Saturday, July 18, 2009

Ducktales: Twenty Years Later - Episode 22

After this ONE MORE! Sorry to post it at such a funny time. I'll probably post the last one either later today or tomorrow. Enjoy this lovely Episode about a man eating a bran muffin.

Pic related. My only regret so far is that I only got to use the WHORES WHORES WHORES tag once.


Episode 22:

The sun had come up over the Bombay horizon but one half-hour before, and the haze of night still clung to the city like a jacket. The clear sky and the spectacular rising of the sun had gone unnoticed and unheeded by the occupant of the top floor penthouse office of the Khan building. He was not especially pleased or displeased with any of the news that had come to his office about everything that had occurred. The investigations into his affairs. The war that had blocked that investigation. The SIL's custodial responsibility over the Duck family keeping them out of his hair. It was simply news and interesting tidbits to add to the pile. The business plan had already gone through, after all, and would soon start to effect the bottom line.

He took a bran muffin from a small bag on his desk. He peeled off the paper film surrounding the rutted edge of the stump, and licked it, his rough tongue stripping bits of the pastry that had stuck to the paper off and into his mouth. He then discarded the film in a small wastebasket by his desk without really thinking about it, before reaching for a formerly warm cup of tea which had been left on his desk slightly too soon. It was still enjoyable; one sugar, lots of milk; but it could have done with a little more heat. If it happened like that again, he would have words with the woman outside.

He drank and ate in silence, allowing himself the briefest of indulgences before he dived into the meat of the day's activities. The official declaration was supposed to be announced later today, the papers had predicted, and he had to be ready for McDuck Enterprises to receive the various orders for weapons for every army in the world. Such things will be time consuming, therefore he needed his strength.

He popped the last of the muffin into his mouth. It was quite good, from a little privately-owned store around the corner from the Khan building. He enjoyed the irony of it.

Sipping down the last of his tea, he began to look over the work he had left the night before, as well as the work that had piled up over the night. He found, at the top of the stack, an envelope unmarked. He smiled and reached into a drawer, pulling out a pair of steel pliers, before picking up the blank, unmarked envelope, and clicking a small, hidden button under his desk. A hole opened up near his wastebasket, which he dropped the letter down, letting it flutter into the dark, before calling his receptionist.

"I've sent a blank letter down the chute," he said in Hindi, "Have it diffused and traced, and have whoever sent it killed."

He cut the connection from the receptionist's office and took a final sip of tea. It was good tea, he had to admit, even if it was a bit on the cold side.

The large, plate glass window behind him and slightly to the left suddenly exploded into the room showering glass all over the carpet. His head whipped around as he ducked to the right, just avoiding catching a small, red two-seater convertible with the back of his neck, and a lot of broken shards of glass besides. He fell to the floor and crawled away from the still settling wreckage that was being made of his office by the car. He cleared the desk just as the front fender clipped the corner and caused the whole great oak thing to spin around, nearly missing striking him in the leg as he crawled towards the bookcase. Once there, he tapped a hidden button to call for security.

While still hunched over on the floor, he then proceeded to pull book after book out of the bookcase, before he found what he was looking for, a copy of a motivational book called "Your greatest attributes," which he opened to reveal a hollowed out chamber with a revolver inside. He grasped the gun and pointed towards the wreckage which had finally crashed into the far wall, not quite hard enough to break through the thick wood paneling. He then pointed towards the now open window, where a small parade of ducks was entering in from the nose of a purple, duck-shaped plane that hovered in the air near the window.

He fired the gun once towards the first hint of blue he saw, Dewey Duck, but the bullet was quickly deflected by Gizmoduck, stepping in front of the bullet.

The Steel duck bore down on him quickly, and he prepared to fire again, aiming for the duck's uncovered mouth and neck. The gun was knocked out of his hand by a large boxing glove that struck the silver firearm. However, the door to Farid's office opened and a crowd of Beagle boys dressed as security guards poured in.

