A Complicated Business

[Sans]

Earlier…

Marlin had never realized just how empty the prison was before.

As he was lead through the dimly-lit cell blocks, his eyes were drawn to the hundreds of steel bars lining the thick, stone walls. They were barren, and every layer of every toilet and sink and bed was coated with a fabric of dust. Despite the lack of use, they still looked good as new. The walls within were unblemished, the yellow paint had only darkened a tiny amount, and someone must have gone through great pains to polish the bars to a sparkling shine. Groups of Rando Army soldiers marched to and fro, sneering at the old man as they passed him by. Armed with muskets and swords, they paced the length of the cells like the well-trained force they were. To Dustin, though, they guarded no one except their invisible captives. For a building so rarely utilized, he could only wonder why the Mayor would go to such lengths to maintain a facade such as this. The only people who would see the inside were the prisoners and their captors, anyway.   

With that in mind, his brow creased. He couldn’t remember ANYONE in the city, or in the entire island, ever being arrested or even arguing with the police. Well, aside from that one white-shirted Imperial diplomat. What was his name? He believed it was Richard, though it could have also been Roger or Ralph. He remembered the man kicking and screaming as the red-faced soldiers dragged him into the… into the…

Dammit, what’s the name? Of all th- oh! The ‘Rando’ Federal Medical Penitentiary… Prison? No, definitely Penitentiary…

His head pounded as he tried to bring back those memories. A white-shirted man… kicking and… he was screaming for help, bloodshot eyes bulging out of his sockets as he was carted off into a dark room… muffled… muffled voices behind…

There were two floors inside the prison block; stairs led up to the second from the first. A metal walkway hung high above the ground, a marksman standing on top to gaze down at the nothingness below. The railing’s shadow fell upon the prisoner and his escort as they walked, slashing the room in half and bathing them in darkness. The sharpshooter’s silhouette was unmoving, his musket as stiff as a board, but it seemed to grow bigger as Dustin reached the other side of the room. He felt a shiver run down his spine as he noticed its head shift the slightest inch towards his location.

Eventually, he was escorted out of the prison area and down a series of hallways. The lanterns above flickered and buzzed with golden, pattern-filled lighting, becoming more intense as he was dragged to a green door with a rapidly pulsating lantern hanging over it. The sign above the door, a bronze sign with big, foreboding letters, read as followed:

“Interrogation Room.”

His lips quivered as his escort grabbed the wooden handle of the door. It opened with a shrill creak.

The room was just as small and as claustrophobic as he had remembered it. There was only enough room for the brown door in front of him, the large, easily fifteen foot in width window that revealed what was in the very next room, and a console directly underneath the window with a set of medium-sized knobs and glowing mechanical buttons of alternating colors attached to it. The old man took a quick look through the window, and his blood turned cold.

It was Mayor Nicholas. The room was covered in black, serrated, soundproofing foam. The Mayor sat in the middle of the room where a small, wooden table lay. His orange-furred head hung low as he sliced through a ham with a silver knife. His fishing hat was off, uncovering his lowered ears and his darkened eyes. A bloodied ham of smaller size sat on a plate directly opposite to the fox with a wooden knife and fork impaling it.

The former confidant froze to the spot. He could not tell just what the Mayor was planning on doing to him, but he was more than certain that it would end with him being in worse shape than when he had entered. He tried to recall exactly what he did with his captives, but nothing came up despite his internal protests.

His guard pushed him towards the brown door. Just to make a point, the soldier had also whipped out his club and began beating it against the palm of his hand. No words had to be spoken for Marlin to know what would happen if he didn’t hurry up.

The handle stuck to his hand as he delicately twisted it and pushed the door open. He took a deep breath just as he stepped inside, digging his hands into the pockets of his coat to hide them from view.

The door locked behind him. There was no way out.

The vulpine did not look up from his meal. Instead, he cut off a small portion of his ham, jabbing it with his fork before sliding it into his maw. There was an unoccupied chair in front of the uneaten ham. It was tilted diagonally towards Dustin, as if to invite him to the meal. He obliged.

Neither one looked each other in the eyes, nor spoke to one another, for several minutes. The old man certainly tried, as he refused to lay a single finger on the food in front of him and thus did not remove his hands from his pockets. Instead, he spent his time staring at the Mayor, his face blank. He could see the fox’s snout was wet with snot, and it was plainly obvious to the both of them that the canine was doing all he could not to get in direct eye contact with the writer.

He couldn’t say he did not predict this reaction would occur. He just didn’t want to see it.

After an awkward silence, the mayor choked down one last piece of meat before opening his mouth. His voice came out as a dull, emotionless murmur.

“You haven’t eaten your ham…”

The human looked down at his food. It was true; his ham was untouched. He gawked at it for a few seconds.

“There’s no salt in it,” he said, having nothing else to respond with.

The Mayor forced out a chuckle. “You and your salt…”

“I don’t know if I can eat this without salt, Nicholas…” he said.

