation, Drake couldn't let go of his suspicions.

"So, I saw all the mice we made yesterday are gone," Drake said after the last meeting was over and they were back in the Ferrari. He decided to try just talking to his boss. Maybe an innocent chat would clear his name.

"Yes. I had them moved last night," Mr. Swine said, getting comfortable in the luxurious back seat.

"They must have dried quickly," Drake prodded.

"Less than an hour," Mr. Swine said. "Better than anyone else's."

Drake nodded. "What are they all for? Another commission?"

"Oh, I like to make a batch here and there and give them away," Mr. Swine said. "It's a nice little gift to send to new investors or buyers. I give them to all my friends and family, although some might be tired of getting new ones. People use them as doorstops or paperweights Or even just leave them in their garden. Last Christmas, I sent almost a hundred to the children's hospital for the young patients to paint. You can see them all around the front of the building."

Drake now felt guilty for even thinking that Mr. Swine was involved. Obviously the man was as good as gold. A kind boss. A fair businessman. And now a philanthropist.

This new information also explained the mouse statue at the scene of the crime. If Mr. Swine gave the statues out so readily, anyone at McDuck Enterprises Lab could have been gifted one and kept it at work. As far as Drake was concerned, this cleared Mr. Swine of any wrong-doing.

As they were heading back to the office, Mr. Swine's cell phone rang. He spoke in short sentences, his voice low enough that Drake couldn't hear what he said aside from a word here and there.

"Sorry, Mr. Mallard," Mr. Swine said, hanging up from the call. "It appears that there's been some problems with the production line at one of my factories just outside of the city. I'm going to see to it personally."

"No problem, sir," Drake said. He was given the address and quickly typed it into the GPS.

A lot of the industrial factories were on the other side of the bay, and they had to cross the Northcross Bridge to get there. The industrial area of St. Canard was filled with warehouses, factories, industrial plants and parking structures. The air in St. Canard always had a bit of smog, even on its good days, but the industrial area had its own personal cloud that never seemed to go away. The roads were hit or miss in regards to repairs or repaved and the streets were mostly empty save for the occasional stray dog. There were only a few gas stations and a liquor store, which were the only businesses on this side of the bay.

The building that Drake pulled up to was very similar to many others that they had passed by except that it looked less like a factory and more like an abandoned warehouse. There were no cars parked nearby, no factory workers loitering outside while on their breaks, and the windows were grimy and dirty.

"Stay with the car," Mr. Swine ordered and got out.

Drake wasn't surprised. This wasn't exactly a nice neighborhood. Leaving behind the Ferrari unattended would not be a smart thing to do. However, Drake couldn't help but wonder if there was a different reason for Mr. Swine to want him left behind. As much as he wanted to think better of his boss, he was certain that the building wasn't a working factory. There was something else going on here.

He wished he had brought along his contact lenses and the Bluetooth device that connected to WANDA. He never wore them before as Drake, considering that the contact lenses dried out his eyes and the earpiece gave him headaches, he vowed to at least carry them around from now on.

As he watched Mr. Swine head into the warehouse, Drake took a chance and snuck to the side of the building where a dumpster was up against the building. Careful of his nice suit, he climbed on top and barely reached the window. He had to clean the grimy window with his sleeve—another suit he would have to dry clean—but all thoughts of his clothing were gone as he took in the entire warehouse from his perch. It was mostly empty. No factory. No equipment. No bags of cement. And definitely no employees.

Instead, there were statues. Not a lot, just a little over a dozen. Some looked brand new, but others were damaged. And in the middle of them was the statue of Taurus Bulba.

Drake let out a sigh of relief. Perhaps Mr. Swine just came here to look at the statues he made. He may have lied about it, but maybe he was embarrassed for some reason. After all, he had many statues that looked as if they might break apart with a touch. He had been awfully sentimental about his art work.

But then Drake saw movement in the corner, and a figure stepped out of the shadows. Not that being in the light helped because the figure was draped in a dark cloak with a hood up and over their head. Something about this person made Drake stop and pay very close attention. He didn't know what it was, but he could tell that this was a person that one should be cautious around.

Drake worried that he wouldn't be able to listen in on the conversation, but the window he had positioned himself under had a jagged hole in the corner. If he pressed his ear to it, he could listen in while still watching what unfolded.

"Did you bring it?" When the mysterious person spoke, the voice sounded like it had been altered, far too deep to have come from anyone's vocal chords.

Mr. Swine reached for the crumbling statue of Taurus Bulba and pulled something out of the concrete hands. The process caused one of the bull's hands to fall off; it tumbled to the ground and broke into smaller pieces. He looked somewhat sad at the damage but stepped over the concrete bits and held out the object.

It was a laptop.

"This was in the vault at Paladine, although I'm sure that it's encrypted. Good luck breaking into it." Mr. Swine smiled sincerely, not a sign of sarcasm. "I'm guessing that you have my money? And more of the powder?"

"Of course." The mysterious visitor pulled out of his cloak a black briefcase, holding it out. "As we agreed: two million dollars."

