Discliamer: All characters in this fanfic belong to Disney studios, unless I come up with an extra while writing. The concept of this story comes from an episode of the BBC series 'The Goodies'.
It was a very typical night, no storms and no moon, and in a hillside dome, like that on observatories, Professor Nimnul was just completing his first stage plans for his next attempt to seize control of the world; or, failing that, at least New York. He put his pencil down, glared at his plans, and laughed manically.
"This is my greatest plan yet! It'll take a while, but I shall have control of Long Island before Christmas. Then I can extend my influence and the world will be at my feet before long. Discreet and devious, I'm bound to succeed this time!" He laughed some more; on cue, out of nowhere, a lightning bolt struck down on the roof of his dome.
The next morning the sun shone bright, the daily activites of New York citizens carried on like any other day and the birds were singing, mainly over who would be nesting in which tree. Even the criminal element was running low, only meager pickpockets and drug dealers dared to operate, for the police were beginning to sit up and take notice. At the Rescue Ranger HQ everyone was taking it easy; Monty was busy preparing breakfast for everyone, comprising of waffles coated in (what else) cheese and a jug of coffee to go around. Gadget was outside of her workshop on this particular morning, but she hadn't been idle, she was hanging out the washing that Dale had left in the machine overnight. Chip also kept himself busy by setting the table, but Dale hadn't even got up yet.
"OK, Zipper," Monty told his insectoid friend, "Lemme show ya how to flip a good waffle." With that he slipped his adaquately-sized spatula under the waffle in the frying pan and tossed through the air, across the kitchen, landing it right in the middle of a plate. "Ya see," He continued, "The trick is to ensure that the waffle ain't gonna stick to the pan, ya must also apply just the right amount of flippin' power to gettit right on the plate." Zipper buzzed his approval.
Chip was giving the dining table the once-over by now, ensuring that it was all neat and tidy, when he heard a weary noise coming from a nearby doorway, he turned to see Dale in his nightshirt sleepily wandering in.
"Can I smell waffles?" Dale asked, looking towards his bunkmate; Chip just frowned and replied.
"Monty's making waffles, yes. And while you were snoring your head off I was laying the table!" Dale just gave Chip an innocent look and said.
"I didn't know you were a chicken after all this time." And he sniggered, then Gadget entered the room carrying an empty laundry basket.
"Um, Dale..." She addressed, Dale turned to her, clearly her voice woke him up like a pint of coke. "Could you try not to leave the washing machine on overnight in future?" She started off again, basket in paws.
"Of course, Gadget." He replied in a slightly soft voice, as she walked off Chip confronted him.
"You realise that, because of your idleness, she had to hang out the washing this morning." He exclaimed, grabbing Dale by the nightcap.
"Well, it was getting late." Dale replied as a reason to leave the washing machine running.
"If you didn't spend the whole afternoon watching TV, you could've had it all done by supper!" Chip then nudged him back towards their bedroom. "You'd better get changed, Dale, breakfast will be ready soon!" Dale waltzed off, disgruntled by Chip's attitude.
"I hope Monty won't add too much cheese." Gadget commented as she came back. "The last time he did I had nightmares about mousetraps." Chip remembered that time, yesterday morning she skipped breakfast and didn't leave her workshop until lunchtime.
"Monterey Jack's a good chef," He noted, "But he just can't stop putting cheese in everything." Gadget nodded knowingly, thinking that there should be a house rule about eating cheese after 20:00.
Breakfast lived up to expectations, although there was a feeling that maple syrup and cheese did not go. Afterwards everyone went about their more casual everyday affairs.
"Gadget," Chip addressed her as she started to exit the room, "When do you think the Rangerwing will be ready for a patrol?" Gadget paused for a moment and answered.
"Well, once I've applied the semi-automatic defensive peashooter and made a few adjustments to the wiring I think it should be ready by half past eleven." And with that she went out to deal with the Rangerwing.
Nimnul hadn't bothered too much about breakfast, he was too wrapped up in his latest scheme; he had only got 5 hours of sleep, having been working on his plans until 02:30, which meant he only got into bed by 03:00. Interestingly enough, he was humming to himself as he wrote something on a piece of paper; although he was used to late nights he had only recently started thinking less about breakfast, which is a big mistake if you're up all night with your brain going flat out.
"It's got to be something that's persuades people to listen to it." He muttered as he wrote. He wasn't just writing on one piece of paper, in the bin behind him there was an arragement of screwed up pieces of paper.
