Repository: Darkwing Duck

Chapter 10: Chemistry

Bud Flud was a chemistry nerd. He wasn't proud of it.

It wasn't like he was the type to think intelligence was a flaw or to feel particularly threatened by those who did think so. On the contrary, he saw intelligence as a vital asset — especially his own intelligence.

But it just didn't really fit with his image. He was a business man. He was charming, but not overly agreeable. He was competent at what he did, but was just ignorant enough to not be a threat. He was open and friendly, but had just enough secrets to seem real.

A chemistry degree would be out of place in his line of work. Which is why he never got around to actually earning one. The fact that he could earn one, rather easily in fact, remained a closely guarded secret, known only to his estranged family and his ex-wife.

Which meant that large orders of chemicals and lab supplies couldn't be seen among his credit card purchases. Getting said items was his first major foray in St Canard's criminal scene, which was rather different than the one in Duckburg, but he managed.

At the point where getting arrested and losing his growing company became a risk, one might think he would've decided to either give up his hobby or let it be public knowledge and obtain what he needed in a more legal manner.

But he was a Beagle. And estranged or not, that still meant something to him. Corporate espionage and political sabatoge were fun, but they lacked the rush of a good heist or the style of a handoff in an alley. So he kept his hobby a secret, let it anchor him firmly within the shadows he was so used to, and continued on with his life.

Until the day he saw a heat wave warning on the news and got a truly awful idea. A truly awful, horrible, not-nice-at-all idea. He was going to poison his rivals' water supplies. His tail wagged in excitement at the idea, thumping hard against his chair.

It should be noted at this point that Bud Flud was many things, but he was not a murderer. The poisons he had in mind would just taste bad, they wouldn't be harmful, at least not long-term. And people would still have his company's water and tap water to turn to, so he was sure everything would be fine.

Later, he would remember tap water, his newly melted brain struggling to find the context for such a thought.

Later, he would remove tap water from the equation, making his own exorbitantly-priced bottles the only option.

Later still, when his body was hard and unmoving and in the center of an unfamiliar yard, he would break down over how many might have died from heatstroke or dehydration.

But in the beginning he was sane, if maybe lacking in empathy, and he was not the sort of person to risk people dying or try to murder a superhero or to kidnap a little girl.

All of that would come later.