Breaking Bad (Duck Dillinger Standalones)
Sept 18, 2012 8:45:13 GMT -5
Post by heartwood on Sept 18, 2012 8:45:13 GMT -5
969
Black duffle bag. Check. Black hooded sweatshirt. Check. Black sunglasses. Check. Gloves, pants, sneakers, face mask, hunting knife. Check, check, check, check, and check. Almost everything was there, laid out before him. He just needed a few more things, and then it was off to the races for Duck Dillinger.
He had been making a good amount of money on the side, but his mother’s apothecary only held so much equipment; he needed a way to make more powerful stuff in larger amounts. More product meant more money, and more money meant that Duck’s life would continue to be relatively hunger pain-free. Duck didn’t like starving. His father’s ranch was a good provider of food, but most of it was sold in order to keep up a certain standard of living. Electricity and good plumbing isn’t cheap, and sometimes there was barely enough food to go around.
The injured had found other ways to treat their illnesses. Much to Duck’s chagrin, his mother had never taken the bribes that would give her customers just a little extra Morphling to ease their ailments. She was a woman of strong moral foundation; she would never in Duck’s wildest dreams do anything illegal, and even though it would make her life way easier, the apothecary did everything by the book. And it suffered for it.
But Duck had a plan, a way to make more and spend less doing so. For the first time in Duck’s criminal career, he was going to branch out. He was going to steal.
Duck took his gear and made his way out to his father’s stables. There, he grabbed a pair of bolt cutters and his father’s tool box, and loaded it all into the bag. He slung it around his shoulder and stopped to brush his horse’s hair. Abacus neighed, ceasing only after she was hushed for a second time by Duck’s whispers. He fed her a couple of carrots, and went out into the night, walking down the trail to town.
It was a half an hour walk; he could have ridden the horse down, but after the riot the Peacekeepers had been on high alert for any suspicious activity. It was much easier to weave in and out of trouble on his own; he would never leave his horse in the middle of danger, and he was completely unwilling to get arrested. Duck ducked his way around Marisol’s house, slipping into the town completely unnoticed. District ten was normally more lively during the nighttime, but there was a small street festival earlier that morning, and all the hoodlums and delinquents were probably completely wasted and incapacitated already. Most of the creatures who came out at night had already sampled some of Duck’s latest creation; and like many of the other substances he had tinkered with and explored, his drugs were a smashing success.
Duck caught a glimpse of a Peacekeeper guarding the merchant quarters of the district square, and could only hope his destination was far less protected. After a few more minutes of walking, he came up to a chain-locked fence, on it was a sign. It read, “Public School 46”. Taking a brief look around, Duck quickly dropped to one knee, snatching the bolt cutter from the bag within seconds. He quickly popped the lock off the gate, put the cutters back into the bag, and closed the fence behind him as he made his way inward.
There was no reason to run. Schools didn’t carry anything of real value, so it only made sense that there were no Peacekeepers there to guard from intruders. He looked up at the cameras, his mask guarded his face from recognition, and he could only smile behind his mask as a feeling of near invulnerability washed over him. He took the bolt cutters out again, cutting the lock off the front door. Cheap little things, school locks were; if there was anything worth stealing within these walls, pretty much anyone could get to them. But most people didn’t think there was; Duck knew differently.
After making his way inside, Duck took a miniature flashlight from the toolbox and pointed it down the hallway, illuminating the area directly in front of him. He kept his eyes moving quickly; he wasn’t afraid of the dark but he found it entirely uncomfortable to be in a place like this at this time. He roamed around the hallway until he got to the chemistry lab. He took the end of the bolt cutters and smashed them through the glass door. Part of him felt guilty that the school janitor would have to clean this up. Someone might lose his or her job over this, someone might starve because of him. But it wasn’t going to be his family. His family would eat well for a long while.
Duck placed an old towel on the edge of the glass so he would cut himself, and reached inside. He had trouble reaching the lever. The window was an awkward shape and the lever was just low enough that they couldn’t reach it on his own. The window was thin, so sticking something like the bolt cutters through wouldn’t help him turn the doorknob at all. He doubled back, looking for something to stand on. Every door was identical, so trying to break into the others wasn’t really going to help. He made his way to the counselor’s office; there were sure to be couches or chairs outside. When he found what he was looking for, he took it back to the front of the chemistry lab and stood on top. The new angle he was given worked perfectly to open the door; he turned the lock until he heard a soft click: his jackpot was only a few feet away.
