Darkwing Duck: Year Zero
Episodes 1: Concrete Facts Part 4
Drake couldn't believe he had his very first super villain. Yeah, so he did fight the Fearsome Four, but they were from another dimension. And Taurus Bulba didn't count because he didn't have any powers. He was just a scientist that had a taste for power and it went to his head. No powers.
But this, how Mr. Swine had been able to control those statues, that was a super power. Mr. Swine was a super villain!
As he raced to his secret warehouse where he could change into his costume and head to Darkwing Towers through the secret road that went under the city bridge to his secret elevator, he gloated. Yet another opportunity to show St. Canard just how cool of a hero he could be.
It was just a shame that it was Mr. Swine. He really liked his boss. Not to mention, he still wasn't sure about Mr. Swine's motive. Why go the route of evil? Why steal secrets from other companies? Was he doing it for the money? But Mr. Swine was already rich. He had a successful business, but was it all a lie? Was it a front for his sinister motives? Or was his business actually failing and he turned to corporate espionage to keep things afloat?
Any situation that Drake imagined just didn't sound right. Nothing made sense. There was something else going on. It would take some research to figure that out. Or perhaps he could just inform SHUSH. If the law enforcement agency knew who the culprit was, it would just be a matter of time before they could gather enough evidence before arresting him. Not to mention, he really didn't want to be the one to take down Mr. Swine. He may be committing crimes, but he was still a nice person.
But then again, it was Darkwing Duck's first super villain! He couldn't let SHUSH take all the credit. He discovered the culprit. He had seen everything for himself. Not to mention, was SHUSH even capable of taking on Mr. Swine? If he could control cement statues, Drake wasn't sure that anyone at SHUSH was ready to capture such a villain.
But on the other hand, neither was Drake. All of his weapons wouldn't be capable of stopping a rampaging monster made of concrete that weighed as much as a rhinoceros.
What was he to do?
Stepping into Darkwing Tower as his alter ego, Darkwing was both ready to brag about his accomplishments at the same time as admitting his short-comings to Gosalyn and Launchpad, but he didn't get the chance.
"It's Taurus Bulba. He's the one who's committing all these crimes," Gosalyn insisted the second that Darkwing stepped off the elevator, her image taking up most of her screen as if she were pressing her beak to her phone.
"Huh? What?" Darkwing asked, looking at the video link of Gosalyn in the corner of WANDA's screen. "Taurus Bulba? But he's in jail."
"Psh, like that's going to stop him," Gosalyn said. "The Ramrod's technology was taken last night. It's obviously him."
"I don't think so," Darkwing said. "In fact, I know it's not him."
"How do you know?"
"Because I've discovered the real culprit," Darkwing said, heading to Wanda's console to begin his search. "Mr. Swenline Swine, the CEO of A Wing and an Eye, Inc."
Gosalyn snorted. "Your boss? But weren't you singing his praises all yesterday, saying just how amazing of a boss he was."
"Well, yes," Darkwing said, putting the name in WANDA's search engine to look for background information.
"So, what did he do to piss you off?" Gosalyn asked. "Did he forget to send you flowers on Secretary's Day?"
"He didn't do anything," Darkwing argued. "Other than the fact that he is controlling his own statues and directing them to break into different corporations and stealing secrets."
"Wait. What?!" Gosalyn shouted. "You're not making any sense. What happened?"
So Darkwing took a step back and explained everything he had seen at the warehouse in detail, once more wishing that he had the Bluetooth contact lenses and ear-piece so that WANDA could have recorded everything.
Gosalyn listened to the story, but her face still looked skeptical.
"I have to get over to Mr. Swine's office," Darkwing said, loading up on his gear. "He usually hits two or three places in each city he visits before moving on to another city. He may hit one more place in St. Canard, or he might already be planning on leaving. Either way, I need to watch him."
"You said this guy can control statues? Like made out of concrete?" Gosalyn asked, her face pressed to her camera. "What are you going to do if you have to fight this guy?"
"Then I'll fight him," Darkwing said, checking his gas gun to make sure it was clean and ready to use.
"He has statues that are ten times bigger than you," Gosalyn argued. "Your stupid, little toy isn't going to do anything to a concrete monster. You're going to get yourself killed."
Darkwing actually hadn't thought about that, and while it wasn't enough to deter him, he should have at least some sort of plan. "I'm just going to watch him. And I'll have Launchpad to watch my back. Where is Launchpad?"
It was strange that the pilot hadn't been there to hear about what happened the night before. His friend would have made himself known by now.
"He's still asleep," Gosalyn said, looking worried. "He didn't go back to Duckburg at all because of his head injury. I've had WANDA wake him up every four hours just so he wouldn't fall into a coma."
Darkwing mirrored Gosalyn's worry. The EMT from the crime scene last night had assured him that Launchpad would be fine, just a little bruised, but there were signs that he had a concussion. When Darkwing left SHUSH to continue their own investigation, Launchpad was awake, although a bit confused by the blindfold. It didn't surprise him that Launchpad hadn't returned to Duckburg, but the sleeping all day was concerning.
He went over to the couch where Launchpad was snoring peacefully, wrapped up in a blanket. When Darkwing shook him, he was relieved that his friend woke up right away.
"Oh, hey, DW. Man, do I feel a whole lot better," Launchpad said, stretching. "What's the plan for tonight?"
Darkwing looked at the bandage wrapped around Launchpad's head and all the scrapes and bruises he sported. Even his leather jacket still carried the signs of the mishap. "Er…I was thinking that perhaps…you could stay in the Tower. Just for tonight. I'm just going to do a little surveillance. Nothing…dangerous." He smiled.
Launchpad narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"Don't listen to him, Launchpad," Gosalyn shouted from WANDA's screen, having heard everything. "He's going to do something incredibly dumb and dangerous."
"If you're doing something dumb, then you can count on me," Launchpad said, pointing a thumb to his chest.
"I don't think that's a good idea, buddy, not with your injury," Darkwing said. "Besides, we need to get you an actual disguise, so now would be a perfect time to brainstorm your new look."
"I said I'm coming with you," Launchpad said with determination. "I can handle this little bump."
"You both are idiots," Gosalyn concluded. "There's no way the two of you could take on a ton of cement monster."
"Sure we can," Launchpad crowed before his spirits fell. "Wait, what are we doing?"
"Nobody is going to fight any monsters. He's at the office, and all his statues are kept in a warehouse across the bay," Darkwing stated. "I'm going by myself and checking out a lead. Launchpad is staying here."
"At least call Gizmoduck," Gosalyn said, knowing just what she was getting into mentioning that name.
Launchpad brightened, but Darkwing snarled.
"Nobody is calling Gizmoduck," Darkwing said. "And the two of you will be in so much trouble if I see one feather belonging to Fenton in my city."
