D20yl: Required reading

MODERN NOTE: SO I wrote this like years ago and never hit the little button that says "Publish." Oops.

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Going back in time a bit, I thought it would be fun to list all the different properties I drew from when writing Ducktales: 20 years later, in case you, the non-existent reader, missed something.

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Ducktales - Obviousely. Special mention goes to episodes featuring Gizmoduck, Magica DeSpell, and showing Donald in the Navy.

Saludos Amigos - A fairly surreal movie revolving around three shorts. Done by Disney as a love letter to Brazil during the 40s, apparently so that we could stay political allies. Introduced the character of Jose Carioca.

The Three Caballeros - A really REALLY surreal movie done as another love letter, this time to both Brazil AND Mexico, which introduced Panchito, as well as the concept of Donald, Jose, and Panchito being bros for life.

Darkwing Duck - Once again, obviousely. Specifically, the episodes featuring Gizmoduck, Bushroot, and Steelbeak are probably good ideas as far as flavor is concerned, and that one terrible episode with the mutants that I decided to use in that one chapter.

Talespin - And the trifecta is complete. Look out for episodes featuring the Thembrians. Oh, and just for a fun bit of trivia, Don Rosa (See below) wrote a couple episodes, so check those out too.

Goof Troop - Really, only for the fact that I tried welding it to Super Goof canon (See below).

Disney comics - especially;
*Al Taliaferro: Created the nephews, or at least the first appearance of the nephews in the comics.
*Carl Barks: Who created Scrooge in the first place, and supplied a lot (Most of it really) of his backstory; See specifically, Anything with "Yukon" in the title. Just really fun Donald Duck and Scrooge comics.
*Don Rosa: His run, while much shorter, essentially used the building blocks supplied by Carl, and wove them into a solid grounding of fairly hard canon. Once again, really fun Donald and Scrooge comics. Specific reads: The Life And Times of Scrooge McDuck (It should be getting a reprint through Boom! comics soon); the two Three Caballeros stories he did.
*Floyd Gottfredson: Did Mickey Mouse stories. Referenced in passing. I kinda tried to stay away from the mouse, in deference to another fan project that was being done at around the same time (WHICH HAS APPARENTLY FALLEN OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH HELLO ARE YOU OUT THERE?).
*Italian and sundry other European stories: I don't know the specific writers, but the character of PK (Paperinik in Italy and a million other names everywhere else) was created in Europe who apparently have a booming Disney comic industry. There are a few comics in english, but apparently PKNA (PaperiniK New Adventures apparently) is the be-all-end-all of the character if you can find it in English. Also, heads up: There should be a new "team" comic getting imported soon through Boom! comics featuring PK (As well as Super goof).
*Brazilian Ze Carioca comics: Some are good, usually the ones where Jose is still wearing his actual costume. Some are kind of awful, usually the ones where he wears a T-shirt and jeans. I took a few characters from these, some just to calk up some of the cracks and some to drop some bonus references here and there. (Also, sidenote: I think reading the comics featuring Jose as the Green Bat adds a cool layer to his and Louie's relationship in the story.)
*Super-Goof: Relatively minor member of the Disney universe. Goofy's alter-ego, which he attains by eating super-goobers. Fun stories.

Disney Shorts - Especially;
*Cartoons featuring Donald and the boys: In particular, the first one where they come to stay and are unholy terrors. See also, just for fun a funny little cartoon where Donald runs a gas station and the boys are inexplicably aged to teenagers. No real bearing on the story, but it's kinda fun.
*Goofy shorts: Besides being absolutely hilarious, I used the ones where Goofy has a son named "Junior" as a basis for the chapter where I tried melding this, Super Goof, and Goof troop together to questionable results.

If you liked this..

Hello everyone who might still be watching this blog. (Probably less than one but more than negative one) Another Disney-themed fanfiction originating on Plus4chan has begun over here:

http://mmpicases.blogspot.com/

Mickey Mouse as a private detective in the 20s. Go read it if you want, it's pretty cool.

Hey. I have international appeal.

According to the traffic breakdown on FF.net, one of you guys is polish, one is from Norway, and one is from the Netherlands Antilles. Also, 8 Americans, one of which is probably me.

So yeah. 10 readers. Pretty good for a final score.

Edit: And now someone from Mexico. Good show!

