Monday, June 29, 2009
Ducktales: Twenty Years Later - Episode 13
Howdy, everybody. Episode 13 here, coming atcha. And also watch out for a little extra bit I'm going to post a little later. Nothing to do with the story, just another unimportant little notation about this chapter
Lazy Drawfaggery today. I enjoyed writing for Horace and Clarabell yesterday, and Horace Horsecollar is such a seldom-used character, so I drew some Horace being old, homophobic, and crotchety, but was too lazy to color it. Oh well.
Speaking of Homophobia, I didn't even realize that I posted the last chapter, Homer-sexuals and all during Gay Pride weekend. Nothing important, but I lol'd when I realized.
Anyway, as usual, enjoy.
The telephone receiver was placed on the cradle smoothly, but with enough force to cause the bell inside to give a small, pathetic chime. The orange, striped hand then moved from over the phone to grab a very expensive black steel pen from its cradle, before reading through a contract in front of him. There was a knock at the door.
"Enter." Said Farid Kagan, not quite an order, but not quite a request either.
The door opened up and there was a sound like a bicycle on carpet. Farid looked up to see the chrome-plated Duck of Steel, Gizmoduck, standing sheepishly with his hands behind his back.
"You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Yes, Gizmo. Can you sit in that suit?"
"It's very difficult to stand afterwards sir, I'd rather stay on my wheel."
"Very well." Farid then opened a drawer. His face was perfectly neutral throughout all of this. He reached into the drawer and placed the file he obtained on the table, opening it up. "Dewey Duck has disappeared from my information network."
"Is that so, sir?"
"Quite. They have been missing ever since my... agents in Brazil tried to flush them out. Unfortunately, they escaped."
Gizmoduck nodded, wondering where his boss was going with this.
"However, I have recently gotten a whiff of one of the group's allies." He then reached into the file and threw a stack of photos out on the table. At first glance there seemed to be nothing there, but upon closer inspection there seemed to be something moving too fast for the camera to see without blurring. Something purple.
"D- Darkwing Duck?"
"Yes, your old friend Darkwing is in league with the terrorists."
"H- he's no friend of mine, sir," Insisted Gizmo, "Just another dangerous vigilante. Where were these pictures taken?"
"This one," He pointed it out, "Duckburg, but I doubt the hens would roost so close to the fox's den. These two," He pointed, "Were taken in Spoonerville and Mouseton respectively. One of those two places is most likely where they would be holing up. I want you to fly out to Calisota and search for them."
Gizmoduck rolled forward and looked at the pictures, allowing his suit's Heads Up Display to automatically scan the photos for any recognizable signs. There was no doubt that the purple blur was Darkwing Duck.
"I'll search Spoonerville first, sir. It's further away, but it's larger, and there's a lead there I've been meaning to try."
"Very well. You may go." Farid then lowered his face down to his papers and that was the end of that.
After a pause, during which Gizmo stared at the photos, he turned on his wheel and left the room.
Using those resources available to only the most high-tech of heroes, Gizmoduck found himself searching Spoonerville the next day. The Noon sun beat down on the scene of Gizmoduck rolling out in the open paved sidewalk, as people watering their lawns and pruning their bushes stared at the metal man rolling past. Looking around, Gizmo opened up a compartment on his chest, and made a ringing buzz as a photo printed quickly out of it.
He inspected the photo, the last publicly available picture of Dewey Duck, taken shortly after he and his brother had taken over the family business. He was shown standing next to his brother in nearly identical business suits, with a determined scowl directly at the cameraman on his face the only thing setting him apart from his brother's easygoing smirk and slightly wandering eyes. They are walking down Killmotor Hill together, standing next to a sign that said "Intruders will be met with siege weaponry," and approaching a large crowd of paparazzi in the foreground, held back by a set of guards standing at the opening of the barbed wire fence. If Gizmoduck remembered the news of the day, the picture was taken days after Dewey and Louie had taken over the business, and a couple months after Huey had disappeared.
Looking up from the photo, Gizmoduck began to scan the area around him. It was a small suburb of low, almost identical houses standing side by side on a wide street, with every modern convenience. Gizmo focused in on a car stopping nearby. He had already searched he town quite thoroughly, but for this area, and was content to give up the search and head out to Mouseton after asking just one more person who was likely to know. As the young man, a dog with a long face ending in a pair of gapped buck-teeth, stepped out of his car, Gizmo hailed him.