"Okay. Okay. But maybe you can call those other guys. The ones that were there last night," Gosalyn said. "You said you're working with them. They might be more equipped to take on a super villain."
This rankled Darkwing more than anything else. The Darkwing Duck from the TV series never needed help. He always knew what to do and what exactly he needed to get the job done. But then again, there weren't any animated statues from the show.
Besides, Mr. Swine was his villain. This wasn't a villain for the Jim Starling Darkwing Duck. This one was his. It was time for Drake Mallard to shine.
"Perhaps we should sit down and ask WWJSD?" Launchpad said in a calming tone. When the others stared at him, he explained: "What Would Jim Starling Do?"
"We are not calling Jim," Darkwing said—especially since Launchpad had tried once before. "We are not calling Gizmoduck. And we are definitely not calling SHUSH. As much as I'd like to work with J. Gander, he hasn't exactly been forth-coming with his information. So I'm going to do this alone."
Gosalyn groaned and her camera was a blur of activity as if she were shaking her camera. When it was able to focus back on Gosalyn, she looked as if she were lying down on her bed. "Darkwing, do you promise that you'll be careful? Please say that you won't try to fight one of these monsters? All you're getting is evidence that this is our guy, and then you'll call SHUSH?"
Darkwing was about to promise just to get Gosalyn off his case, but then he thought it through. Although his pride felt like it was taking a blow, he admitted that he really couldn't compete against a living statue. Besides, if Mr. Swine was back at his office, more than likely, he didn't have any of his creations there. They were all back at the warehouse. He would be completely safe. Maybe he would even be able to put his handcuffs on Mr. Swine. It would be the first time he would arrest a supervillain. That was something he could look forward to.
"I promise," Darkwing said sincerely.
Gosalyn nodded. "Fine. You two can go."
Darkwing and Launchpad exchanged looks, grinning. "Thanks, Mom," they said together, racing to the Ratcatcher before Gosalyn could berate them for their joke. Not that running away helped. They both had their earbuds in and could hear the teenager telling them how lame they were.
Darkwing kicked the motorcycle into gear and headed out. He felt the thrill as the Ratcatcher rolled down the suspension cables of the bridge down to the road. A few months ago, he hadn't been able to do this, but after showing Gyro and Fenton the opening sequence of the old Darkwing Duck show—which was mostly comprised of computer graphics from the 90s—they said that it was entirely possible for a motorcycle to be able to do just that. They then put special magnets and a device that had something to do with equilibrium, and suddenly Darkwing could do amazing stunts with his motorcycle, even with the sidecar.
They headed downtown to the large office building where Drake Mallard worked. Having learned from the previous night's experience, as they entered the building, Darkwing had WANDA hack into the elevator's system and send them to the floor below Mr. Swine's office. There, the two heroes ascended the stairs and snuck into the office space of A Wing and an Eye, Inc.
"There's lights on," Darkwing whispered to Launchpad. "We have to be very quiet." It wasn't that late, so he knew that there was a chance that someone was still in the office, even if it was just a cleaning crew. But he had hopes that they would have a chance to spy on Mr. Swine.
The halls were dark but a few offices had lights shining through cracks or open doors. These Launchpad and Darkwing peeked around or tip-toed past, not wanting to scare some hard-working citizen and blow their cover.
Finally they got to the office at the end of the hall, passing by the desk that Drake Mallard had used for the past three days at his temporary job. And now that Darkwing thought about it, more than likely he would return to the state of unemployment before the week was over, which was a record for him. He really did enjoy working for Mr. Swine. And he would miss that nice paycheck.
With the silence of a spy, Darkwing crept up on Mr. Swine's office. He did not need to put his ear up to the door to listen for any signs of life. There was a distinct grinding sound coming from within the room.
"What's he doing in there, DW?" Launchpad asked in a hushed voice.
"I don't know," Darkwing said, confident they wouldn't be discovered. The noise would cover up their talking. "I need to get inside there. We need a distraction."
"You could start a fire," Gosalyn suggested through his ear-piece.
"A distraction that wouldn't cause a panic," Darkwing said, wondering if Gosalyn was purposefully giving bad advice. "The last thing we need is a bunch of firefighters searching the building."
"I've got it," Launchpad said.
"What is it?" Darkwing asked, eager to hear Launchpad's plan.
Launchpad winked conspiratorially before giving a Tarzan-like yell, sweeping his arm over Drake Mallard's desk and throwing the chair down the hall.
Darkwing was about to shout at his partner for doing such a stupid thing but he could hear Mr. Swine inside the office shouting something, and the doorknob was turning. He leaped out of view behind a potted plant just as the door opened.
"What are you doing here?" Mr. Swine roared.
"Ah! Uh…Down with the rich. Boo, you own a lot of money," Launchpad said, obviously terrible at ad libbing. "And you're also terrible for the environment."
Darkwing could tell that Mr. Swine was confused with Launchpad's ranting. Not to mention, there was going to be some serious questioning as to how Launchpad even made it up to the top of the building with no clearance. But what was important was that Mr. Swine was distracted.
"Get out of here before I call the police," Mr. Swine shouted, taking a step toward Launchpad. While the tall duck might have an inch or two on the CEO, Mr. Swine was by far heavier. Despite his artistic nature, he was more built like a boxer or wrestler.
But that didn't deter Launchpad. "No, you get out of here before I call the police," Launchpad retorted and commenced to wreck the office some more.
Darkwing dodged into Mr. Swine's office, hoping that once he was out of sight, Launchpad would beat a hasty retreat. The last thing either of them needed was for him to be arrested and questioned why he was inside a secure office building. Darkwing headed right for the supply closet, only stopping to examine what the pig had set up. There were buckets of water and bags of cement, so he must be planning on making something. But the strange thing was several red crystals sitting out in the open.
Was Mr. Swine also stealing gems and cutting them to sell on the black market? He hadn't heard of any jewel heists in St. Canard, but his boss could have stolen them from anywhere in the world.
Darkwing hid himself in the closet, using a drip-cloth covered in cement dust and paint splatter to cover himself. He left the door open a crack, knowing that WANDA would be recording everything he saw and heard.
After more shouting and office supplies being thrown around, things grew quiet.
"Gosalyn, is Launchpad alright?" Darkwing whispered into his Bluetooth.
"He's fine," Gosalyn said. "The pig-guy started dialing the cops, so I told him to get out of there. He's in the elevator."
WANDA added, "I've been monitoring his cell phone, and he has made no outgoing calls. More than likely, it was a bluff."
Darkwing was relieved. But his adrenaline spiked when he heard the door to the office close, heavy footsteps, and Mr. Swine muttering. He moved to the crack in the door to watch.
Mr. Swine went to the table where the red crystals were and picked them up. His back was to Darkwing, so the hero was unable to see what he was doing, but after a while, he heard a grating, rumbling noise so loud, he wondered if Mr. Swine had a jack hammer somewhere in the office. After several minutes of this, the noise stopped and Mr. Swine moved to the buckets, mixing cement and water together. He mixed and mixed until he was satisfied, then he turned to the table, picking up a bowl and pouring a small amount of red powder into the cement and mixing it.