Drake's breath hitched at the amount. He couldn't believe what he was actually witnessing. He was so entranced by what was occurring that he didn't even think about acting upon the situation.

They exchanged items, the laptop disappearing into a cloak and the briefcase held tightly by Mr. Swine.

"It's been a pleasure doing business with you, as always," Mr. Swine said, patting the briefcase. He started backing away, unwilling to turn his back to the mysterious figure. "Please, see yourself out."

"One moment," the cloaked figure called out. "I have one more order of business with you."

"Oh? You'd like me to acquire another item for your organization?" Mr. Swine asked. "Unless it is elsewhere besides St. Canard, I'm afraid I cannot help you. To avoid detection, I do not like to be predictable."

"We would like to purchase something that has already been acquired by you," the cloaked figure said. "The Ramrod technology."

Mr. Swine's eyebrow rose but he shook his head. "I'm afraid that the Ramrod technology has already been purchased by another buyer."

"We would pay more than your buyer," the mysterious visitor insisted.

"I cannot. The transaction has already been made," Mr. Swine said. "And besides, I am very lenient to get on the wrong side of this buyer."

"It is not wise for you to be on the wrong side of us," the cloaked figure insisted. "We must have the Ramrod. And we will not take no for an answer."

"Please don't threaten me," Mr. Swine said, his tone for the first time turning deep. "I may be a mere businessman, but I've been in hard situations before." And he raised a hand with his fist clenched.

Suddenly, all the statues in the warehouse moved as one. All were in a variety of poses very common for statues, but at Mr. Swine's gesture, they turned to the cloaked figure with raised fists and stances ready to fight. Most were bipedal, but there were a few animals on four legs including an army of mice. These creatures were poised to pounce as if they were all predators.

The cloaked figure took a step back. "You wouldn't dare."

"I do not want to be uncivil," Mr. Swine said as calm as could be. "But we cannot do business if you chose to threaten me. And I will not have you monopolize my skills for your own schemes. I will always be at your service for any new opportunities, but I must be allowed to pick up new clients as well."

The cloaked figure's tone turned to a sneer. "Very well, but do not think that this slight will be forgotten. Especially since you are so reliant on us providing you with the powder," he hissed. "But it is no matter. We can negotiate with your other buyer just as easily as with you."

"Unfortunately, the buyer wishes to remain anonymous. They paid a very high price to keep it that way," Mr. Swine said. "And I have a feeling that I would regret betraying their trust just as much as I would betraying you and your organization."

"You make a good point," the cloaked figure said. "Then the laptop will be enough for now. We shall contact you if we are in need of your services again."

"It's been a pleasure," Mr. Swine said with a congenial smile.

The cloaked figure backed away, slinking into the shadows. And somehow, he vanished.

Drake squinted and moved his head to different angles, wondering if the man had somehow just melded into the shadows so well he couldn't see him, but he eventually realized that the cloaked figure was gone.

He had so many questions running through his head that he almost forgot that he was supposed to be somewhere else. If Mr. Swine's transaction was finished, he would be heading back to the car. If he found the car empty, he might come to the conclusion that Drake had been spying.

Racing back, Drake dove into the car and slammed the door shut just as the door to the warehouse opened up and Mr. Swine stepped out. He turned on the car and switched the radio station to some music, pretending that he had been listening all this time. He also cranked up the AC, realizing that his shirt under his jacket was completely soaked in sweat from witnessing what had happened in the warehouse. Breathing evenly, Drake spoke in a calm tone when Mr. Swine slid into the back seat.

"Everything good, Mr. Swine?" Drake asked. He was so glad he had been an actor. His training had really paid off. "No problems in the factory?"

"There was a problem with some of the packaging of the cement," Mr. Swine said, his lie coming just as easily to his lips as caramel syrup. "The machine wasn't sealing them correctly. We had a recall a few shipments but nothing that would set us back too much."

"Good. Back to the office?" Drake asked, shifting the Ferrari into gear.

"Yes. This has been a long day." Mr. Swine sighed. "I'm tired. Too tired to even create art. It's time to go home."

Drake nodded, although he was anything but tired. And while it was close to quitting time, he would soon be suiting up and starting a new shift. Because Darkwing Duck's day was just starting.

He couldn't wait to tell Launchpad and Gosalyn that his boss was a super villain.

(Author's Notes: I missed last week because I went to Reno to see "The Last Unicorn" ballet. The last time it was put on was 34 years ago, and there's no telling when it would be put on again. I needed to go watch it, and I completely forgot about posting a chapter.

This is just a reminder that DWD: Year Zero takes place after "Let's Get Dangerous" but before "The Last Adventure." One of the things that bothered me about the show was the lack of interaction between Fenton and Gandra from first encounter to "Beaks in the Shell." I had a problem with Gandra. I didn't like her, but a lot of fanart made me change my mind. I have been wanting to experiment with some Fenton X Gandra moments because I really wanted to witness them falling in love because a part of me really wants to like Gandra. I also feel that Fenton, after meeting Charity, has matured a little and is now more confident which explains how differently he acts around Gandra now.

Thank you for reading. See you next week.)