"Just a moment, citizen!" said Gizmoduck, "I'd like a word."
The man turned and started for a moment, before answering back, sullenly, "You're that... Gizmo-guy, from Duckburg."
"Gizmoduck. And I have a few questions."
Gizmo held up the photo and pointed towards the scowling Dewey, "Have you seen this man?"
After an uncomfortable pause, the young man took up the picture, scratching his chin as he stared at it. His eyebrows raised as his eyes swiveled up to meet Gizmoduck's visor. "Aren't these those bazillionaire Duck brothers?"
His brows rose even further as he looked at the picture with newfound interest, "I haven't really seen them. I don't know why they would be around here."
"I've been asking around the city for any possible leads or connections. You and your father are the last connection I must investigate before I leave."
"Me?" asked the dog, his floppy ears twitching as his drew back slightly, "Why would...?"
"Your father had a connection to their Uncle. Both lived in Mouseton before World War 2, and were quite close. They apparently worked together along with a third friend, a Mr. Mouse..."
"Listen, buddy, I barely know anything about any of that."
"Your father never told you about his friend in Duckburg, or about his nephews?"
"Of course he did, but they were just stories. Donald Duck was a minor celebrity thanks to that rich uncle of his, and whenever he would appear in the papers or whatever, Dad would point him out and tell him they used to solve mysteries in Mouseton or whatever. After the war he and that Duck guy only saw each other a few times." The Dog crossed his arms, "I never even met him, and now you want to know if I'm hiding his terrorist nephews, is that it?"
Gizmoduck did not flinch at the Dog's accusatory tone, "More or less." He then moved his head over to the house in front of which the young man had stopped, "Is your father in?"
The dog's eyebrows came together as he gave a sideways glance towards the house. He turned his eyes back towards the hero, "He's not home. He'll be gone for the whole weekend. I'm watering his plants."
"May I search...?"
"No. No you may not, not unless you come back with a warrant or whatever it is you hero-types need to poke around other people's property."
"I assure you, I mean no harm or offense." Gizmo nodded. "If he is not at home, I can come back another time."
"Good, you do th-"
However, before the dog could finish speaking, they both heard a baby's cry coming from the house. The Dog's expression was one of worry, before he realized what that meant for Gizmoduck.
"The baby is all alone?" asked the Duck, "In his grandfather's house?"
"N-no. Of course not," said the dog, "There's a babysitter."
"Why can the babysitter not water the plants?"
"Look, You're not welcome here, tinman. Just go back to the city and leave us alone." The dog then turned up the drive and began to walk towards the house.
"There... IS one more connection between you and the others."
The young man stopped, and looked over his shoulder, "I don't know what you're talking about."
"The hero, Super-Goof. Apparently a legacy hero, who has roots in Mouseton while your father lived there. He appeared in Saint Canard at about the same time that you moved there with your wife and disappeared recently, after he was nearly caught for violating the Hero registration act. You moved to Spoonerville from Saint Canard at the same time that he disappeared, didn't you?"
"Don't do this, Gizmo."
"Known allies: Darkwing Duck, a dangerous rogue hero in league with the terrorists Huey, Dewey, and Louie Duck. Now, tell me, Mr. Goof. Is this a coincidence?"
"Leave us alone. We don't know anything."
"Junior! Junior, is that you?"
"Damn! I'll be there in a minute, Dad!" He then rounded on Gizmoduck, "And you, stay away from us, or..."
"Are you threatening me, Mr. Goof?"
"N-No. I'm... We don't know anything. G'bye." He turned back around and quickly walked towards the house.
Gizmo approached, regret in his voice, "I was hoping you could make this easy Mr. Goof, but I'm afraid we're going to have to do this the hard way."
As the dog walked up the drive, he began to reach for a small bag in his pocket. A bag of addictive little peanuts that he promised himself he had given up. "Y'don't want to do this Gizmo. You know you're way out of my league."
As Gizmoduck approached, readying an appropriate gadget for the situation, Junior pulled out the bag and was about to reach for one of the little super goobers, when the bag was suddenly wrenched from his hands by a whistling arrow with a boxing glove attached instead of an arrowhead. His head twisted around to see a purple-clad figure crouching up on top of the roof.