"The gems?" Darkwing asked, taking a guess. "Anyone know why he would mix gems into the cement?"
"That's weird," Gosalyn said. "He's not smuggling them, not as a powder. Crushing up gems is a waste of money."
But there had to be more to it than smuggling. Mr. Swine had a purpose.
"WANDA, any idea what those gems are?" Darkwing asked.
"Without knowing the chemical composition of the gems, I can only make a rough estimation," WANDA said.
Darkwing saw the camera in his contact lenses zoom in without his permission and focus on the gem.
"By how quickly he was able to grind them, I can tell that it isn't a ruby, red diamond or any of the major precious gems. More than likely, it is only semi-precious and does not appear to be of much value," WANDA said.
"It could be magic," Launchpad's voice came through.
"Magic?" Gosalyn scoffed. "Sure. Why not?"
Having been born and raised in St. Canard, Gosalyn hadn't gotten the experience that anyone associated with Duckburg had, so the idea of magic was still something that she hadn't accepted entirely. Darkwing might have had the same way of thinking if it wasn't for the things he had seen.
"No, that makes sense," Darkwing whispered, an idea forming in his mind as he watched Mr. Swine load the mixed cement into molds similar to the mice ones, but these ones were bigger. "If he's able to animate statues and control them, it could be through magic instead of super powers."
Did that still make Mr. Swine a super villain? Darkwing was going to count that as a yes.
"Okay, let's say that that's true," Gosalyn said. "What are we going to do about it? Are we going to arrest him for making statues even if they can move? All of this is just circle-stampkus evidence."
"Circumstantial evidence," Darkwing corrected.
"It's okay, Gosalyn. I have problems with hard words, too," Launchpad said.
Gosalyn growled. "So, what are we going to do? We need proof that this guy is doing all the robberies."
"The best I can do is follow him tonight and see if he makes his move. He's making new statues, which might mean he's planning another robbery," Darkwing whispered. "If he doesn't do anything else, then all I can do is inform FOWL."
"No way. We're not letting them get the credit," Gosalyn protested. "Get in there and do something."
"As much as I'd like to act like the heroes on TV, that's just not how things are done," Darkwing hissed. "I'm technically trespassing, and right now the law is on his side. Anything I do could be used to help him get off on a technicality. I want to do things by the book." And he didn't say it, but if he could do this without getting into a fight with Mr. Swine, that would be best. He didn't want to hurt Mr. Swine.
Then there was a ringing, and for a minute, Darkwing thought he had accidentally brought his phone. He panicked, checking his pockets for the device, and a cloud of relief settled on him when he heard Mr. Swine answer.
"Hello?"
Thank goodness. It was his phone, Darkwing thought. I have to change my ringtone from the factory settings.
"Ah, I thought I would hear from you tonight," Mr. Swine said.
Darkwing looked through the crack once more, checking on his boss. But what he saw took his breath away. There were four, hip-height cement wolves standing on the drip cloth, identical and looking almost real if it weren't for the uniform, gray color of the cement.
Mr. Swine was pacing the room with his phone up to his ear, cleaning his hands with a cloth.
"Yes, it's ready for transport. I'll have the package ready for pickup once the funds have been transferred to my account," Mr. Swine said. He had his usual, easy tone, but his actions were nervous. He paced with a staccato beat and he fidgeted with the cloth in his hands. "Do I have it all? You told me which vault it was in, and that's the one that I found the pieces of the Ramrod. If they had separated it into different vaults, it's not my fault if you gave me the wrong information."
Darkwing's eyes widened.
"Is that enough evidence for you?" Gosalyn asked, her voice almost a whisper.
"Yes," Darkwing said with a smile and kicked open the closet door. He threw a gas grenade and stepped out, holding his cape dramatically. "I am the terror that flaps in the night. I am the sugar ants that invade your newly refurbished kitchen. I am Darkwing Duck." He thought his big entrance was pretty good and expected a look of amazement and shock on the pig's face.
Instead, Mr. Swine looked rather bored with the appearance of Darkwing. "I'm going to have to call you back. My office has suddenly been invaded by pests," he said blithely into his phone and hung up. He pinched his nose as if he were fighting a headache. "You have the absolute worst timing."
"Uh..." Darkwing was at odds with Mr. Swine's reaction. He was acting as if Darkwing were only a minor irritation rather than the downfall of his entire criminal empire and the one who was sending him to prison for a very long time. He puffed out his chest, trying one more time to intimidate the man. "Mr. Swine, you're under arrest for multiple counts of grand larceny, destruction of property, possession of stolen goods and…trespassing."
"As far as I can see, you're the one who is trespassing," Mr. Swine said, continuing to clean his hands of the cement. "As for your other allegations, nothing you have said will hold water with the police, who might be more interested in your activities than an outstanding citizen such as myself."
Darkwing was at a loss for words. This was not how things were supposed to go. The way he had imagined it, Mr. Swine would say "Curse you," and either fight or flight. And Darkwing was up for an action-packed fight or a daring chase through the building which would end up with his picture in the papers as the man who had apprehended such a notorious criminal.
A passive conversation with logical reasoning had never happened in the Darkwing Duck show.
"Well, I'm sure the police would be more interested in the recording of you admitting that you have the Ramrod which you stole," Darkwing said, crossing his arms and nodding, sure that would get things moving.
"Oh, I'm sure that is true, but would it really make a difference?" Mr. Swine asked, holding out his hands as if the thin air held the true evidence. "I'm certain I will be arrested on such evidence, but the chain of custody must be proved, which means that you take the stand. I doubt you would be willing to testify against me. After all, I have the right to face my accuser—without the mask."
Darkwing blanched.
"I suppose you could send the recording to the police anonymously, but would it even be heard by a jury?" Mr. Swine asked. "A recording with no witness could easily be picked apart with expert witnesses that could say it had been doctored or even falsified. That's if it is allowed into evidence. I'm sure my lawyer could find some argument to have it discarded, that's if I even go into trial. My bet is that the entire trial be thrown out with prejudice."
Darkwing felt frozen into place. Perhaps he underestimated Mr. Swine, not in the aspect of a super villain, but that he actually understood the law far more than the average person. Darkwing certainly had no idea if what Mr. Swine said was true or not, but it sounded very similar to the dialog from a cop drama.
"Please remove yourself from my office and from the building before I call the police," Mr. Swine said. "I've had a long and arduous day running my legitimate business, and I would like some time to create my art to wind down. Leave behind as many listening devices and cameras as you like, as I have no doubt you have placed discretely. My cleaning crew will take care of them on the morrow."