Black duffle bag. Check. Black hooded sweatshirt. Check. Black sunglasses. Check. Gloves, pants, sneakers, face mask, hunting knife. Check, check, check, check, and check. Almost everything was there, laid out before him. He just needed a few more things, and then it was off to the races for Duck Dillinger.
He had been making a good amount of money on the side, but his mother’s apothecary only held so much equipment; he needed a way to make more powerful stuff in larger amounts. More product meant more money, and more money meant that Duck’s life would continue to be relatively hunger pain-free. Duck didn’t like starving. His father’s ranch was a good provider of food, but most of it was sold in order to keep up a certain standard of living. Electricity and good plumbing isn’t cheap, and sometimes there was barely enough food to go around.
The injured had found other ways to treat their illnesses. Much to Duck’s chagrin, his mother had never taken the bribes that would give her customers just a little extra Morphling to ease their ailments. She was a woman of strong moral foundation; she would never in Duck’s wildest dreams do anything illegal, and even though it would make her life way easier, the apothecary did everything by the book. And it suffered for it.
But Duck had a plan, a way to make more and spend less doing so. For the first time in Duck’s criminal career, he was going to branch out. He was going to steal.
Duck took his gear and made his way out to his father’s stables. There, he grabbed a pair of bolt cutters and his father’s tool box, and loaded it all into the bag. He slung it around his shoulder and stopped to brush his horse’s hair. Abacus neighed, ceasing only after she was hushed for a second time by Duck’s whispers. He fed her a couple of carrots, and went out into the night, walking down the trail to town.
It was a half an hour walk; he could have ridden the horse down, but after the riot the Peacekeepers had been on high alert for any suspicious activity. It was much easier to weave in and out of trouble on his own; he would never leave his horse in the middle of danger, and he was completely unwilling to get arrested. Duck ducked his way around Marisol’s house, slipping into the town completely unnoticed. District ten was normally more lively during the nighttime, but there was a small street festival earlier that morning, and all the hoodlums and delinquents were probably completely wasted and incapacitated already. Most of the creatures who came out at night had already sampled some of Duck’s latest creation; and like many of the other substances he had tinkered with and explored, his drugs were a smashing success.
Duck caught a glimpse of a Peacekeeper guarding the merchant quarters of the district square, and could only hope his destination was far less protected. After a few more minutes of walking, he came up to a chain-locked fence, on it was a sign. It read, “Public School 46”. Taking a brief look around, Duck quickly dropped to one knee, snatching the bolt cutter from the bag within seconds. He quickly popped the lock off the gate, put the cutters back into the bag, and closed the fence behind him as he made his way inward.
There was no reason to run. Schools didn’t carry anything of real value, so it only made sense that there were no Peacekeepers there to guard from intruders. He looked up at the cameras, his mask guarded his face from recognition, and he could only smile behind his mask as a feeling of near invulnerability washed over him. He took the bolt cutters out again, cutting the lock off the front door. Cheap little things, school locks were; if there was anything worth stealing within these walls, pretty much anyone could get to them. But most people didn’t think there was; Duck knew differently.
After making his way inside, Duck took a miniature flashlight from the toolbox and pointed it down the hallway, illuminating the area directly in front of him. He kept his eyes moving quickly; he wasn’t afraid of the dark but he found it entirely uncomfortable to be in a place like this at this time. He roamed around the hallway until he got to the chemistry lab. He took the end of the bolt cutters and smashed them through the glass door. Part of him felt guilty that the school janitor would have to clean this up. Someone might lose his or her job over this, someone might starve because of him. But it wasn’t going to be his family. His family would eat well for a long while.
Duck placed an old towel on the edge of the glass so he would cut himself, and reached inside. He had trouble reaching the lever. The window was an awkward shape and the lever was just low enough that they couldn’t reach it on his own. The window was thin, so sticking something like the bolt cutters through wouldn’t help him turn the doorknob at all. He doubled back, looking for something to stand on. Every door was identical, so trying to break into the others wasn’t really going to help. He made his way to the counselor’s office; there were sure to be couches or chairs outside. When he found what he was looking for, he took it back to the front of the chemistry lab and stood on top. The new angle he was given worked perfectly to open the door; he turned the lock until he heard a soft click: his jackpot was only a few feet away.