“You can’t eat anything without salt,” the fox replied, “carrots, beans, wine… doesn’t matter, it needs salt. It’s bad for your blood pressure, Marlin…”

“And so my punishment is to be forced to eat my ham without salt. Truly, there is no crueler fate that could befall one such as myself.”

It was small, but he could see the faintest curl of a smile form on the Mayor’s face. A more genuine chuckle soon followed. The human could feel his lips curve into a smile as well.

“Indeed, dear Marlin, indeed…” the vulpine said, his chuckle trailing off until he was dead silent again.

“What happened to that?”

Dustin blinked. “To what?”

“To this. Being able to eat your ham with the salt. What happened to that?”

The writer blinked again. “I don’t understand. What are you saying?”

“Come now, Marlin, you’re a writer. What do you think I’m saying?”

The old man gave it some thought. His eyes narrowed after a few short minutes. “First off, the metaphor doesn’t work. I don’t see a salt capsule anywhere, so you’re not doing it properly-”

“I don’t care if I’m not doing it properly!” Nicholas said, slamming his paws down onto the desk. Marlin squeaked and bit his lip.

“I don’t give a damn how it’s supposed to be done! I’m not going to listen to you trying to educate me as to how a goddamn metaphor works! The point is that I gave you a choice, and you took the one that you knew would topple me, Marlin!”

He remained plastered to his seat as the fox shouted to him.

“I gave you everything! I gave you a job you loved, a home you were comfortable in, and enough money to support your family! And I did all of that because of everything you had done for me! Because you deserved it for helping me! You deserved all the money and all the luxuries anyone could get! And then you took all of that and spat in MY FACE!”

Another bang on the table, only this time Dustin wondered how the fox hadn’t snapped it in two already. He glanced up towards the fox, who’s head was now in plain view. He could see that his eyes were red, though not from any drug, and his fur was matted and stained underneath them. He was glaring at him; rage, disappointment, confusion, and despair all plastered onto his orange mammalian visage

“I-I was only doing what was right…” Marlin said, looking away from the Mayor.

“You were doing that all along!” Nicholas cried, “why can’t you realize that? You helped me, Marlin! You did! You helped me when I was at my worst! I confided in you, and you listened! Does all of that mean NOTHING to you?!”

He did not respond. The fox stood up in his chair, scratching the wood of the table, and stared at him. His eyes were widened like that of a begging dog.

“What happened to that, Marlin…? What happened to friendship? I trusted you…”

The vulpine placed a padded foot on top of the table and began to walk towards the old man. Marlin did not look; Nicholas’ words had struck true. He felt a sharp pain in his stomach as the fox closed the distance. Rando grabbed the writer’s chin, forcing him to look upward. From up close, Dustin could see the faintest hint of wetness around his friend’s eyes.

“Tell me, Marlin. Why? I can’t bear not knowing.”

“I was blind,” the old man said after a long period of time, “I wanted to help because I pitied you. Then you poisoned me with your drug, and now you have the whole city under your paw. A city you didn’t earn.”

He felt the Mayor’s claws dig into his flesh. Before he could even wince, the fox tightened his grip around his head and slammed it into the table. Everything was blurry and black for a few long moments, and by the time he had recovered, the two things he could comprehend were the massive amounts of red liquid pouring out from his nose and the spittle on his cheek as his friend screamed at him.

“I earned ALL OF THIS! Didn’t you LISTEN AT ALL?! I DESERVE this city! I deserve this island! Five GOD DAMN YEARS, and you have the NERVE to say I DIDN’T EARN THIS?!”

He smashed Marlin’s head against the table again and again and again, blood spilling forth onto the tabletop as his claws stabbed into his head and slashed his wrinkled cheeks. Pain coursed through Dustin’s cranium; everything was incomprehensible; everything was just a series of brown and orange blurs and black dots in his eyes. He didn’t know why he wasn’t screaming, or maybe he was. He could no longer tell if the inhuman wails belonged to him or his maddened mammalian friend.

Finally, after what felt like ages, Nicholas lifted the human’s head off of the bloodied table. He slammed his fist into his former friend’s chest. The chair the writer sat on toppled to the floor, taking Marlin with him. It clattered against the stone ground, wood crackling as Dustin rolled onto his side. He spat out a wad of bloody phlegm, a small tooth joining the mixture of blood, mucus, and saliva.  

He looked upwards; his friend towered over him, claws extended and poised to strike. He raised his arms to defend himself.

The fox stopped. His eyes widened, but not in anger. “Your hands…”

My hands… Marlin stared at them. The back of his hands were darkened due to the light above, but he could still make out various details. His fingernails were falling off, with only one rotten hangnail on his left index finger. There were scratch marks all over the back of his hands that oozed a thick, greasy substance. His hands had a dark-purple pigmentation like that of a grapefruit.

He gasped. His secret was out!