Darkwing hadn't thought of doing that. He should have. It seemed as if he were beaten with words rather than fists, and his ego felt each blow as if they were physical punches to his gut. He headed for the exit, his fedora brim sagging.
What a way for his first encounter with his first super villain to go. It wasn't even a dramatic loss; more like a professional bully laughing away a kid so pathetic, he's not even worth teasing.
But Darkwing couldn't leave feeling so dejected. If anything, he needed to leave Mr. Swine with a warning. After all, the case was still open, the suspect was still free, and a wrong still needed to be righted.
"You may be right that I don't have the concrete evidence I need to take you down," Darkwing said, smiling at his pun. "But I will not rest until you are behind bars. Mark my words, if you quit while you're ahead and stop using those statues to steal from other companies, I may go easy on you." He turned around and grabbed the doorknob, intent on making a dramatic exit.
But the door was yanked from his grip and slammed shut. Mr. Swine towered above him, his hand pressing against the door.
"You saw my statues?" Mr. Swine questioned.
Darkwing felt an Uh-oh moment coming up. Perhaps he shouldn't have revealed all that he knew?
"I never wanted anyone to get hurt," Mr. Swine said, keeping his body between Darkwing and the door. "I prided myself in making sure nobody was in the vicinity when I robbed those companies, but I'm afraid that I cannot let you go since you know about my statues."
Darkwing's eyes widened and he backed away, balling his fists to prepare for a fight. Suddenly the idea of being in a cinematically dramatic fight was less appealing.
At least he didn't have to fight any of the statues.
Then Mr. Swine held out his hand, squeezing it tight.
Darkwing heard growling behind him, and he looked over his shoulder.
The still-wet, cement wolves took a step closer to him, their eyes glowing the same brilliant red of the gems.
Gosalyn said a few words that would have gotten her in trouble with the nuns at the orphanage. "They really do move. It is magic," she said.
"Nice doggies," Darkwing said, turning so that he could see both the wolves and Mr. Swine, backing away. He pulled out his gas gun, not sure what he would do with it; the weapon would be ineffective to the statues.
"You might think that since they're still wet that my wolves will be easy to defeat, but let me assure you, even with the cement not set, they are still quite deadly," Mr. Swine said, sounding pleased. "And because I used my quick-drying cement, every minute they become harder and deadlier than before."
The wolves began circling him, two on each side, herding him into a corner just as their organic counterparts would in the wild. He was their prey. They left cement footprints wherever they went, but their legs and bodies seemed sturdy enough. There was no sign that they were going to fall apart.
"I could use some help right about now," Darkwing said, his words directed to Gosalyn.
"I told you not to go," Gosalyn shouted, her voice high-pitched from stress.
"Not helping," Darkwing said, feeling sweat soaking his feathers.
The lead wolf bunched his hind legs, preparing to spring.
Darkwing did the only thing he could think of. He raised his gas gun and pulled the trigger. The gunpowder behind the gas canister had enough oomph to lodge the canister into the wolf's chest.
All four wolves looked at the gas canister that went halfway into their leader's chest, pausing as if expecting it to do something. When it didn't, they zeroed back on Darkwing Duck, growling.
Darkwing chortled nervously.
Then the gas canister erupted, opening a rift several inches long underneath the cement. With nowhere to go, the gas bubbled out of the cement, creating a hole near the wolf's shoulder, which weakened one leg. The wolf fell forward; its chest and head crashing into the carpet and distorting the shape of the wolf. The parts of it that were still wolf-like continued to move, but they were ineffectual.
One down, Darkwing thought with a moment of relief. He had a spark of hope that he could get himself out of this, he just needed a weapon. He only carried two gas canisters at a time, and he had used his first during his entrance when jumping out of the closet, something he was regretting. After a quick glance around the room, his eyes landed on the wooden pole that Mr. Swine used to mix the cement.
With the three remaining wolves still looking at their leader in surprise, Darkwing sprinted around the wolves, leaping and crying out when one of the cement predators snapped at his tail feathers. He snatched the pole as he ran past it and jumped onto Mr. Swine's desk, gaining confidence now that he had two advantages: the weapon and the higher ground.
When one wolf followed after him, springing upon the desk as well, Darkwing swung the pole to the side and slammed it into the wolf's head. It was then that he realized just how quickly the quick-drying cement was working. While the pole did sink into the cement, it stuck fast and only distorted the statue's shape a little.
The wolf-on-a-stick—not at all bothered by the pole sticking out of its face—took a step closer, absorbing more of the wood.
Darkwing panicked and swept the wolf off the desk, leaving behind four cement streaks. The action wouldn't have harmed the statue if it wasn't for gravity. With nothing underneath its feet, the wolf slipped off the pole and dropped to the floor; crumbling more than splatting. It even managed a whine before it stopped moving altogether.
Although Darkwing had destroyed two wolves accidentally, he counted them as full wins and braced himself to fight the other two. He was now certain that the other two wouldn't be a problem either.
Mr. Swine must have had the same thought because he looked nervous. He put his fingers to his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. "Come. Protect me."
The wolves turned away from Darkwing, heading toward their master.
And Darkwing knew that Mr. Swine was on the run. It was strange how quickly the tides had turned with this fight, and he wondered why the man was running. What ever happened to that stonewall defense he had argued with?
Perhaps Mr. Swine exuded more confidence than he actually had on his own defense? Or maybe there was something that Darkwing didn't know. Either way, Darkwing knew that if a criminal was fleeing from him, he was going to stop him.
Acting on a thought, Darkwing stuck the pole into one of the buckets of cement and pole-vaulted off the desk. Using the forward momentum, he lifted the same bucket up into the air in an arc, slinging it at Mr. Swine in the process. The bucket didn't hit the man, but it hit the door before Mr. Swine could open it, cement splattering everywhere, mostly in Mr. Swine's face.
"No!" Mr. Swine shouted. Darkwing had expected him to reach for the door once more to escape, but instead the pig wiped at the cement, using his expensive, tailored suit as if it were a dirty towel.
Seeing that Mr. Swine was distracted, Darkwing took the moment to use the pole to hit the legs out from under the two remaining wolves. And although the cement was much harder, it only took a few good swipes and they were down for the count.
"It won't come off. It won't come off," Mr. Swine shouted, furiously wiping at the cement clinging to his face. It was quickly drying on his skin, cracking and crinkling. "No!" he screeched as if it were burning him. He rushed to one of the doors.
During the fight, Darkwing became turned around and thought that Mr. Swine was in the process of fleeing. After defeating the wolves, he once more used the wooden pole to scoop up some of the cement and fling it at the super villain, smirking as the goop made a satisfying splat against the pig's back, knocking him to the ground.
"Give up, Swine," Darkwing said, putting a foot on Mr. Swine and striking a pose. "It takes skills to know when to hold them or fold them. Or in your case, mold them." He was trying for a sculpting joke, but it came off as flat. He wished he spent more time thinking of some good lines. Well, next time. He spoke into his Bluetooth device, "WANDA, call SHUSH. I have a surprise for them."