It wasn't until 11:38 that he was satisfied with the result, he began to recite what he had written.
"Bom babum babum bom, diddle dee deedee. Wherever you are, whatever you do, listen to Radio Nimnul!" He paused and then added. "Ting." He placed his jingle to the side, looked at the clock and said. "I'll work on the boat after lunch."
By now Chip and Gadget were test flying the modified Rangerwing, which was also thought of as a patrol, Gadget's adjustments had increased the efficiency of the propellors by 20 percent.
"Look!" Chip announced, spying a pickpocket reaching for the hip pocket of an honest businessman (if such a thing exists).
"I'll try and deter him with the peashooter." Gadget told him, bringing the Wing into a dive. As it dived she pulled a lever causing a bamboo shoot to protrude from the underside of the Wing, she had looked up a deliberately crooked sight in front of the pilot's seat to achieve an accurate aim and still fly the craft without crashing into a wall or something. Just as the pickpockets got his hand at the rim of the businessman's pocket Gadget opened fire, the compact scraps of paper would not cause any injury but their speed made the pickpocket draw his hand away rapidly. He sneaked off, grimacing with pain, as Gadget pulled the Wing up, almost going at a one-in-one gradient with the nearest building.
"Nice work, Gadget." Chip congratulated her, tipping his hat to her in a subtle way.
"Gee, thanks Chip." She replied, she took in stock of the voltmeters for the propellors. "I think we should return to HQ, Chip, the electrical input for the propellors does not look promising." While Chip knew that the details would be too technical for him, he knew when he was in a potentially dangerous scenario.
"OK Gadget," He replied, "It should be close to lunchtime anyhow." It did Chip some good, knowing that a troublemaker had been stopped in his tracks, so he wasn't too disappointed by the fact that the patrol had been relatively short.
"I suspect," Gadget said, "That the batteries were about due for charging anyway, the dive must've caused a drain on them, especially with the abrupt pull-up afterwards. I just wasn't sure how close we'd get to that apartment." Chip just nodded, the steep climb had left his stomach at ground level. "Is Monty cooking again?" She asked him apprehensively.
"Yeah," Chip answered, "But I asked Dale to make sure he didn't go too far with the cheese." While this gave Gadget some comfort, Chip wasn't sure if he believed his own words.
Kirby and Muldoon were on a stake out, which was simply sitting in their car, hidden in an alley, while waiting for common street crime to pass by. It had been a quiet morning, mostly comprised of them talking about how to deal with the wives when they got home that evening; they were just about to start their lunch when a man in a black sweater and blue jeans ran up to the window on Muldoon's side and banged on it.
"Any trouble, sir?" Muldoon asked him as he wound down his window.
"I've been assaulted!" The man exclaimed, he sounded out of his tree. "I was walking along, minding my own business," He lied, "When I spotted an old friend of mine up ahead. I just reached out to place my hand on his shoulder in a friendly greeting when, out of nowhere, bits shot straight at my hand, like someone was firing a peashooter at me!"
"And were they?" Muldoon asked, he found the story about greeting a friend plausible, but he found the peashooter to be a bit out to lunch.
"They struck me as though they came from some sort of firearm!" The man answered. "I can't think anyone could blow a peashooter that rapidly!"
"Well," Muldoon inquired, "Was they anyone else around?"
"All I could see," The man answered, "Was a model airplane flying overhead, like a dive-bomber it was!" Kirby piped up.
"Can you get model airplanes that shoot like real ones?" Muldoon turned to his colleague and answered.
"Don't be silly, Kirby. That would be a public health hazard, no company would be dumb enough tobuild one." He looked at the man suspiciously. "I'm sure that Sgt. Spinelli would be more than happy to listen to your story and will make inquires regarding this unorthodox assault." The man caught on to Muldoon's tone of voice and spotted the look in his eye.
Half a minute later Muldoon and Kirby got the lunches out.
"These hobos will drink anything that'll help them forget about their miserable lives." Kirby commented, Muldoon nodded in agreement.
12:29, Nimnul was now working on yet another part of his scheme to take over New York, and maybe the world.
"My last scheme was brilliant, amost flawless, but everyone just laughed!" He growled to himself. "I've only got so many dollars, look's like I'll have to go on another crime spree before I can commence with my brilliant plan." He carried on with his designs.