"C'mon Gizmo!" yelled Darkwing Duck, jumping into the room from the Thunderquack, firing arrow after arrow at the swarming beagles. The Green Phantom, wielding a long, leather whip, managed to hold off and disarm the Beagles, while Darkwing knocked them out with sleepy arrows. Gizmoduck turned away from Farid Kagan to join the fight, succeeding in pushing the security guards out of he office and into the reception area.

Suddenly safe, Farid began to crawl towards the downed revolver, and had almost reached it when the sound of a cocking musket made itself apparent.

"Stop it Farid," said Dewey duck, cooly, holding the gun squarely at Farid Kagan's impassive face, and flanked by Huey and PK like two muscled bouncers. "No more getting your way. For now, we chat."


Out in the hall, Gizmo, GP, and DW were making quick work of the Beagle boys. The artless thieves and cutpurses were unused to fighting superheroes in any case, and fighting three at once was nearly impossible.

The Green Phantom laughed gaily as he hit his stride, the long whip he wielded at once a lash, a bind, and a long prehensile limb. To one Beagle about to fire a gun he gave a quick flip of his wrists and a red, bloody gash appeared on the sensitive skin on the back of his hand, causing him to drop the gun in surpise. To another, he flipped the leather cord around, wrapping it up around a beagle's head and pulling sharply, causing the man to fall into a group of his allies, scattering them like tenpins. Swipe, whip, spin, the new cape he had procured before the adventure whirled around him, obscuring his form from bullets wanting for purchase in flesh, and causing the dancing whip to become even more deadly unpredictable.

Gizmoduck was much more direct. Boxing gloves to KO incoming beagles. Rockets to scatter large groups. Oil slicks or marbles to trip up pursuers. The Steel duck's power was nearly unlimited as he destroyed wide swaths of enemies, leaving stragglers desperate to escape his wrath to flee, and fall within the range of one of his two allies.

Darkwing did not move so much, preferring to hang back, covered quite well by the two boys fighting gallantly and flamboyantly. She stayed behind and fired her bow upon the encroaching dogs with a near endless supply of arrows dipped in chlorophorm. At her behest, many Beagle boys simply died away, and some, carelessly shot through the heart or head, simply died.

Eventually, the three of them had finished off the last of the troops. However...

Rat-ta-ta-ta-ta! Machine gun noises, thankfully from a terrible shot, caused The Phantom and Darkwing to dive behind Gizmoduck. Gizmo extended a body-length shield, with a convenient eyehole, through which he saw Ballast beagle, fat and stupid, firing blindly upon the room, hitting his downed allies more often than he hit the Duck's shield, and the walls more often than both. Thinking fast, The Green Phantom pulled an arrow from Darkwing's quiver, ignoring her silent protest, before breaking off the tip and placing it in a sling recovered from his utility belt. Counting his blessings, he reached around the shield, swinging the bulbous head of the arrow towards the Gun-toting Beagle boy.

The bulb flew through the air as if in slow motion, before, by chance, it was struck out of the air by a bullet. Ballast, who was laughing like a baby with a bundle of noisy keys, caught the full brunt of the explosion of Darkwing's explosive-tipped arrows with his face and chest, his lower regions rendered safe by the bulky gun. His upper regions, however, were blown clear off, the red meat of his cheeks and chest revealed in a moment of terrible heat and fire as the firing slowed down and suddenly stopped. With his eyes ripped open, never to close again, he fell forward to the floor, gun first, dying propped up by the giant heavy weapon with a grotesque childish rictus painted on his face.

"Ballast!" cried a voice behind, as Braincase Beagle reached around the corpse of his fat brother and fired wildly with his small pistol, which was much more accurate than the huge gun from before. "I'll kill you."

However, Gizmoduck, covered by his shield, was able to roll towards Braincase. A huge, white-gloved hand popped out of Gismo's chest and grasped the Beagle by the head, picking him up bodily. The gun dropped to the floor, clattering as it knocked against the hard floor. With a whip-crack, the Beagle was tossed casually against the wall, knocked out by the concussion, before falling upon a pile of bodies of his brothers.