"No, you don't understand," Mr. Swine said, rolling over. "I have to wash it off. It was never meant to touch living flesh while wet. I have to wash it off." He scrambled to his hands and knees, crawling to the door.
It wasn't until then that Darkwing realized Mr. Swine wasn't fleeing. He was trying to get to the utilities room that was just to the side of the office, the one with the sink. Before he could react, Mr. Swine was inside the room, flushing his face over and over again. It looked as if he were trying to drown himself.
Darkwing pulled out his handcuffs, prepared to restrain the villain while he was distracted with cleaning off his face. However, just as he was about to do just that, Mr. Swine let out a horrific scream.
"It's not coming off," Mr. Swine cried out, no longer scrubbing his face. Instead, his hands—now gloveless—were curled like claws and were scratching at his face. "It's not coming off! No. No! My face!"
Mr. Swine gripped the mirror that hung over the sink and looked as if he were going to rip it off, but then his eyes focused on the image of the hero in the reflection. He swung his head around, his face distorted with mad rage. "You! You did this to me."
Darkwing Duck had no idea what Mr. Swine was talking about, and he didn't think Mr. Swine would be willing to explain himself or answer questions. In fact, he hardly had time to react as Mr. Swine barreled toward him like an enraged bull. Expecting a long and one-sided fight with a larger opponent, Darkwing put all his energy in his first attack. Using his smaller stature to his advantage, he went with a right hook, coming up from below to sock Mr. Swine below the chin. He danced away, expecting his boss to attack immediately with a punch of his own or perhaps a swipe of his longer arms.
But to his surprised, Mr. Swine dropped like a fighter that had gone one round too many in the ring, falling heavily to the floor. For someone who had the muscles and stature of an athlete, it was surprising to find that Mr. Swine had a glass jaw. Working with concrete was good for the man's health, but even with his illegal activities, it was now obvious that Mr. Swine had no experience fighting.
"Well, that was anticlimactic," Gosalyn muttered into Darkwing's earpiece.
Darkwing poked and prodded Mr. Swine a little before crossing his arms. "Well, that's just my luck. My first super villain, and I don't even get a dramatic fight scene with him. Just a little skirmish with some clay puppies. But I suppose tonight's news will have to settle with Darkwing Duck bringing down a multi-million dollar corporate thief."
"Just be glad he didn't have any dried statues. Then you'd be the one made out of clay," Gosalyn relayed. "But what was he screaming about with the cement on his face. Did this guy have something against getting dirty or something? Like one of those OCD guys?"
That had confused Darkwing as well, and he shook his head despite Gosalyn not being able to see the gesture. "He worked with cement. There are a lot cleaner ways to be artistic, although he was always careful about covering his hands and clothes."
Mr. Swine wore a cement splattered apron, and when the fight first broke out, he wore gloves that he had shed while trying to wash his face. Looking at the face of the passed-out pig, Darkwing could see specks of cement dotting Mr. Swine's face. He found it odd. Mr. Swine had saturated his face with water. And what was even stranger was that the specks appeared to be completely dried.
Well, Mr. Swine did say that his quick-drying cement worked better than any other company's, but even as concrete, wouldn't it have been easily washed away.
He was about to test the concrete clinging to Mr. Swine's face—which looked more like it had melded with the skin, but that was impossible—when the doors burst open and J. Gander and his SHUSH partner burst in, guns out and searching for a target. However, as they took in the scene with Darkwing Duck standing over Mr. Swine, Gander lowered his weapon. Grizlikoff did not.
"What happened here?" J asked, taking in what must have been a strange sight.
At least one of the wolf cement statues was still moving and one whined pitifully. If it wasn't for that small amount of proof, Darkwing would be worried that J. Gander would think him mad for going after what appeared to be an innocent civilian.
Darkwing was quick on his feet and gestured to Mr. Swine. "I present to you the perpetrator of those professional pilferings that we have been after," he said, proud of both his achievement and that he was able to come up with that alliteration on the fly.
Grizlikoff growled as she rounded on Mr. Swine. "He is a big man, but he could not have pulled off all those robberies. Nobody could be that strong."
"He used magical concrete statues to do his work," Darkwing said, pointing to the closest wolf. "These are a half-baked batch, but the rest of his creations are in a warehouse across the bay. He is able to control them with some sort of magical crystal. It sounds unbelievable but it's the truth."
"Unbelievable is right," Grizlikoff agreed, folding her arms.
"Now, now," J said to his partner, looking more bemused than chastising. "We're aware of certain powers beyond what science can explain. Compared to the things we've seen, this is child's playdough."
"I also have recordings of Mr. Swine admitting that he has the Ramrod and was selling it," Darkwing said. "My computer is sending you all the information I found to your office."
"Sending," WANDA chimed in to his Bluetooth.
"Selling it?" Grizlikoff asked, her ears perking up. "So, it may still be here in his office."
"Or at his house or at this warehouse that Darkwing Duck mentioned," J said with a smile. "Well done, Darkwing. I was right to reach out to you for your assistance, although I'm a little nonplus that we didn't even have Mr. Swine here on our radar. How did you figure him out?"
Darkwing gave a mysterious smile. "Trade secrets, J." The truth had to remain hidden. Not only for the sake of keeping his identity secret but because it didn't exactly sound heroic that a male secretary stumbled upon the biggest crime of the year.
"I'll bet," J said with a wink.
Darkwing frowned, not liking that wink. Was that J hinting at something? Or was a wink just a wink?
"The police are here," Grizlikoff said. While the two were talking, she had noticed a pair of police officers entering the office and she had talked to them. "The security guards on duty had seen a strange man running around the building, screaming and making a nuisance of himself. They called the police and were searching the building when they noticed us."
"One of yours?" J asked Darkwing.
It was then that Darkwing remembered Launchpad.
"Don't worry. He's out of the building and hiding near the Ratcatcher," Gosalyn relayed.
Darkwing shrugged ambiguously. He tipped his hat. "Well, agents, it looks like I'm no longer needed. If you'll forgive me, I'll leave you to clean up." He weaved between Gander and Grizlikoff before heading to the exit. "I'll be around if you need me."
J Gander put his hands in his pocket, and waited for the masked hero to leave before saying, "Oh, I'll be counting on it."
Strangely enough, when Drake Mallard turned on the TV in the morning, there was nothing about Mr. Swine on the news or about the two break-ins that had happened recently even though they had been the top story from the newscasters all week. There was no mention of SHUSH or of An Eye and a Wing, Inc. It was as if the incident had never happened.
Since Launchpad felt that his head injury had healed enough, he had gone back to Duckburg during the wee hours of the morning and wouldn't be back until that evening. And with Gosalyn unable to contact him until her bedtime, that left him to puzzle everything out on his own.
