I honestly have no idea where this came from, haha. But it was such a hilarious idea I couldn't pass it up- especially since the ridiculous premise fit so well with this movie. I don't even- pure crack, I'd say. But crack that works!
Seriously, never in my life did I think I'd be doing a "cold war" story. Especially for something like this. But, wow; this just had to be done! It had to be.
Heads up: The story's not written in chronological order. We're actually starting with the "climax" and winding down as the thing goes on. And I'm not typing accents phonetically.
Disclaimer: I don't own DM.
Normal text = English
Over the fence; get over the fence. And then-
Then what? Then what? Then what? He checked the gun again, desperately hoping he wasn't imagining its sudden light weight. Confound it all! It wasn't loaded- not anymore. But no one else knew that, at least; his grip tightened.
The shadows closed in, the gray storage buildings tempting him to hide- no, no! can't fall for it.
The barbed fence was a little ways off, just a few more long, long yards. He stopped, sunk in the shadows, and gasped for breath.
Hold it, hold the breath, slow, easy. The footsteps approached, fast and quiet. How many? He couldn't focus- at least two, no, one, no three, no-
"Igumnov, I know you're still here."
Four. There were four.
"What? Can't understand English, Igumnov?"
He crept the other way. They knew he'd go for the fence. No, he'd have to take the long way. The shadows stretched; follow the trail.
It hadn't been this way since he was a boy, a wee little boy. And Maman was telling him to be quiet, to be damn quiet- not a sound or they'd be caught, just like Papa, just like Papa.
"You know, son, you're just like your father- LAME."
The butt of steal against his head. He held the gun up in an attempt to say "see? I've got one too!"
"Drop it," a low voice commanded.
He didn't move. "Drop it." This time the voice said it in accented Russian. His hand lowered.
"You know, Igumnov, you were good- real good."
He heard the gun behind him cock. "That's not even your name is it, Mr. Gru?"
He tore around, spun, and leapt, rolling over the man, fists pounding, limbs working so furiously that he thought they would both die.
"You did the right thing," the stone-faced man repeated, beady eyes staring down at the child before him.
She looked away, feet barely touching the floor on account of the chair's height. The man placed one hand on the table between them.
"Do you understand, M...?"
She adjusted the overly large spectacles on her face and sucked in a breath. She hated lying. But not this time; this time, she needed to lie.
"Mister Perkins, I didn't have any evidence- I mean, I was just scared."
She wanted the words to come out right; they had to be innocent, undetectable.
"He wasn't... the nicest guy." What an understatement. "And I was just scared- you know, like a little kid. So I called the police- and you answered and-"
She made sure to make her voice crack, to stare with wide eyes. Too bad I'm not Agnes.
"I just wanted us to go somewhere else- I- I didn't know it'd get Mr. Gru in so much trouble!"
But you DID know... But that was before the moon, before Vector.
"He's just an immigrant, Mr. Perkins. That's all!"
Now she was genuinely sobbing. There wasn't any need to fake the tears after all.
"He was spying on my department, he was stealing American weapons." Perkins was unfazed (to her disappointment).
He leaned forward and grabbed the child's chin with one hand. "And whatever relation we had would get me in lots of trouble."
The implication sank in and the girl's eyes glistened with horror. "So let's just say you're the witness and I turned him in. You wouldn't want me to have to keep you and the rest of the brats quiet, would you?"
The other hand crushed an apple.
She shook her head slowly.
Keep moving, keep moving. That was one down, three to get past.
He held the gun up. It was a shame that the American's weapon had wasted its last bullet on... him. This day keeps getting better and better!
And he was bleeding, somewhere. He didn't have time to think about it- all he knew was that it was leaving a dangerous trail of blood and that it was slowing him down, waaayyy down.
"Igumnov," they called, "you can't hide for long!"
The worst he faced was deportation. He didn't really want to know about what to face after that. No doubt, his former bosses would be "upset" with him.
He was so bent on moving forward that he forgot to look up.
A man crashed on him from above, and this time he probably couldn't win the scuffle.
"Is there a way to get them off?"