The three heroes gathered in the center of the room, surrounded by the grisly fruits of their effots. Darkwing knocked an arrow, Green Phantom readied his whip, and Gizmo's hand hovered over his gizmo.

"Going up!" Yelled a voice from up above, before a rope, tied in a noose, came down to encircle Darkwing's throat. She was lifted suddenly, her cry cut off in mid-choke, and disappeared up above through a hole in the stucco ceiling.

"Goz!" cried The Green Phantom as he rushed forward to grab her, before stopping, realizing that would strangle her faster.

GP and Gizmo stood, dumbfounded, as they heard laughing and scuffling up above. A mad cackle, that seemed to drip with sweat and oil, and took on a tone of impure intentions. The sounds of the scuffle took on a lecherous tone as the rustle of clothes replaced the laugh. Gizmo was about to aim a gizmo up above, when the sound suddenly stopped.

Crash! Through the thin ceiling material a body came down. It was Boner Beagle, half-undressed, pants unbuttoned, with his arousal plain to see, standing as erect as the arrow which had been thrust into him, creating a bloody wound right through his right eye and into his brain. He twitched pathetically, going soft in his death rattle, before he breathed out and was silenced.

Soon after, Darkwing jumped down from the crawlspace above the ceiling, landing atop the dead man's chest, certainly cracking a still-warm rib. She was breathing hard, and had blood on her purple glove and the noose still around her neck.

Louie ran up to her, pulling the noose away from over her head, and reached down to kiss her roughly. She protested for a moment, she had nearly been raped after all, this did not seem an appropriate time for romance, but the moment overtook her, and she embraced the Green clad hero tightly, letting her beak mesh with his, fireworks going off behind her eyes, either from the kiss or from the temporary loss of oxygen.

Soon, they broke apart, and noticed that Gizmoduck had politely looked away. They looked back to each other and blushed, before they all three rushed back towards the office to give the all clear.



"It's over Farid. We know all about the plan," Said Dewey, his eyes hot coals of hate aiming down the sight of the McDuck musket.

"Of course you do," said Farid, the sounds of the rumpus out in the hall not going at all positively for him, "what do you know, pray tell? Merely good business sense put to work. You said yourself that a business is merely a machine to make more money."

"But it's a fair machine, Farid. It's driven by the needs of people on the consumer end, and the profit comes from the guy who can provide the best products."

"Men like us create markets for things all the time."

"Not for war. Not to trade people's lives for profit, Farid. What you're doing..."

"What I'm doing would have made your Uncle proud."

"...It would have made him sick to his stomach, Farid Kagan. He would never stoop to what you did." Dewey looked down over his beak at Farid Kagan, who was slowly standing from his place on the ground. "You started a war for the express purpose to... to what? To make for a better profit margin? McDuck Enterprises was doing just fine before you decided to screw with it!"

"I must admit..." began Farid, as he stood, getting his dignity back as he brushed himself off, "There is a bit more to it than that."

Dewey's gun followed, and it was clear he was waiting for the tiger to give his reasons.

"Imagine, you were the nephew of a great man. Not so hard. Imagine that that great man's company, that he built from the ground up with his own blood and sweat was bought out by someone else, apparently a greater man, and was made a peon, a lowly executive while the CEO who stole his seat sat up on an ivory tower somewhere in the United States, with so much money that he could swim in it."

"So you took over McDuck Enterprises for revenge? You laid siege to Duckburg for revenge? You started a war between the US and Soviet Union... A war that could spiral out of control into nuclear holocaust... for revenge?"

"That's only part of it," said Farid, adjusting his tie, "Getting back at McDuck is strickly beside the point. Mostly it was to do what my own uncle taught me. To seek the bottom line. At all costs." As he stood, Farid crossed his arms. "So what now? Are you going to shoot me? Beat me up? They'll still label you a terrorist and I a martyr. I don't see what the point is to this little visit, Mr. Duck. I've already won."