He could only guess as to what SHUSH's objectives were to keeping Mr. Swine out of the picture and perhaps suppressing the press about the break-ins. With the incident with the Ramrod only weeks earlier, they may not want to cause a panic by reporting the theft of Ramrod technology. Or it could be that the story of Mr. Swine controlling statues with a sort of magic might not be something SHUSH wanted to be on the news, either because of how unbelievable it was or that they didn't want people creating a mob and breaking every statue in the city.
Drake understood SHUSH's motives, but he also wasn't sure if they were correct. Didn't the public deserve to know the truth of things? But then again, a reporter would say the same thing about his identity, wouldn't they?
Tired of contemplating gray areas, he started getting ready for work, wondering if he would have a job anymore with Mr. Swine in SHUSH custody. Whether or not he did, he still had to act the part of Drake Mallard, a man who knew nothing about what happened inside the office late last night.
Just as he was straightening his tie, his cell rang. It was the woman from HR that he had talked to on his first day of work. She informed him that Mr. Swine had to leave St. Canard suddenly and no longer needed an executive assistant. And just like that, he was unemployed again. Not that he had much hopes, but it would have been nice if they had offered to keep him on for some other job, but he had a feeling that now that the CEO and owner of A Wink and an Eye, Inc. was no longer a free man, the incorporation would need to make some serious changes.
Taking off his jacket and tie and putting them back on the hangar, Drake slumped back on the couch and undid a few buttons of his shirt. He was free the whole day, and the sudden extra time felt like a burden. He liked to keep busy and disliked having his schedule changed, but he could always find something to do. He could clean up his living quarters in the warehouse. Or he could go up into Darkwing Tower and do some work there. Or he could go drive to the house he just bought and start making a list of things he needed to fix. It would need a lot of work to make it habitable.
There were a lot of things he could do.
But there was only one thing he wanted to do, and with a day off, he decided to indulge himself. Grabbing his bike helmet, he went over to the small motorcycle that he had purchased not that long ago. It wasn't anything flashy or had a lot of CCs, and it wasn't made in this decade, but it had been cheap and he had fixed it up until it could take him wherever he wanted to go.
In less than twenty minutes, he was revving his bike over the Audobon Bridge and out of St. Canard.
Fenton waddled through the halls of the hospital on his way to the long-term-care wing. Normally he bustled or weaved his way through the halls, but due to the large box he was carrying, he had to waddle. And unlike his other visits, he felt as if he didn't belong. He sort of did, but a part of him wondered of the ethics of his motives. Where he was treading was paved with thin glass. But he was seventy-five percent sure that what he was doing was the right thing to do.
Once he was in an area of the hospital where the doctors and nurses knew him, he was able to walk unhindered by meandering patients and visitors. Other than the usual staff, the halls were empty in this section of the hospital.
After some difficulty with the door knob and balancing the heavy box, Fenton stumbled into the room and took over the serving table that was never used. Making sure that the box sat squarely on the table, he wheeled it over to the hospital bed and the beeping monitors. It wasn't until then that he realized he wasn't alone, and even more surprising, it wasn't a nurse or doctor that sat next to Charity's bed.
"Oh, hello Drake," Fenton said, a little put off that he might have an audience. "I didn't know you would be here today."
"I didn't know I had to make an appointment to see my friend," Drake said defensively.
Or at least that was how Fenton took it. He could never correctly read the other male duck easily. When they first met, he had never been sure if Darkwing Duck's voice was purposefully derisive or that was just how he spoke. It wasn't until the two spent more time with each other with the lovebird between them that Fenton realized that Drake had naturally pegged their two alter-egos against each other as professional rivals. It became even more heated when they both vied for Charity's attention while trying to break her curse.
And now?
Fenton was certain that with the broken curse, Charity's heart had turned to Drake and only Drake, but there was always that margin of error. And even though Fenton's theory was based on scientific data, Drake did not believe. He was just as much in the dark about Charity's feelings as when she was under Aphrodite's curse.
So, did he still see the two of them as rivals? Well, he still didn't like Gizmoduck. But it was as if he saw Fenton as a different person than the mechanical hero.
"Sorry, it's been a long week," Drake said, rubbing his head. "And it was a long trip. I can't get down here as much as I'd like to."
Fenton heard the sorrow in his voice. He wondered if there was something he could do to make it easier for Drake to commute to Duckburg. Hadn't Drake mentioned a jet for Darkwing Duck? No, that wouldn't do. Drake didn't know how to fly a plane. Maybe he could suggest building a new armor for the hero.
"How has she been? Any changes?" Drake asked. He waved to Charity's chart. "I tried reading it, but either the doctor's hand writing is especially terrible or he's using a different language."
Fenton didn't need to look at the chart. He had been by frequently enough to know what it would say. "There's been no changes, but that can also be good news. She's not getting worse. It might mean that her body and mind still need time to heal. She just needs time."
And perhaps a little help, Fenton thought. After all, Charity had been in a coma for over a month. Her physical wounds had healed, so that left her mind.
And while he had been excited about his visit to Charity—which was odd for him to feel excited to be in the hospital—he hesitated in his goal now that Drake was presence. He hadn't expected an audience, and he wasn't sure if he wanted one.
It was part of that ethical dilemma. But now that he thought about it, perhaps having someone else who cared about Charity in on the puzzle would help alleviate his moral issue.
"Can I ask you something?" Fenton asked.
Drake didn't say anything, but made a gesture for him to continue.
"Hypothetically, if you were in a coma," Fenton started, "would you want the doctors to do everything within their power to wake you up, even if it were experimental—but absolutely safe?"
Drake gave Fenton a blithe look. "What do you want to do to Charity?"
The question was direct and accusatory. And Drake was able to look right through Fenton's charade.
"Okay, so I've been working on this AI simulation that involves a neural link-up to a computer program where a person's mind can transfer to code instantaneously and with just a thought, can change the program. It can—"
"I didn't catch any of that," Drake said, rubbing his face. "In layman's terms, please?"
"I invented virtual reality. The kind that nobody's seen except in science fiction movies," Fenton said, hoping that was simple enough. "It links a person's mind to a computer and sends them into a program."
"Congratulations," Drake said blandly.
It was obvious that he hadn't made the connection to Charity. But then again, he had explained the whole program to Gandra in detail and shown her the components, and she hadn't thought that it could be used on coma patients.
"The idea behind it for someone to be able to move around in a virtual reality world with only thinking it with their mind as well as being able to alter the world with actions and their imagination," Fenton said. "So far, I'm only alpha testing the neural link, and it usually only works if the actions are made in the real world, but I'm sure that I can iron out all the wrinkles in no time."
"That sounds fascinating, Fenton," Drake said in a tired tone. "Sounds like it'll be a fun game in no time."
Perhaps Fenton was putting too much hope on subtext for Drake to read his intent.