He stared nervously at the thing on his leg, a black-haired chocolate eyed child with a face so sickeningly sweet that it made him want to barf. And this was the less than successful start of ex-Agent Igumnov's master plan.
He stared dizzily upwards, the man's jaunty face regarding him with disdain. He knew this man. What the hell?
"Demidov! What the-"
"Thought I was on the other side, Felonius?"
The man stepped down. More pressure on his back. He couldn't wrap his head around it- Demidov had been hell-bent on taking him down a decade ago, but that was when...
"You're not the only one that went rogue, comrade."
Demidov grinned and pointed his pistol. "Unlike you, I just switched sides."
OH. Oh, Chyort voz'mi!
"Why would you want to go 'dance class'?" he asked with that annoying accent.
The girls ignored him, continuing down their path. If Mr. Grusome didn't want to drive them, fine! Margo would just lead her sisters there- she always made it a habit to remember addresses.
"So you can dance like Michael Jackson? HA! You'll never be THAT good!"
They were almost to the end of the block.
"I'm still not driving you!"
They kept walking.
They were about to cross the bend. A loud, humiliated sigh from "Fester Addams."
"Just tell me where eet is."
"Hey! Hey! Help! Hello, anyone?"
Edith gave a cry of frustration before sitting back down, arms folded across her chest. Agnes did the same. The cell was too small for comfort and Margo had a feeling that something or someone was guarding them from behind the two-way mirror (she had a feeling it was two-way, anyway).
"I bet they're gonna torture us. And use our skin to make books and decorations."
"Guys, quiet! No one is going to be tortured!"
"Not even...?" the blonde trailed off. Margo didn't answer.
Demidov still had horrible aim- after all these years, the Soviet agent still had the aim of an unskilled five-year-old. But he had improved; he'd managed to shoot his target at least twice.
Said target really, really hoped the bullets just grazed him. Not that it was his best day ever, but it didn't hurt to hope.
"Well, comrade, you interested in knowing who turned you in?"
He tried to crawl away and stopped in his tracks. "T- turned in?"
Demidov sneered, crouching over him. "Go on, guess. It's someone close to you."
He thought: well, there were quite a lot of people who would be willing to turn him in, his own mother included. But even she didn't HATE him that much, did she? Close, close.
Demidov laughed. "Nefario, former double agent from the BIA, as funny as it would be, no, it's not him."
Wait. He knew now. He knew.
"How does it feel to be- wait, what?"
"I knew it!"
Demidov groaned. "You just couldn't let me have a moment, could you, comrade? No! It was that girl."
"You know, the little one with the glasses."
He didn't have a chance to respond before something smashed into Demidov's head, a yellow, odd-looking thing by the name of Dave.
Little one with glasses? It clicked. Oh, the irony. He smirked bitterly.
These Americans and their little weapons. Felonius Gru had escaped prison for an infinite number of times, had never been caught in an operation, had became infamous for stealing Soviet and North American technology with success, had successfully evaded the law's radar for who knows how long, and had actually stolen the moon for a grand total of fiteen minutes.
And all it took was one little girl to take him down.
The handsome man said his name was Lloyd Richardson; he told them everything would be alright. All nice and calm and soothing. He sat across from them, hands folded in a friendly posture and waiting patiently for them to speak, with the casual demeanor of someone in a hotel bar. Just like the movies.
"We really don't know anything," Margo repeated, trying not to sound too nervous.
"Tsk, tsk, don't lie. We've got all day, kids."
"Do you, like, shoot people all day?" Edith suddenly asked.
"No. And remember, I'm asking the questions here."
"Do you like unicorns?"
"Yes. Now, just tell me your answers, girls- don't worry. Just relax and talk."
This is going to take forever. Margo frowned. "You already know everything." Everything that I told Perkins. Way to go, Margo.
"Where's Russia?" Agnes piped in.
Lloyd sighed. "In Europe and Asia."
"Is that where Mr. Gru is?"
The man smiled, taking a moment to form his answer. "No, not yet. But he will be, very very soon."
"Can we go with him?"
"Is he coming back?"
Beep. It was a brief sound- Margo saw Lloyd pull a message of dots from the fax machine (?) beside him. The man paled, grit his teeth, and jumped up, nearly knocking the table over.