"Not where I'm standing," said Huey, as he reached within his jacket and pulled out a small recording device, courtesy of Gearloose Magazine's 'Moonligh Vigilante' line. He switched off the running recorder. "Courtesy of one Green Phantom."

The play button was pushed, and Farid's voice mocked back at him, "...don't see what the point is to this little visit, Mr. Duck. I've already won."

Farid's eyes went wide. He backed up into the bookshelf, "N-no! You..."

"You lose, Farid," said Dewey, "Now are you going to come with us to S.H.U.S.H HQ quietly?"

"I think not."

Another hidden button was pressed, and the bookshelf he leaned on twisted around quickly revealing nothing but the bookcase, with no Farid anywhere in sight. Dewey swore loudly and rushed forward, pressing the same button to follow Farid just as the three superheroes ran back into the office.

"Dewey!" cried PK, slipping in just as the Bookcase swiveled closed, jamming itself on a book that had fallen from the shelf and wedged between the book case and frame, unable to be opened by the others.


The emergency roof access door burst open as Farid Kagan ran at top speed across the wide helipad towards the private helicopter he kept on the roof. As he neared the vessel, he could hear the door open again and cursed loudly.

"Farid!" cried Dewey, running after the tiger, musket in hand.

Farid made it to the helicopter and reached inside. A pistol found its way into his hands, firing its payload towards the duck with a loud snap, which Dewey was able to dive away from just in time. On his stomach then, Dewey took aim with his musket and fired.

CRACK went the gun, and in a terrible instantaneous moment, the gun in Farid's hand, as well as the hand itself, had simply disappeared. Blood spurted from Farid's wrist as he screamed, falling away from the helicopter, clenching his wrist hole closed to stymie the flow of blood.

Dewey stood and, still wielding the unarmed musket, ran up to Farid Kagan, who was struggling to his feet to get away from the Duck.

"Nobody!" Cried Dewey, as the butt of the musket found purchase on Farid's face.

"Fucks!" He continued, planting a foot in Farid, causing him to roll further away from the helicopter.

"With!" The butt of the gun was once again used.

"My!" Stomp! Dewey's webbed foot crushed against the man's chest.

"Family's!" A fist shot out cracking against the man's jaw.

"MONEY!" With this, the butt of the gun was once again applied to the man's face as he tried to stand to get away from the rage of the Duck family, combined with the pragmatism and vengefulness of the McDuck clan. The blow sent him tumbling backwards, landing with a thump on his back.

As Dewey approached, concussed blood dripping from the butt of the rifle, Farid's face looked around desperately for something to use. He saw, still clenched in his dead, detached hand, the gun. With his off hand, he pried the still pliable fingers off of the gun and snatched it up, pointing it towards the oncoming duck.

"Dewey!" cried a voice. "Look out!"

Farid, panicking, altered his shot towards the voice and fired.

Dewey turned. His eyes went wide as he saw PK standing near the doorway, frozen in an expression of surprise. As he was watched, he crumpled to the floor silently.

That something within Dewey stirred, and he couldn't help but run over as Farid lay dazed on the far edge of the rooftop. He knelt beside PK and rolled him over to face up to the sky, supporting his head.

"PK. Are you alright?"

"Get... Farid..."

"You're hurt. You need help."

"I'm not... I'm not important. It's you, you and your brothers, you're the future. I... I'm just an old... so-and-so..."

Not understanding the profound feelings within him, Dewey couldn't help but feel overcome by emotion as this masked man lay bleeding in his arms. Quickly, telling himself it's to give him much needed air, Dewey ripped away the mask to reveal the face behind. He gasped.

"U... Uncle Donald!" He cried.

The white, lined face of the duck, Donald Duck, were plain. A single eye, the other lost in some unknowable conflict since his disappearance was the only feature Dewey couldn't place on the otherwise painfully familiar face.