"It's more than a game. This technology will change how the world socializes, educates and make new discoveries," Fenton continued. He was losing his audience. "I need to be more direct, Drake. I'm sorry. I'm just so excited. I could go on and on about my invention, but there is only one aspect of this program that you're going to care about. And that with the neural link-up will be able to bypass certain physical handicaps so that we may communicate with people who are otherwise unable to talk."
Drake sat up although he still didn't give Fenton his full attention. "What? You mean, like, deaf people and those who lost their voice?"
"Yes. Or those who are unconscious," Fenton said, looking to Charity. "Who can't wake up."
Drake stood up, his mouth agape. He walked to Fenton and grabbed his arms. "Wha—What—Are you saying…?"
"I hope that we may be able to communicate with Charity, yes," Fenton said.
Drake's face kept altering from one emotion to the next. Several times, a smile almost appeared but then fear dragged it down. "And…and that's what you brought? Your invention?" He pointed to the box.
"Yes," Fenton said.
"Then do it," Drake said. "Use it. Hook it up."
"It's…not that easy," Fenton said uneasily. "I have been questioning whether or not to use this device on Charity, and when I came here, I was intent on using it, but I'm having second thoughts."
"Then what's the problem?" Drake demanded.
Fenton took a deep breath. "Consent."
Drake's eyebrows rose up.
"I'm sure Charity would want us to try and wake her up. I don't think anyone wants to be in a coma," Fenton said. "But there's always a little bit of doubt. What if she would say no? After all, this device is still being tested, so there are some risks."
"Risks? Is it safe?" Drake asked.
"It's completely safe. At least, every time I've used it. But something like this should go through a lot of testing before it's ready to use, and the fact that I've used it on myself is a huge safety violation," Fenton said. "But I'm sure that it's safe."
Drake narrowed his eyes.
"As I said, I have my doubts. But since you're here, you could give me the go-ahead," Fenton said.
"Me?" Drake looked even more surprised.
"Yes, you could give consent," Fenton said. "After all, when a person is in a coma, they can't very well make medical decisions."
"But that should be her family to do that," Drake said. "Her mom or her step-dad."
"Even if her mother would let me talk to her, she's…not in any condition to make medical decisions for her daughter," Fenton said tentatively. "The breaking of the curse and Charity being in a coma has been hard on her mentally. The power of attorney goes to her step-dad."
"That's perfect. He's a doctor," Drake said.
"And how many doctors are going to be on board with scientific experiments that have unproven results and not gone through even one set of tests?" Fenton asked.
"It sounds like you want someone to condone your moral dilemma, not find someone who can make a sound decision," Drake said.
"I suppose so," Fenton said. "I guess I did get a little zealous. After all, Charity is the one person that I have failed to save. I should have known that even Gizmoduck couldn't save them all."
Drake gritted his teeth, his fists clenched. He trembled a little before throwing his hands in the air and growling. "Alright. Alright. But on one condition," Drake said.
"What?"
"You first try it out on me," Drake said. "You said you've been testing it out on yourself. Anyone else?"
"Just on one other person," Fenton said. He had upgraded a new headset, and both he and Gandra hadn't had problems with it. "Oh, and BOYD."
"Who's Boyd?"
"Uh…long story," Fenton said, recalling that Drake knew nothing of the little android. "Well, if you're going to try it out, we're going to need you to simulate Charity's situation. Which means putting you into a medical coma."
"You can do that?" Drake asked.
"Well, I suppose so, but I was thinking of getting a doctor to do it," Fenton said wryly. "But we can at least test the helmet on you while you're awake and make sure that the neural link-up works."
"Works? You mean you're not sure," Drake said hesitantly.
"Every brain is different," Fenton said. "And of course, you may have some anomalies in your brain. Hmmm, I wonder if we should start getting brain scans to monitor the effects of the neural link-up."
"Is this thing going to give me a brain tumor?" Drake demanded.
"Unlikely, unless you have an unusually dense skull."
"Are you joking or are you serious?"
"I'm joking….mostly."
Fenton reached into the box and pulled out a monstrosity that Drake had never seen before. It had lose wires, antennae sticking out and a strap as if to prevent the helmet from flying off his head.
"Uh…perhaps we should do this another day," Drake said, taking a step back. "It looks like you need to upgrade your…whatever that is. It doesn't look…great."
"I assure you, it works perfectly well," Fenton said. "Aesthetics isn't necessary at this point in the experiment."
"All the same, perhaps we should wait until we can do the brain scan thingy, and maybe you could tweek that helmet a little bit," Drake said. "I mean, it's Charity's health and safety I'm thinking about. And if we wait a while…it's not like she's going anywhere."
Fenton knew that Drake's comment wasn't meant to be mean but pragmatic. "Or she might even wake up before I 'tweek' it a little," he said with a smile, hoping to cheer Drake up. "It's probably for the best since it would be good for us to get a baseline on your brain activity before subjecting you to the neural link-up. Let's go."
"Huh? Now?" Drake asked.
"Oh, yes. Dr. Gearloose has a CAT-scan at his lab, and we rarely can get him live test subjects to use it," Fenton said.
Drake blanched.
"That was also a joke. I think," Fenton said. He wasn't sure.
"Well, at least it won't be like last time you experimented on me and Charity," Drake said, and he finally gave a half-smile.
Fenton was glad Drake was more at ease, and he chuckled at the time he had performed several tests on Charity to see how Darkwing reacted while under the curse. He grabbed his box and lugged it to the door. "I'll meet you at the lab. I'll probably be working on something in the back, so take your time."
Drake smiled in appreciation, taking his seat back at Charity's side.
It hurt a little, seeing the two of them together. But Fenton was certain that it was Drake Charity had picked. Now if only she would wake up and convince Drake of that.
J. Gander sat down across the table from Swenlin Swine. The larger of the two was shackled and chained to the table, slumped forward in a defeated pose. He was dressed in a gray jumpsuit that may have been drab and depressing for some people, but it was a comforting color to Swine. Not to mention, he had other worries on his mind.
J. Gander folded his arms and leaned backward as if at ease with the larger man, as if he weren't a dangerous criminal. Well, perhaps he was a criminal, but without his statues, nobody at SHUSH feared him.
Swine stared at the agent through his one good eye. Already the magical concrete had spread across his face and was encroaching over his left eye, taking away half of his vision. The other specks that had fused with the skin on his face had also grown until his face had large gray splotches. Soon, his smooth, pink skin would be gray and rough. And it wasn't just his skin. He could feel the concrete diving into his flesh and bone. And although the concrete grew at a slow rate, it would eventually consume him.
He wondered what it was going to be like when the cancerous concrete would reach his brain. Would he slow down little by little? Would his thoughts become muddled as if he had brain damage? Or would his body just shut down, have a stroke and keel over? It was something to consider.
No, he didn't want to die. He was just…curious, that's all. Why worry about the future when death was approaching at a crawl. There was still time.