"So that's how you want to play it, Igumnov," he muttered harshly. "Girls, stay right here!"
"You, my friend, are in a lot of trouble."
"Ugh." No, you don't say!
Snip. Snip. Snip.
"My old bones are dying from all the physical effort! Good thing I'm still fit as ever, or there'd be no one to get you out of this."
"Un." You're a bit late!
"Honestly, Gru, you scramble through lasers and missles without a scratch. And you can't handle a few bullets?"
"Ugh." **** you, Nefario, **** you.
Tug. Pull. Slap.
"Well, get up, old chap! This is the war for me all over again- get up, come on- if you don't wake up, we'll both be dead in- a minute."
"I will never let go!"
Never? She hugged the little post on the aircraft. How many people had said the same thing to her? It had always been her catching her sisters; there never was anyone to catch her, not after her mother. She didn't like to sugarcoat things for herself, didn't like to hope too much just so it could be crushed.
His arms were open. She- she- she believed him.
OK. Use context clues. She needed to guide them through the vents; then they'd be out of the building, somehow. And if she was right about (oh, she better be right!) Richardson's message, that meant "Igumnov" was still somewhere around them, alive for the time being.
She made the shush sign at her sisters and the trio stopped before the fan. They would be caught soon.
She'd just have to make the most of it.
But then what? Either they'd all die painful deaths, spend the rest of their lives in jail, or live happily ever after. There was an 80% chance of the first happening, a 199.9% chance of the second happening, and a negative 300% of the last happening.
All they needed to do was make it over the fence. He wasn't sure if charging at it (especially at their speed) was a good idea, but if the old doctor was to be believed, the other two agents had been taken care of.
And that meant there would be MORE coming their way.
"How did you get out of there?"
"Pretending to be a senile old man has its perks."
"You didn't have to pretend."
Flashing lights and rapid sounds. It wasn't the ideal scene- they struggled to dart in between the spotlights, not that it helped much.
The vent crashed and the girls rolled out. They were in the storage room- she just needed to get them through that window and they'd be free.
Piling on top of one another, the "sisters" climbed to the sill and unlatched the narrow piece of glass.
"Agnes, you first."
"Help me up."
Lloyd shoved the report in the cabinet, closing it with a bang. He clenched and unclenched his fists- so the bastard thought he could get away again? No, not this time. This time, Igumnov was going down.
First, humiliating his dispatch, then insulting the nation by hiding in broad daylight, then manipulating children. Despicable.
He didn't know how far the manipulation went, but judging from the trail leading into the vent, he had a feeling the Red spy had somehow twisted the girls into little misguided things.
He twirled the revolver in his hands and set out. This was a private operation, whether Perkins wanted it or not.
"Are you really a dentist?" she asked.
"Yes, yes I am."
The children didn't seem too convinced. Whatever. "Just go watch the TV; remember, no annoying sounds and no bothering me."
"Can we watch Friday the Thirteenth?" the blonde asked.
"I don't think that's appropriate," the oldest child commented.
"Can we watch something about unicorns?" the youngest asked.
"Just watch the TV and be quiet!"
"You talk funny."
He turned the television on, the round screen reflecting an unwanted amount of light.
"We can't see anything this way." The brunette again.
With a stifled growl, he walked over the curtains and drew them shut. "Now it's too dark!" The youngest.
He turned on the light. "You know, this is a waste of electricity." The brunette.
Oh, it was going to be a long, long day.
The two men screamed, the yellow minion wailing between them. A three headed mutant had popped out of the nearby shadows. The mutant screamed back.
And its voices were strangely familiar.
The light flashed by, quick enough to provide a glimpse of the "mutant," three children huddled together.
Then a third voice.
"Igumnov, you're always making me do things the hard way."
Lloyd took one step. He pointed the gun. He pulled the trigger.
If you're as freaked out as me over this, high-five. Crack that works, I call this, an AU set in the not-so-distant past.
So this'll be a short fic, about 2-5 more chapters. Probably won't be updating in a while, though. So anyway, I hope this entertained you as much as it entertained me, hahaha. Complete madness, this was. But I don't regret a thing.
Fee free to review.