Before he could hide his hands again, however, the fox hopped down onto the ground and held them up to his face. A sharp pain flooded the old man’s senses for a brief moment.

“You stopped taking Sugarcane…” he said, though he did not sound surprised.

“Y-Yes…”

“Why? What could ha-”

The fox’s paws stiffened around the old man’s hands. Marlin’s lips quivered as the vulpine’s face changed. He was glaring, a snarl morphing onto his lips. He could see his teeth, sharp and jagged, jutting out from his mouth.

“You found her, didn’t you?”

His muscles began to tighten; his heart began to race; sweat poured down from his face.

“That’s why you did this… you’re going to forget…”

He had to use all of his willpower not to scream as the Mayor’s claws raked his hand. The fox smacked him to the floor and roared at him.

“You selfish, treacherous FUCK!”

The Mayor clamped his paws around the old man’s collar, lifting his torso off of the ground. He placed his snout directly into Dustin’s battered face, the smell of blood and other bodily fluids invading his nostrils as he growled.

“You’re just like them. I thought you were my friend…” he said. It took every ounce of his will not to tear this man, this human, this liar, this THING into a million bloody pieces. “You’re never leaving this island alive.”

He threw Marlin to the ground. “Get him out of my sight…”

Present...

“Captain!”

A wave of guilt rushed through him as he stared at the heap that the star-spangled soldier was in. He had led the others towards the Interrogation Room, as that was where the Mayor had taken the Captain to. He had no idea what the Mayor wanted from him, but judging from the numerous injuries the Avenger had sustained, it was clear he had wanted it badly.

He charged forth, being among the first to get close enough to get a good look at him. He did not, however, remove his hands from his pockets to comfort him. Rather, he just talked.

“Forgive me, Captain. I-I did not anticipate h-he would do this!”

That, of course, was a plain lie. From what he could remember, this was Rando’s response to everything. If one person could not talk, the other would. If they still could not, beat it out of them. Everyone had a limit; no one could sustain torture for long. Still, it seemed that the Cap believed him, as the Avenger gave a half-hearted nod in his direction.

He quickly moved out of the way as Marcus and the one called Hellboy moved past him and lifted the Captain off of his feet. Ratchet fluttered past and landed on his shoulder; he had felt a huge wave of relief seeing the raven inside their cell window.

“Our primary task has been completed,” The Vision said, floating in the air, “due to the Captain’s medical status, however, I highly recommend an immediate retreat to tend his wounds. In his current condition, arresting the person responsible for the current status of this city would be ill-advised.”

“I agree with the walking encyclopedia,” said Hellboy, spinning the chamber of his over-sized revolver. Dustin flinched; the demon looked all too similar to a Rando Army Brute for his own good, and his overall mannerisms did not ease any tension inside the human’s old and withered bones.

“With that in mind, mister wooden pickle, who is the one responsible for this?” the red robot said.

“My name is… my name is…” Marlin said as he frowned. My name, what is it? What is- ah, there it is. “My name is Marlin Dustin, sir. And the one responsible for this is Mayor Rando. He’s the one who drugged the citizens.”

The Vision nodded. “Where is his current whereabouts?”

He paused again. He looked around. None of the others said anything; it was clear they did not know where he was either. Where had he gone when the chaos began?

He struggled to bring back his memories. It couldn’t have been cowardice; Rando wasn’t known for that sort of behavior. No, it had to have been pragmatism. Live to fight another day, so to speak. But there was no way he would simply allow a massive group like the Avengers to break into his city without him alerting his militia about it-

Oh no.

Before any of the others could ask why he suddenly tensed up, he was already halfway down the hallway. He shouted over his shoulder.

“We need to leave, NOW! We need to get out of this city!”

————

Meanwhile…

The Mayor pushed up against the hatch. Once he opened it, he felt the wetness of the pouring rain.

He climbed up the ladder and onto the rooftop. He shivered and twitched, shaking himself to remove some of the excess rainwater from his fur. He looked back down the hatch. No one had followed him. Perfect.

He could not have anticipated the reinforcements. They had cut through his forces like a hot knife through butter. This called for drastic measures.

He slid his paw inside his coat and pulled out a wooden, flute-like instrument. It was brown in appearance, with around six holes in the base. At the very end of the instrument, however, the tube increased in circumference, instead morphing the appearance of the tool into that of a cross between a flute and a horn. He had only had to use this a total of four times in the past, and never any more intensely than normal, but this time, it looked like he had to use it again.

He pressed his lips around the tip of the flute, his fingers clogging one hole. He took a deep breath.

“Hey!”

He gasped. He looked behind him.

In the middle of the rooftop stood a little girl. Her brown hair stuck to her face, and her striped shirt was matted to her chest. He was glaring at him and jabbing a finger at him.

“What are you doing up here, little girl?” he said, keeping his flute out of sight for the moment. He was going to judge her intentions first before making any sudden actions. He doubted this, but perhaps her and the invading group were separated.