The two men sat in silence, and Swine knew this was a negotiation tactic. For some reason, the person who spoke first gave up a lot of power in the conversation, but Swine wasn't an interrogator. He was a businessman. And a businessman who waited or hesitated would lose sales.
"Let's cut to the chase, agent," Swine said. "I assume you want information, and although it would be a danger to me, I am willing to give it to you for a price."
"I'm not negotiating with you," J. Gander said.
"Oh, yes. That's what you want me to think," Swine said, leaning back with an air of relaxation. "And I'll tell you my whole story, my reasons for stealing, how I found out about the magic and why I turned to the wrong side of the law. Then the psychologist you have behind those windows…" Here he gestured to the one-way glass in the room. "…will tell you that I have some sort of delusion or emotional destress, and based off of their academic prowess, you'll get me to open up."
"I don't give a damn about your backstory," J. Gander said and tossed a pad and pen toward Swine. "You're going to give me all your criminal contacts, all your buyers, every person you have ever done business with, who didn't buy cement."
Swine pushed the pad and pen away. "And I am willing to give you all that for a price."
"And I told you I'm not negotiating," J. Gander said with narrowed eyes. "We don't negotiate with terrorists."
"Terrorists?" Swine repeated, startled. "I am no terrorist."
"You say that, but take a look at your record," J. Gander said. "You use some pretty powerful magic to animate stone statues and break into building and steal important secrets. Secrets that could harm a lot of people."
"I pride myself to be a businessman, not a terrorist," Swine said, getting a bad feeling where this was heading. "I made sure nobody got hurt during any of my heists, and everything I stole was completely harmless, corporate espionage at worst."
"Think again," J. Gander said. "Because of you, you might have given some unsavory people a very dangerous weapon."
"The Ramrod?" Swine said. "I did my research. It's useless. Not unless someone can find Dr. Waddlemyer wherever he is. Even Taurus Bulba couldn't rebuild it without the doctor's help, not that he could do anything while in prison."
"I'm not talking about the Ramrod," J. Gander said. "In New Jersey, the medical lab you hit a week ago. I'm talking about the virus you stole."
Swine jerked his head up. "What virus? I stole the formula for a new type of insulin."
"Don't lie to me," J. Gander shouted, pounding his fist on the table. "We both know there is no insulin. You stole a highly contagious, very dangerous, airborne virus from the lab and sold it to a secret organization. The same organization that introduced you to the red crystals that brings your statues to life."
"No! That's not what they told me," Swine defended. "It was insulin. I…I…That's what they told me."
"So you're saying that you can't be a terrorist because you're too stupid?" J. Gander accused.
Swine frowned. "Considering the alternatives, then yes. I'm stupid. I told you. I did my research. I broke into the lab's computers, made sure what I was stealing. Their records said it was insulin."
"They changed the records. The virus was a secret," J. Gander said.
"So how was I supposed to know about the virus if it was a secret?" Swine demanded. "I'm just a thief, and stupid according to you. It sounds as if you shouldn't be questioning me but the employees at the lab, because somebody knew about the virus."
J. Gander crossed his arms again and then tapped the notepad. "Write down the contact. We must get that virus back at all costs."
Swine looked at the pen and pad, and he almost did as he was told. Almost. After all, he wasn't a bad person. If the SHUSH agent was right, then many people could die, and he would be partially responsible, and he didn't want that blood on his hands.
But he also didn't want to die.
"Find a cure, and I will give you everything you asked for," Swine said, pushing the pad away again.
"There is no cure," J. Gander said.
"Then why have all those doctors come and examine me," Swine shouted, losing his temper. "You must have known about magic long before arresting me. You must have some idea as to how to help me or know of someone who can."
J. Gander shrugged. "Maybe."
"Then make it happen," Swine said. "I want a cure, and then I'll give you my buyer's information."
"Give us the information now, and I swear that we will do all in our power to help you," J. Gander said.
"So, you are negotiating?" Swine said with a half-cocked smile.
And while he wanted to withhold the information until he got what he wanted, he couldn't see how a stalemate would benefit him in the long-run. In the first place, finding a cure might take a long time and SHUSH was on a deadline to find the virus. And once his buyers find out he was in SHUSH custody, they will more than likely go underground before Swine can give them away. If SHUSH anticipates this, the offer for a cure could be off the table in a matter of days.
"I want it in writing and the Director of SHUSH to sign it with witnesses, one being you Gander," Swine said. "Once I have a copy and a copy is sent to my lawyer, I'll give you the information."
J. Gander nodded. "Very well. I'll get the papers written as quickly as I can, so don't get too comfortable in your cell. We'll get this done tonight."
The guard came in and took Swine away back to his living arrangement, cement walls and bars with very little privacy and hardly any room for a man his size to move around. He sat on the cot once the chains and cuffs were removed, and once more, he thought it funny that so much security was needed for him. After all, he didn't have any more crystals and no cement to mix them into. Not that cement was necessary. Any material would have worked: clay, playdough, even water and flour. The crystals just had to be ground down to a powder and mixed in; at least that's what the wizard who first gave him the crystals told him.
But he had none of those. He didn't have his statues anymore. He had heard someone mention that they had found his warehouse and smashed all his works of art to smithereens. It was a shame. He had some really good pieces in there.
Now all he had to wait to make a deal with SHUSH, one of the most powerful government-run organizations in the world, and hoped that their resources were enough to stop the concrete blotches from spreading before he turned into a statue himself. If things worked out, his life would be spared.
But what was a life without art and freedom. It was doubtful that SHUSH would be willing to let him continue his artistic hobby by bringing him cement and tools, so it was up to him to attain his freedom and thus return to his art.
Staring at the opposite wall, he focused on one of the cement bricks that was surrounded by mortar and others of its kind. He cocked his finger and wiggled it, his eyes never wavering.
Very minutely and distinctly, the concrete brick wiggled.
Swine smiled.
(Author's Notes: First off, a while ago, I had a lot of trouble with and I decided upon leaving the site entirely. Since then, I have heard that has fixed those problems, but I am not certain whether or not I want to leave or not. I will not delete my account, but I am very tempted upon not updating my fanfics. But a part of me isn't certain since there are still a lot of good people on the site and I think I will give another shot. However, just in case, if anyone has an AO3 account, not only do I update that site first, but I also am more likely to communicate/answer questions/get in discussions on AO3 because I find it easier to use.
The delay in posting this chapter is due to circumstances beyond my control. Seasonal depression has hit me hard this year due to several unfortunate problems. I will try to keep this short because I don't like to go into my personal life in minute details but this is something that is going to affect my writing in the future. A few weeks ago, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I don't know what the future is going to be like for me, but at this point, I have no plans to stop writing this story. I love this story, I love the characters in the DT17 universe and my OC Charity. I want to be able to share everything I have planned and I will do my best to keep writing.)