Fanfiction.net: Where Fanfics go to die

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5235285/1/Ducktales_Twenty_Years_Later

It lives there, spell-checked, but still completely un-edited. Enjoy killing your eyes by reading black text on white background.

CONGRATURATION - Your a winner!

GAME OVER
Final score:

Word count: 122,074
Character count (no spaces): 559,950
Page count: 267
Chapters: 23
Readers: At least four. Maybe more.
Time Frame: May, 29 '09 - July, 18 '09
Would you have won Nanowrimo?: Yes. Twice. Once for June and once for July.

THANKS FOR PLAYING

Ducktales: Twenty Years Later - Episode 23

BAM! There you go. For better or for worse Final Chapter ho! Make sure to drink your ovaltine.

Once again, a reminder, this is fresh, Grade A unabridged me writing here, no editor nor spellcheck darkening my Word document. If you see something that doesn't parse, be sure to inform me.

Watch Fanfiction.net for a full archive, and for god's sake someone make a page on TVtropes. I've been wanting to for the longest time, but how utterly tasteless would that be, to make a page about my own stupid fanfic? Someone else do it or it won't get done.

Anyway. It's over! Hooray! or boo. Whichever. Enjoy!

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Episode 23:

Scrooge McDuck stood, young, healthy, strong, in tanned leather hides and with bandages wrapped 'round his webbed feet instead of shoes. He stood in the driving snow of the Yukon, saying nothing, just looking upon the sight he beheld. He held the Goose Egg nugget in his hands and held it up.

Two white-feathered hands appeared, and took the nugget from the man's hands. They were dressed in blue-accented khakis, topped with a pith helmet. He stood as he held the gift from his uncle, in the jungle of India, near the mountain range. As he stood, the giant gold nugget began to turn to dust in his hands, gold dust, and he smiled as the euphoria of discovery came upon him.

He looked up at his Uncle who was already disappearing over the horizon, off towards the pristine splendor of White Agony Creek, arm in arm with a gilt goddess with hair that was gold and jewels of gold and a dress that shone in the light like gold.

***

With a gasp, Dewey woke and tried to sit up. The pain in his chest, however, caused him to cry out, before he laid back, trying to will away the ache by staying perfectly still.

"Good. You're awake," said a familiar voice.

Dewey looked over and saw, in Sailor uniform, and with both eyes, although one was strangely inert, his Uncle Donald, who had bandages wrapped over his own stomach.

"Uncle Donald," Dewey said, his throat dry, "Wha-?"

"We're back in Duckburg. It's been two days since we were shot."

"Farid...?"

"Dead. S.H.U.S.H wasn't too pleased with that little stunt we pulled, but after hearing the recorded confession, well..."

"We're... They found us...?"

"Innocent. You've been reinstated as CEO of McDuck Enterprises, with apologies from the board of directors."

"But...?" Dewey's hand traveled up and hovered over his heart. He felt bandages underneath.

His head turned in response to a strange metallic clink. Donald had dropped on the hospital end-table a strange, gnarled metal object. It seemed to be a crumpled bullet, but flowered out strangely. It seemed almost to be comprised of two pieces.

"Th... the dime."

"Around your neck, yes. It caused the bullet to stop just short of your heart. If it hadn't been there the doctors said you would probably be dead."

Dewey looked towards the former number one dime, before looking up at the ceiling, breathing evenly. Memories from... was it really two days ago? Memories from then flooded back to him, and a feeling of triumph came over his face.

However. "The war. What about the war?"

"There is no war, Dewey."

"But... But Thembria..."

"...Has finally been absorbed into the Soviet Union. The Grand High Marshall was executed. Probably for trying to start Nuclear war over a magical dime. For the moment, we're safe, besides the conflict in Vietnam of course."

Dewey sighed, relieved. "I want a phone."

"No."

"No!?"

"No. Louie is acting CEO until you get better. I'm supposed to keep you honest."

"Louie! But... But...!"

"He's doing quite well so far, if you want to know. He reopened all the factories Farid closed, and aborted the plan for weapons manufacturing." Donald sat down at a chair by Dewey's bed. "Your goldmine has proved to be quite rich, by the way."

"My mine..." Dewey smiled, "My mine."

"And Uncle Scrooge's fortune is safe. All of your accounts have been unfrozen, and all the charges have been expunged. They even forgave Huey's draft dodging, though I think he's gotten to like life abroad."

Dewey nodded, "Good."