"I wouldn't do that, Junior," Said Darkwing Duck, "Not if you want to live."
"Darkwing!" cried Junior, before he continued on, "You said If I drove 'im off you'd leave my family alone! You promised!"
"I lied. It's the kind of person I am." She knocked another arrow, a sharp one, and pointed squarely at the dog, before letting it fly.
A large mechanical arm erupted from behind the dog and shielded his body from the arrow.
"Darkwing Duck!" cried Gizmo, sprouting a helicopter and chasing after Darkwing, who began to run across the suburban rooftops, occasionally covering her trail with smoke, "Darkwing!"
As the two heroes chased off into the distance, the dog surreptitiously retrieved his bag, before stepping calmly into the house. He was greeted by his father sitting on an easy-chair, reading a paper, having not been paying attention to anything happening outside.
"What was all that commotion, Junior?"
"Nothin' Dad," he said, "Is little Maxie...?"
"He's a-sleepin'," said the older Dog with a smile.
George "Goofy" Goof Jr. nodded with a smile, and went to see his son in the nursery. He stepped into the room quietly, careful not to disturb the small resting bundle. He bent over the baby's crib and gingerly picked the child up, cradling him in his strong arms.
They simply stood for a moment like that, Junior supporting little Max in his arms, trying his best to match his breathing to the slow inhales and exhales of the sleeping angel. He thought of Max's mother, who died in the city, a victim of his dangerous former profession, and tightened his hold on the baby briefly, before relaxing once again and resuming the relaxed stance of a father cradling his only child. Their moment of bonding was interrupted, however, by a small noise by the window.
"After I came home I promised I would stay out of the game for good, newbie," said Goofy Junior, quietly, "My little son's already lost his mother. He doesn't need to lose a father as well. This is the very last thing I do 'afore I retire. Understand?"
The Green Phantom sat in the windowsill, nodding. "Where's Darkwing?"
"Keepin' Gizmoduck busy." Carefully, Junior disengaged one of his arms from the baby and reached underneath the mattress of the crib, "I just hope he bought Darkwing taking my family hostage. She gave me this to give you. Better hurry. She can't keep him away for long. I want this out of my father's house before he gets back."
It was a thick binder with the McDuck Enterprises logo on the side. He placed it on a small table on one side of the room before he resumed supporting the baby with both arms. Soundlessly, the Green Phantom shuffled through the room like a ghost, before picking it up and opening it.
"Perfect. Thank you."
"Just go," he said, "And don't come back."
And so, Green Phantom was gone just as quietly and quickly as he left, leaving Junior holding the baby close to his chest.
"That was that, Max," said Junior, "That was that. No more danger. I left you alone for too long and for too many nights already. I'll never leave you again. I'm your father, and I'll always be by your side."
"Come back here!" called Gizmoduck, his voice amplified by his suit, "You are under citizen's arrest."
"Give it a rest Gizmo!" cried Darkwing, confident his metallic ears could hear her, "You'll never catch up!"
She then gave a big jolly laugh as she jumped along the roofs, double backing and using tricks of smoke and light to cover her trail. Gizmo, still following by the air, lost track of her as she disappeared in a puff of smoke. He circled around, switching his visor to Infared vision to try to pick up Darkwing's heat signature.
There, along the sunbaked roofs, he could see a small bit of raised body temperature beyond the smoke. He went into a dive towards it, cutting the power to his helicopter, before pointing himself head down with arms outstretched in a dive. He struck the lit-up object, rolling as he tackled it, before switching off his thermal vision.
"Wha-?" he cried, before the space heater, turned up all the way and attached to another smoke bomb, exploded in his face. He was knocked back, but unharmed, except for the strange irritation in his nose.
He sneezed at the pink powder. He sneezed again, trying to roll away from the irritant. He sneezed again, the vibrations of his whole-body convulsion causing him to lose his balance and fall from the roof he was standing on, landing in a flower patch and macking up someone's prize rose bushes.
As he laid out over the bushes, he flailed his arms in anger, his metallic fists shaking with righteous fury, "That was a dirty trick!"
"There's no fair play in this game, Gizmo. You should realize that," said the voice of Darkwing, from a fair distance away.
