THE DISNEY EXPERIMENT
Scene 1 - Do You Believe in Dragons?

DISCLAIMER: This Scene contains characters and references from Disney's Phineas & Ferb, Dave the Barbarian, and Fillmore. I do not own any of these characters.

Too much noise. Too many people.

Those were the first thoughts that came to Major Monogram's mind when he arrived at the site of what he was told was 'the biggest catastrophe the Organization has ever had the displeasure of encountering". Of course, it wasn't like he expected any better from the unprofessional buffoons currently working the area. They were mostly the research types—scientists and tenderfoots who had no real experience working with anything other than theories and test tubes. And right now, they were making a huge mess of the scene, unwittingly trampling over what could have been important forensic evidence.

Nonetheless, Monogram held his calm, strolling past the warning tapes with a cool that only came with his many decades of experience. His aide, Carl, was already there. Bless the boy; he had only recently been promoted from intern to general staff, finally making his affiliation with the Organization official. That didn't stop him from making a huge mess of things, though; Monogram sighed resignedly when Carl tripped over an evidence bag, spilling his cup of juice all over it.

"What's the status, Carl?" asked the Major, though he already knew the answer.

The freckle-faced boy spun round at the sound of his boss' voice. "Sir, you're here! It's pretty terrible sir. Everything's a mess—oh, sorry about that."

Monogram waited till Carl was done brushing off juice from a young female scientist's blouse and recovering from the stinging slap that the gesture invited. Then he said, "Orientate me to the ground, Carl."

Carl nodded and took him on a tour of the site. It was huge, bigger than Monogram had anticipated. The local authorities had run out of yellow tape to cordon off the whole area, and had improvised using DIY signs made with paper, markers and string. Rubble and debris were scattered all about, the remnants of what, Monogram could only guess. What was left of the ground was upturned and scorched black—the Major could feel the heat beneath the soles of his combat boots. And in the center of the site, as gargantuan as the burden of global security that weighed on Monogram's shoulders, was a gaping abyss.

There were the bodies as well, charred beyond recognition.

Monogram cringed at the extent of the destruction. "Is that…purple fire?"

Carl followed his boss' gaze and saw the indigo flames flickering on a pile of cadavers, heaped atop one another. He nodded to Monogram, who gave Carl a questioning look. The boy shrugged in reply.

"Do we know who did it?"

Carl shook his head. "Not yet, sir."

"Well, any suspects? Drakken? Grundler? Doofenshmirtz?"

Looking around to make sure no one was listening, Carl whispered, "We sent our Anthropomorphs to check up on every single one of our major suspects, and they all had credible alibis. None of them had anything to do with this."

Monogram coughed irritably. The Anthropomorph Division was a top-secret branch of the Organization which comprised of genetically-enhanced animal agents. Only four people on the planet knew about its existence, and two of them were Monogram and Carl, who had unfortunately stumbled upon their files and was sworn to secrecy at the risk of his own life. To talk about the Anthropomorphs so plainly like that, with dozens of knowledge-starved scientists about, was one step towards the edge of a major security breach.

Bristling his moustache, Monogram let the folly pass this time. Carl, clearly unaware of the magnitude of his blunder, went on, "Besides, what would any of the usual bad guys want with a village of superstitious temple-goers?"

"The question is: what were they looking for?"

The voice belonged to neither Monogram nor Carl. Both turned to see a bespectacled, African-American man with a clean scalp approaching them. He was young, barely older than Carl, but bore the gait and eyes of one well beyond his years. The uniform was similar to Monogram's, except where the Major's was starched to perfection, this man's clothing was creased and worn out. Monogram let out another sigh, this one with a thick hint of annoyance.

"Captain Fillmore. A pleasure, as always. I assume you have an answer for your own query?"

"Pleasure's all mine, sir," said Fillmore flatly. "And no, I don't have an answer. But I do have a theory."

"Do tell."

"This used to be the temple of Argon the Ageless, an ancient warrior who wielded a powerful weapon. Legend has it this weapon, a broadsword, was passed on to a prince, who eventually returned it to the place where it was forged and buried it in a stone seal."

"Oh, I know that story!" Carl exclaimed proudly, then shrank back under Fillmore's scarily blank stare.

"Fairytales and myths?" said Monogram impatiently. "I hope this isn't your only lead, Captain."

"It isn't. I also found this."

He raised a thumb and a finger, and between them was what looked like the tip of a spearhead. Only this spearhead had to be really large and wickedly curved. Also, it was deep purple. Monogram squinted at it and made a sniffing sound.

"I know fancy legends don't impress you, but tell me, Major," said Fillmore, conveniently ignoring Carl, who was straining to get a look, "do you believe in dragons?"