Donald seemed to look around, feeling a bit awkward after all those years away. "Well, uh. I should go. The docs say I should still be in bed like you." He began to walk out of the room.

"Wait. Uncle Donald."

He froze, before slowly turning around to face his nephew.

"Where did you go? You were gone for so long."

"There was..." Donald looked down, "There was an invasion. Aliens. Don't bother trying to make sense of it, you won't remember, but PK... I stopped it, but at the end I had spent so long behind the mask that I... it was difficult to give it up, see?"

"Are you going to settle down now?"

"I..."

Dewey's eyes were hard as he they swiveled to lock with Donald's. Donald's eye kept pace with Dewey's. Dewey then drew his gaze down to Donald's left hand, where a simple gold band still encircled the finger.

"Yes..." said Donald, once he saw the ring, "Yes, I think I'll settle down." He turned back towards the door and walked out without another word, but with the weight of the world finally off of his shoulders.

***

It was indeed one week later when Dewey and Donald Duck were released from the hospital. A crowd of people gathered around, taking photos of the pair, escorted by Dewey's two brothers and personal assistant. Dewey walked with a cane due to the injury in his leg sustained during the fight with Farid, and men in trenchcoats with tape recorders shouted at him for his story. His group wound their way through the crowd towards a long limosine. When Dewey caught sight of the long, opulent car, he gave a dirty look towards Louie.

Suddenly, A man vaulted through the crowd, firing off his camera wildly while asking a volley of questions; Where did they go? What were they doing? Is it true that McDuck Enterprises was going to sell weapons to the soviets.

A flashbulb was soon flying over the crowd, as the rest of the camera, minus a few parts, crashed to the floor with a shattering noise. Dewey then placed the cane back on the ground, with a small dent where the wood was nicked by the metal rim of the camera. He then ducked down and sat in the car, followed by the rest of his friends and family.

Louie was the last one in, and smiled brightly, waving his hat towards the crowd.

"Looks like Uncle Scrooge is back in town, boys!"

The crowd laughed as they jotted down Louie's; the witty brother's; jaunty little jab. He was the witty brother, the reader favorite who sold papers with a smile and an off-color remark, but Dewey was all business, and a businessman was exactly what McDuck Enterprises needed now.

***

The group was gathered on the docks, sitting and standing around the benches facing the water, where the Sea Duck was moored, repaired, refueled, and looking as good as the day she was first born.

Dewey and Webby sat in the middle, while Louie and Gosalyn, out of costume and still going by the name "Lorelei" around the Ducks, although she made no effort to hide her casual self, stood behind. Huey, with the three girls on either side of him and behind, sat on a second bench, while Doofus and Donald stood by.

"I suppose this is it," Said Huey, "That was the last party all together. From now on we're pretty much on our own."

"I don't suppose you could stay?" asked Webby.

"No. I gotta keep moving. I like working for Mr. Cloudkicker. Lets me go places, meet people."

Louie spoke up, "And we've got to be getting back to Saint Canard."

Goz placed a finger to her beak, "Hush-hush."

"And besides," continued Huey, "I've got to take these three lovely ladies back home."

They all gave sweet little sounds of disappointment, before Rosalina spoke, "Cannot we come with you Huey? We want to see the world."

Huey then began to sweat, "Well, girls, it's not like I don’t want you to come with. It's just... your Uncle..."

"Tio Carioca agrees with us," said Maria, whose English was improving.

"He think we should be with you," said Amalia, whose English finally existed.

"But..." He said, clearly wanting them to stick around, but afraid of what would happen if that came to pass, "...I mean, I'm all for it, but... You know how... how much I like you... all three of you... and I don't know if your Uncle would approve if I didn't... er..."

"Choose one?"

"And stick..."

"...Weeth her?"

"Uh..." Huey blushed and let himself slouch in the bench, "Yeah."

There was a moment, where the three girls had frozen around the dejected Huey, before all three burst into merry laughter.

"Is THAT why you were so nervous around us Huey?"

"Because you thought you had to choose..."

"...Just one?"

"Y- uh... What?" Huey said, perking up.

"We though you just weren't into group sex is why you only slept with us one at a time," said Rosalina with an innocent smile, "Why did you not say something?"

But Huey could not say anything, the thoughts and feelings he was experiencing at the moment were indescribable. Head, heart, and loins burned at once. "You mean I get... all three of you?"

"Yes!" They said.

"All at once?"

"Yes!"