Suddenly, a screaming woman with a broom came flying out of the house, giving Gizmoduck several wallops. Gizmo held up his arms to shield himself from the blows as he rolled back into the street and began to try triangulating where Darkwing's voice was coming from.
"Spoken like a true hoodlum," said Gizmoduck in answer, while picking straw from the broom out of his joints, "Your kind of darkness isn't needed in my town or anyone else's, Darkwing!"
"It ain't your town," said Darkwing, from elsewhere. Gizmoduck looked around wildly, his triangulation instruments confused by the rapidly moving Darkwing. "Saint Canard was never your town before you jumped into Farid Kagan's pocket, and it isn't yours now."
"And I suppose it was yours?"
"Of course not," She said, "It's not about owning anything. It's about respect. Something you have a surprisingly low amount of."
Gizmoduck rolled up, a sly smile before he said, "Is that what you call protecting dangerous terrorist masterminds? Respect? Well I call that..." He suddenly twisted around and extended his arm. A giant solid Steel boxing glove on a spring popped out, blasting up against a fence and blowing a hole through it and what was behind it, "...EVIL!"
He rolled quickly to check the damage, expecting to find Darkwing's dazed body. However, he merely found a warm speaker with a conspicuous hole through it where the boxing glove passed right through. He turned his head around, to look across the street, down the street, and up in the air.
"You don't have all the fact, Gizmo. You're going off half-cocked, as usual," taunted Darkwing, "If I'm right, you must have known the Duck brothers when they were just kids. What makes you so sure they would do something like hire the beagle boys to attack Duckburg?"
"Whether or not I think they're guilty is immaterial! They are wanted by the law." Gizmo continued to roll along as he searched and kept Darkwing talking. "If they are innocent I believe the power of the due process of the law will find them so. If they are guilty then so be it."
"It must be wonderful to be so naïve, Gizmo," said Darkwing's voice, much closer than last time, "You should know that your boss can throw as much money as he can at keeping those Ducks framed for just as long as it takes for the jury to declare a guilty verdict."
"Mr. Kagan is not the enemy here. My... My mentor trusts him, and I always trust what my mentor says."
"Well, isn't that just dandy."
Suddenly, an arrow struck Gizmoduck right in the face. The gas-chamber on the tip exploded, sending a grey colored gas spraying into his nostrils.
"Hey! Why... I... Ooog.." said Gizmo, as his arms and head went limp, while the balancers in his wheel kept him sleeping upright. Darkwing swooped in from his hiding place and with a determined expression on her face.
That will only last for a few minutes, She thought, and I only have a few of them. Hopefully I can keep him busy long enough for Louie to get out of town with that binder. It may be our only chance at clearing Dewey's name.
Domestic life, such as it is, had taken over the Mouseton homestead while Louie was away. The single room was alive with the three girls, lead by the intrepid organizer Webigail Vanderquack, making sure every surface was spotless and tidy, as the three men, lead by José Carioca wielding a hot plate and some cheap pots and pans, put together a modest dinner on their shoestring budget. Dewey was in the process of peeling a potato with a swiss army knife, while His brother sliced them up into small chunks. They both worked quickly and efficiently.
José smiled broadly as he stood over the hot broth, "Now where do two city-slicker trillionaires learn to peel potatoes like champien's?"
"Junior Woodchucks, Duckburg branch," answered Huey, dropping the sliced potato chunks in a bowl with a flourish, "And lots and lots of practice."
"Uncle Scrooge was always taking us on expeditions and treasure hunts," Dewey said, "We got used to using our Woodchuck training nearly all the time, although..." He put down his knife and shook out his hand, "...Louie was always the better woodchuck out of us. I kind of wish he was here."
"An' what did your Oncle Donal' do on these trips? I remember the last time I saw him he told us about your Oncle Scrooge, an' finding all those treasures an' secret places."
Huey seemed to mentally cool, and so Dewey spoke up, "He, er, He helped. He was a big help."
"Yeah, somebody's got to do all the unskilled labor," sniped Huey.
Dewey gave Huey a sidelong glance, but didn't dispute what his brother said. "Essentially, Uncle Donald was the, er, Muscle."
"You mean like an enforcer?"
"Er, yeah. Sure. Uncle Scrooge was a firecracker when you got between him and his money, but he was an old man by the time we knew him, and we were no slouches, but you just couldn't beat our Uncle Donald when he got wound up about something."
