Drowning (In What I've Done)

Chapter 2: Saved! Kidnapped? Eh, Same Dif

A cement statue can't see, but it can apparently hear. Which sort of makes sense, sound is just vibration, after all. Liquidator heard everything around him, feeling vaguely insulted when he realized he'd been placed in some schmuck's yard.

He felt sick when he realized that yard belonged to the little girl he'd tried to kidnap. A daily reminder of what he'd done, how crazy he'd gone, who he had hurt. He had to hand it to Darkwing, the duck was excellent at torture.

He could hardly be sure how long his statue had been there before it was moved, loaded into a vehicle by the sound of it. Weeks, months? At this point, it might've even been years. He couldn't tell.

He felt something pull at him, not at the statue, at his essence. For the first time in ages, he opened his eyes, taking in the relatively bright light and turning it into something he could understand. He was in a fish tank bolted to the wall in the back of a large cargo truck, staring at the statue he'd been in so long.

He splashed around in the tank, uncaring why he was there, relishing the simple freedom that came with being caged rather than frozen. Ah, to have his true body back! It took him a few minutes to relearn how to see, how to feel touch, how to solidify and melt. Hearing was easy, he'd never stopped having that. It had taken him a week to learn all these things when he'd first been reborn.

He wondered if he could still speak. Leaning against the glass, Liquidator practiced vibrating his body, making a variety of random sounds before he felt ready to try turning his garbled voice into words. "H-hel-hello?"

His eyes went wide at the stutter. It was probably due to not speaking for so long, but it was a terrible first impression to make on his saviour/kidnapper.

Whoever was driving either couldn't hear or didn't care, and Liquidator gave up after only a handful more times. To his absolute horror, his newfound speech impediment wouldn't go away.

They drove for a while, until sunlight stopped streaming in through the clear roof, before parking inside an abandoned warehouse.

The back of the truck opened, allowing the entrance of a very familiar duck. Liquidator growled — just what game was his tormentor playing at?!

"Has winning become dull? Not getting the same amusement you used to out of your enemy's humiliation?" Liquidator asked, noting somewhere in the back of his head that he wasn't stuttering. "Gloating to a unresponsive statue not enough? Then try–"

"I'm not Dorkwing." The duck's voices was deep and rough, his scowling beak filled with sharp teeth. Suddenly, he didn't seem so similar to the Terror That Flaps In The Night.

"Having trouble creating your own brand?" Liquidator snarked, crossing his arms. "Nine out of ten criminals do not recommend looking to Dipwing for inspiration."

The duck walked casually up to the glass, running a finger down it as if to inspect for dust. "If ya ever say I copied him again," his voice was dangerously calm, sharp gaze suddenly locked onto Liquidator's own, pinning him with inexplicable force, "I'll turn ya back into a statue and bury ya in the desert. Got it, knob?"

Liquidator gulped, nodding.

"Good. Now, I'm Lord Negaduck." The duck grinned. It was not a nice expression. "You can call me 'Boss'..."