"And Joe approves?"

"As long as you never look at anyone but us..."

"...But then you would have to worry..."

"...About us more."

A rumble in Huey's throat began to grow, becoming a cry, before morphing into a shout of pure victory. He stood quickly, anxious to be on his way. He shook each of his brother's hands in turn.

"Well fellas, It's been great, But I gotta fly. Take care. Don't let him work you too hard Webby. Remember to eat a really expensive meal once in a while. Don't take any wooden nickels. I'm..."

He then reached for Donald's hand and froze.

"Goodbye, Huey," said Donald, simply, "I'm sorry I couldn't have been a better father."

Louie and Dewey looked at each other quickly, wondering what Huey would do. His face was an unreadable mask as he stood before his Uncle, with the three girls placing their worried hands over their mouths.

But suddenly, Huey's arms reached out, encircling Donald in a warm embrace. Donald stood for a minute, basking in the tightness, before his own arms came up and hugged back. When they broke apart, Huey looked to be a better man, more energetic, happier, ready to love and be loved. He reached for the girls hands, wishing idly that he had three hands. The leftover girl, Amalia, not content being left out, simply hiked up her skirt and hopped up onto the back of her new shared lover, and Huey laughed, taking her light weight as he and the girls walked up the ramp of the Sea Duck, laughing and loving and lusting all the way.

As the plane began to take off, Gosalyn smirked, "Think it'll last?"

"I think that is entirely beside the point, 'Lorelai,'" said Louie, "The very fact that it has happened will make him proud to be a man for the rest of his life." Louie then sighed theatrically, stretching his arms before placing a hand on his Brother's shoulder, "Well, Dewey. That's it for me. McDuck is all yours. I kept the seat warm for you, got your affairs in order, and tried to leave everything as close as it was to how you left it. Hope you're ready for a hard core pain in the ass."

"I think after all this vacation, a little drudgery will be just what I need."

"I thought so." He took Gosalyn's arm and began to walk away. "By the way, I gave fifteen thousand dollars to 'Books without borders.'"

"you WHAT!?"

"I kept the receipt this time. Don't worry. It's tax-deductible." He waved his hand lazily, "Ciao."

Gosalyn laughed, grabbing him by the waist. He flinched away a bit.

"What's wrong?" she whispered.

"Sorry," he whispered, not wanting to ruin his exit, "You're just still so young..."

"How old do you think I am?"

"I dunno... Seventeen?"

"Yeah, seventeen... When we FIRST met. That was over a year ago."

"Y-you mean...?"

Gosalyn nodded her head, with a smirk. Louie heaved a sigh of relief, turned her around and kissed her as passionately as he could muster. Used to outbursts like that, she let him, and even reciprocated.

"Idiot," she said as they disengaged and walked off, arm-in-arm, into the proverbial sunset.

"I should be going too, Dewey. Mr. Duck. W- Webby," said Doofus, wringing his hands, "Mr. Crackshell will be expecting me soon. I've got you-know-what to do tonight."

"Of course, Doofus," said Dewey, "As you were."

Doofus seemed poised to say something, He wanted so to take Webby with him, to make her his. He loved her so, he knew that now, and he regretted he had ever let her go. "Webby...?"

She looked up at him with a pleading look. A look that begged him not to say anything. Her arms encircled Dewey's as they both sat on the bench. In a terrible instant, Doofus knew that she was lost to him, and that for her to be truly happy, She needed Dewey, and not Doofus, in her life.

"Goodbye, Webby," he said finally, before turning and leaving.

After a moment of silence, where Dewey, Webby, and Donald all sat or stood by the dock, watching the Sea Duck begin is ascent and fly off over the horizon, Donald began to walk away.

"Uncle Donald?"

"I'm not saying goodbye," he called, "Not yet. I've got a wife to get home to. I'll probably be in the doghouse for this."

"Feel free to come back to the Money bin," Dewey called, "For your old job back. The position is still vacant."

"Is the pay any better?"

Dewey had a quick intake of breath, and had a few false starts, before Webby jumped in, "$5.00 an hour."

Dewey's head snapped to give her a look, "Ms. Vanderquack!"

"He's married, Dewey, thirty cents an hour isn't going to cut it."

Dewey grunted, before turning back to his uncle and saying, firmly, "Three dollars, and not a cent more, understand me?"

Donald smirked, "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Welcome back, Dewey."

"Welcome Back, Uncle Donald."