Huey said nothing, as loudly as possible. José couldn't help but notice Huey's cool relationship with his Uncle, and decided to skip it.
"And tell me more of these Janitor Woodchives. I believe we have them in Brazil."
"You probably do," said a voice behind them, "We're like resourceful, well-informed rats. We're everywhere."
"Louie!" cried Huey and Dewey happily as they saw their brother enter the room from the windowsill. The beaming happiness on Dewey's face caused Webby to pause in mid-order to the three girls and smile.
"You miss me?" said Louie as he reached behind himself to retrieve the binder, "I brought you a present, Dewey, to pay you back for that beautiful scotch we had the other night."
"And that hangover you had the nex' morning," volunteered José.
Dewey stood quickly and snatched the binder out of Louie's hands. In a moment it was open on his lap as he sat on the couch, kicking up a large cloud of dust. Webby gave a dirty look to Amalia, who had the good graces to look sheepish.
"This... This is great." He flipped ahead a few pages, reading them over quickly. "The entire last two years of McDuck Enterprises records, along with accounts, money, and all the little iffy business dealings that went nowhere." He looked up, "With Farid's name all over it. Darkwing...?"
"Yup. She left it with an agent in Spoonerville before giving Gizmo the slip." He gave a glance out the window, looking off into the distant direction of Spoonerville. "I hope she's all right."
As Dewey flipped through the binder, he retained the big smile on his face. As he continued to flip, the smile seemed to shrink more and more. By the time he hit the back cover, he had gained a full-on frown.
"What's wrong?" asked Huey.
"It's these records. They're cooked to perfection."
José raised up his boater to scratch his head, "Cooked? As in the potatoes?"
"No. This accounting. It's locked up tight. I thought there were holes in the accounts, but there's so much misdirection I couldn't tell you where anything went, let alone the money being filtered down through criminals in Saint Canard."
"Great. So it's useless?" asked Huey.
"'fraid so," answered Dewey, "Unless we can figure it out this binder isn't worth the paper it's printed on."
Huey and Dewey seemed to droop, but Louie refused to give up hope. As he sat on the window sill, he gave a sly smirk. "How would Farid have figured out how to work this accounting magic?"
"He'd have to use one hell of an accountant," said Dewey.
Louie pounded his palm with a fist, "So that's it! We need a bean counter to help us unravel the number knots, right?"
"But where do we find an accountant that can deal with this mess?" asked Dewey, sullenly.
"Well," began Huey, a bit unsure of his answer, "Remember that accountant Uncle Scrooge hired for a while when we were living with him?"
"Yeah!" cried Louie, "Of course! What was his name?"
However, for a moment, Louie was lit from behind by a great big spotlight. Everyone in the room shaded their eyes from the glare as Louie dived out of the way of the light, hoping his hadn't been seen.
However, "Dewey Duck and company," said an artificially amplified voice, "You and your companions should come out with your hands up, and I won't be forced to hurt any of you."
"What's happening!" cried Rosalina as she huddled with her cousins.
Louie yelled, "It's Gizmoduck! He's found us, but how?"
"He must have followed you, you dummy!" cried Huey, "Suit up everyone, and get ready for a scrap!"
"I will count to ten!" cried Gizmoduck as he stood out in the evening twilight, shining the spotlight from a device on his head and drawing a crowd of gawkers around him, "If you have not surrendered yourself by then I will be forced to go in and get you!"
Huey was at the window, looking out over the street and shading his eyes from the shine of the spotlight, "Gizmoduck! It's us! Don't you remember us?" he yelled, "We were friends. You used to work for our Uncle!"
"Regardless of our past, you are wanted by the authorities. I cannot stand idly by while you go free after what happened in Duckburg."
"One second, while we think this over, chum!" yelled Louie, "we always decide on things together, you see."
"All right, you three. You've got fifteen seconds, but no more!"
"Thanks!" And with that the three heads ducked down into the room and began to whisper.
Gizmoduck began to count. On one, he was confident and proud, as he was on two through eight. Once he got to nine, the whispers were still going on, and he began to strain to hear them, but they were still too low for his instruments to pick up. On ten, eleven, and twelve, he began to sweat under his armor, wondering if he gave them too much time to think. Finally, he went slightly faster on twelve through fifteen, and finally shouted, "That's it! I'm coming up," before sprouting his helicopter and coming up to the room to break up that incessant whispering.