"I... I didn't want you to know..."

"Uncle Donald. You've been watching over us this whole time?"

"Yes... I wanted... I used Joe and Panchito... to tell me where you would be. I wanted to see..."

"Don't talk, Uncle Donald," insisted Dewey, taking off his jacket and laying it over the Duck's wound to stop the blood from flowing.

"You were..." He had begun to sweat, surprise at the sudden wound being taken over by pain, "You were always a good kid, Dewey. You... you all were. I'm glad... I'm glad Uncle Scrooge's legacy is..."

"Please, Uncle Donald. Shhh. You're too weak."

The roof access door opened yet again, and this time Huey and Louie appeared. Huey all but screamed as he saw Donald Duck stretched out, bullet in him, and ran over, kneeling.

"Uncle Donald! No!"


A sudden, wracking sob tore the air, rending Dewey and Louie's souls to the core. Their brother, Huey, the strong, unbreakable pillar of the three Duck boys, had tears on his cheeks as he looked into the one-eyed face of Donald Duck.

"Don't die, Uncle Donald!" cried Huey, "Don't die! I couldn't go on! Don't leave us alone. Not again!"

Louie walked up and inspected the wound, "We need to get him downstairs, to a doctor. Where's Farid?"

Dewey looked over and saw that Farid was not where he had been left. He stood quickly and took up his musket.

"Take care of Uncle Donald," he said, as Louie's impassive face and Huey's tear-stained one looked up at him, "Get him somewhere safe. I've got unfinished business."

Without looking back to see his two brothers carefully move the injured, half-costumed PK down off the roof. Dewey crept along the room, cognizant of the fact that Farid, one-handed though he might be, still had a loaded gun.

He ran up to the Helicopter and used it as cover, finally giving himself the chance to pour the measure of powder into the musket, before tamping it down with the Ramrod, before loading the shot and once again giving it a tamp. Now armed, he once again began to creep along the roof, looking all around himself.

BANG! Went a shot behind him, near the edge of the roof. Farid Kagan was there, his handsome face marred and bloody from Dewey's working-over of him earlier. He fired again, and Dewey felt a pain in his leg.

He yelled and looked down. His leg had been struck, but it was only nicked. It was a fleshwound that he could still walk on. He did, walking with purpose towards Farid, whose face was contorted in a sudden expression of sublime fear.

BANG! A shot from the pistol missed. Dewey got closer.

BANG! The shot veered off course as Farid's hand shook uncontrollably.

"Get away from me!" Farid screamed, wanting so to steady the gun with both hands.

Saying nothing, Dewey merely raised his musket and fired.

Farid was struck. He looked down and saw the spreading blood staining his immaculate shirt, and knew in a moment that it was the end. He looked up at Dewey, his face cold and calculating, and in a wild flash of pure hate, found the strength, even without the ability to breathe fully, to raise his gun one more time and fire.

Dewey, for a moment, did not feel anything, and merely continued to walk towards Farid Kagan, unaware of any injury he had sustained.

"I...Impossible!" said Farid, in the emotion of a cry, but with only the ability of a whisper, "I... Impossible!"

With a single punch from Dewey Duck, Farid found himself flying, watching the still rising sun over the upside-down cityscape of Bombay grow down from above his vision, the sun seeming to set upwards behind the jagged outlines of the square towers. He found that he was screaming as he fell from the Khan Building, but no sound came out. Instead, blood was gushing from his windpipe, and he slowly blacked out, wondering idly why.

Back up on the roof. Dewey sighed. It was over at last. The recording would clear his name. Even if there was to be a war, it would get no help from Dewey Duck.

That's when the adrenaline wore off and the pain in his chest became apparent. Before five seconds of panicked realization had occurred, loss of blood and exhaustion caused Dewey duck to pass out, placing a hand over the gnarled hole that had been drilled directly over his heart.

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