The Duck walked on, finally content in the safety of Scrooge's legacy, towards the old house where he used to live with the little woman named Daisy who was sure to sock him square in the jaw before giving him the biggest kiss in the world for being away so long.

And so, Dewey and Webby sat, watching the sun slowly set over the horizon. The twilight air settled over them like a fog as the two bodies simply sat, feeling the other's presence through the contact of their arms.

After a moment, Webby said, "I have something to show you."

***

Blindfolded and pushed, Dewey stumbled forward through the halls of the money bin. He could tell where he was, as the smell of greenbacks still lingered there, but faded over time. He wondered what was up.

"Just a little more," Webby said, before she stopped and took off his blindfold. "Ta-da!" She was holding a long package.

"What's this?" said Dewey.

"A present, open it."

He looked up at her, slowly, before looking back down to the package. It was gaudily wrapped in holiday wrapping, each piece of which was tied with string so as to be entirely reusable. He smiled. She smiled. He began to open it, careful not to rip the wrapping too badly, and revealed a long box, which opened to reveal...

"A tie!"

"To replace the one that got ruined. I knew you weren't going to buy one yourself, so..."

"Oh. Webigail. It's... I love it." He wound it around his collared neck, and attempted to tie it on, once, twice. In their practiced dance, Webby reached forward and tied it on for him, with neither of them paying much attention to the fact.

He went to look at himself in the reflection in the window, and nodded, "It's nice. I like it."

"I'm glad."

He looked around the room, placing his hands on his hips as he surveyed his office, which, for once, he felt like he had earned the right to call 'his.' "What time does work start in the morning?"

"Six o'clock, sharp."

"Right. Another day, another million dollars." He began to hobble out of the office, "Come, Ms. Vanderquack. Lets go..."

"Wait... Dewey."

"Yes?"

"There's... one more surprise I wanted to show you."

He turned his head towards her. "Yes?"

She took his hand, gently, and led him towards the money bin's vault. She laid his hand on the locking mechanism, and allowed him to input the code. The bolts came undone with a loud, hollow noise, and the vault door swung open.

Inside there seemed to be nothing, as usual, the money of years redistributed among the three brothers. However, as Dewey got closer.

"Webby! You didn't!"

"It's all yours, Dewey!" she cried pointing out the shallow pool of money that had formed at the bottom of the bin, "Every single cent!"

With her help, and wincing from his lame leg, he began to climb down the long ladder. It took the two of them a long time to reach the bottom, where the load, predominantly made of coin with a few small greenbacks around to fluff it out, laid like a silver sea.

"But... but..."

"It's all of the profit to date from the Gold mine," she said, before pointing out a small, charred strongbox, "Plus what you saved from the B&B."

He hobbled over to the strongbox and opened it. The absurdly high amount of Brazilian money, amounting to barely any American, laid in the box. Dewey smiled as he mentally counted it. His.

A wild thought came over him, "How deep it is?"

"About five feet. We made sure to use a lot of small change at this point, to fill it out, you know?"

"Perfect. Perfect!" He stood, taking her by the hand, "Do you still remember how?"

"Remember how to..." her eyes blinked and she looked at the sea of cash that felt so hard under her feet, "You don't mean. With your leg?"

"Uncle Scrooge did it well into his 90s, I think I can do it with a bum leg. Come on." He veritably dragged her to the end of the wall, his eyes shining brightly, "And I was thinking when we get home, I'm thirsty for some of that good nutmeg tea you make. Have I ever told you I like your tea?"

"No, Dewey."

"Well, I do. I was just never thirsty for it before. I'm parched now. Hungry too. Where can we get some cheap Chinese or something?"

"There's the take-out place on the corner."

"Perfect. I could just go for some Chop suey and rice, with all the free soy sauce and fortune cookies I can pocket. Ready?"

"It's been years, but... I think so."

"Let's jump... together then..."

"Y-yes. I... I'd like that, Dewey."

Silently, Dewey counted, one, two, three, before he dove, headfirst towards the money, followed closely by Webby. Defying all physics, the two bodies sliced through the coins like water, old instincts coming back to them like the art of the bicycle, allowing them to dive through the coins like porpoises, burrowing through the greenbacks like two gophers, before popping to the surface, tossing the fruits of Dewey's labor up and letting it hit them on the head.

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.

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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.

***

Meanwhile.

"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!"

"Huey?"

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.