His propeller beat the air over his head, raising his body quickly up towards the window. He got closer, keeping the spotlight, now sprouting from the side of his head while the propeller took up the top, focused hard on the window. After a moment he had a clear view of the inside, or at least clear enough without all that smoke in the way.
Within, there was a huge, pervasive fire set up all around the room. Everything was ablaze, curtains, couch, tables, everything. Gizmo's eyes goggled underneath his visor as he cried out, retreating as the fire licked up out of the window. The whispers, which had been going during all of this, suddenly died out with a buzzing metallic noise, and was silent.
Resisting the urge to swear loudly, Gizmoduck ran back down to the curb, to the nearest fire Hydrant, and retrieved a long fire hose from his chest, which he unspooled and attached with swift accuracy. He then grabbed the valve with his fingers and turned it hard, pointing the hose towards the fire with his other hand. The torrent of water shot out at high pressure, and Gizmo aimed towards the blazing room. To get a better vantage point, he got out his helicopter and flew up to fight the fire on its own terms, and soon all there was left was smoke and damp steam.
He landed on the ground and turned off the water before he was suddenly surrounded by the cheering crowd of gawkers, which he couldn't escape for a minute or two.
"Excuse me. I'm sorry. I must apprehend... thank you ma'am. No sir, please. Thank you, but..."
"Did we lose him?" asked Dewey as the lor of them ran down an alley.
"I feel terrible about setting that fire," protested Webby, "we could have..."
"No time for looking back, Senhorita!" called out José with a big smile on his face and slightly singed hot plate in his hands.
"Ay, Tio Carioca!" cried the three girls.
"Don't relax yet in any case," said Louie as they ran out of an alley and across the street to the next one, "Gizmoduck is top-tier as far as powers are concerned. He can seriously beat feet, or, er, Wheel, when he wants to."
"But how did he find us?" said Dewey.
"I'd rather like to know if Darkwing is okay," muttered Louie with a concerned expression.
"I'd rather we stop gabbing and start running," cried Huey, "He's right behind us!"
Everyone looked over their shoulders before their legs started pumping faster.
Behind them, quickly gaining by the sky, Gizmoduck followed along, filling the air with the cliché "Come out with your hands up" retreads they had all heard a hundred times before.
"Split up!" Louie yelled as they came to the exit of the alley they were in, "Meet back at the Sea Duck!"
The group did just that. Huey and Louie broke right quickly, planning to go around and, possibly, fight their way through to the plane. José and family linked hands with each other and continued straight on towards the next alleyway.
"Dewey!" cried Webby as she grabbed his hand and pulled him along to the right.
As Gizmo came to the mouth of the alley, he was stunned for a moment as he felt the urge to chase each small group. He began to go towards the superhero's team, before getting curious about those girls he had never seen before. However, the last group, containing the ringleader, Dewey, seemed like both the easiest group to pick off and the one with the largest quarry. He landed on the ground and retracted his helicopter before rolling to the right and following Dewey and his assistant down the sidewalk.
"Stop! You are under citizen's arrest!"
Dewey and Webby ran even faster at this, sweat rolling down their brows. The binder Webby held close to her chest dug into the sides of her upper arms as she squeezed it to herself.
"What (huff puff) Can we do, Dewey?"
"Just (huff) Keep running (puff)."
They ran on, dodging around street signs and hydrants, trying to figure out the way to the Sea Duck without tipping off their pursuer to its location. Everything seemed hopeless, but they couldn't stop now, not with the evidence in their hands, and victory so close.
"Wak!" cried Webby. She had looked over her shoulder to watch the rapidly gaining hero, and hadn't even seen the fruit stand she ran straight into, flipping over the apply trays and sending herself to land painfully on the pavement behind. The binder flopped open on the ground, sliding away slightly.
"Dewey! Take the binder and go! Go!"
But he froze, staring at the binder, then at her, then at the mechanical duck. He ran to Webby without a second though and helped her up.
"No! You idiot! Not me, The book! The-"
"You two are under citizen's arrest," said Gizmoduck as his shadow loomed over the two ducks, who grasped each other for support and cowered.
Webby spoke, "Gizmoduck. It's us. Please..."
Gizmo was just about to pull out a set of his built-in handcuffs, when he finally got a good look at Webigail's face. His automatic facial recognition software began to analyze her face, bringing up a small pop-up in the corner of his vision, telling him what was known about Dewey Duck's personal assistant.
"W-webby?" said Gizmo, who was suddenly trembling, "Is... is that Webby?"
"Yes! Please! Don't turn us in!"
"B-But..." He was rooted to the spot, the hands holding the handcuffs hovering in the air, "I... I must... Webby..."
Suddenly, there was a snap, followed by a buzzing hum, and a great cry floating through the air towards them. Dewey noted that several of the lights around the block had suddenly gone out. Webby noted that behind Gizmoduck another shadowy figure was looming.
Wham! Darkwing Duck, holding in her rubber-gloved hand a cable that sparked and flashed from the exposed wires at the end, landed behind Gizmoduck. Before he could turn around, she gave a primal scream as she drove the end of the wire into Gizmo's back, sending sparks and bolts crackling up and down the Duck of Steel. Darkwing dropped the severed powerline after a moment, being careful not to touch the end with her bare foot, and yelled at Dewey and Webby.
"Get out of here!"
"Darkwing Duck!" screamed Webby.
Bolstered by her voice, and by the vision of Gizmoduck seizing up and falling over backwards, straight as a log, Webby and Dewey picked themselves up, each pulling desperately at the other's clothes, before Webby took the binder back up and continued to run on behind her boss. Darkwing watched them go off for a moment, before she turned back towards the immobile Gizmoduck.
"I-I can't move."
"Your suit can take it. You'll probably boot back up in a little while. Meanwhile I'm going to be elsewhere." She began to stroll off, "See you later, tinman. Have a nice life in Farid Kagan's pocket."
"Come back here! You criminal! Terrorist! Traitor! I'll get you yet Darkwing Duck! I'll get you!"
But she was already gone, back up onto the roofs and off to her many safe houses set up wherever she goes.
Breathing hard and ragged, Dewey and Webby ran towards the Sea Duck, whose propellers were already spinning. They forced themselves to hurry on towards the passenger side door, where Louie was waiting, waving them in. Webby threw the binder roughly inside, before clambering inside helped up by Dewey, before being followed in by Dewey himself.
Louie closed the door, and Huey started to move the plane forward through the long field they were using for a runway.
The door that connected the pilot's cabin to the passenger area suddenly slammed open, revealing Rosalina, "Behind us Huey!"
"I'm on it!"
Dewey stared out the window, seeing the chrome Duck off in the distance. He wiped the copious sweat from his brow. "Can't this cart go any faster?"
"Almost in the air, Dewey. Patience."
There were no more words after that. The plane bounced once, twice, and suddenly they cleared the trees off in the distance, with Gizmoduck following fast behind.
"Could he still follow us into the air?"
"I'd like to see him try!" called Huey.
But he did not try. Instead, as he watched the yellow plane disappear off into the distance with his quarry aboard, he slowed down, until he had stopped altogether. His hands rose up, trying to pry the helmet off of his head, forgetting for a moment that it was stuck tight until he uttered the codeword.
Piece by piece, the armor began to peel off. The orange legs were revealed, stepping out of their housings within the single tire. His torso piece and arms fell away from him next, sliding over his legs and tripping him up. He fell on the soft grass, next to the marks made by the landing gear of the SeaDuck, before he crawled out of his chest plate, revealing his strong upper body and thick arms with a simple blue sweater over it.
As he sat up on his knees, his beak quivered. He reached up with his now bare hands and grasped the loosened helmet, lifting it up, revealing a pair of beady, squinting eyes on a slightly chubby face which looked as if it had been much fatter once upon a time. Dropping the helmet on the ground, he began to pat himself down, trying to find the pair of glasses he had to take off before summoning the armor, which naturally corrected his vision. He lifted them out of a pocket before replacing them on his beak and looking up and off into the distance.
"Webby. It's really you. It's been years since... since..."
Doofus Drake sat in the field, surrounded by the various pieces of the armor that made up his whole responsibility. He made no sounds and no moves, but merely moved his eyes, searching the horizon for some sign of his quarry, and for the woman he used to know riding on it with the man he swore to catch.