Unethical
Canine Cruelty
The Beagle Boys were dogs, in every sense of the word.
A dog, at their very best, could be a very loyal and loving friend.
Or they could be a savage and cruel beast. A serial hitman and a killer. Every guardian's worst fear. Every child's worst nightmare.
It was supposed to be a relaxing afternoon paddling their rowboat on the river. Then it all went to hell when some Beagle Boys on the riverbank spotted them.
Downstream, the kids found themselves heading towards a blockade of sailboats on the river, courtesy of Duckburg's infamous street gang.
Huey steered hard to port immediately. As the ducklings leapt from the boat and started running, the sand grinding under their feet, a boomerang thwacked Louie on the back of the head.
"Louie!" Dewey screamed, bending down to check his little brother over.
"You have to stay awake," Huey urged as he helped Louie to his feet.
Louie stumbled before letting out a rattly "I'm fine."
"You don't sound like you are," Huey rebuffed. Dewey, picking up a nearby broken branch, spoke up next, "Webby and I can buy you some time. Get Louie out of here!"
"I don't like it, but we have no choice," Huey sighed, "You be right behind us!"
"As soon as you get a big head start!" Webby replied and spun around, just in time to see two Beagle Boys, armed with mallets, burst from the nearby bushes.
Grabbing Louie by the hand, Huey bolted.
Webby took a running leap and tumbled between the legs of the bigger canine. Dewey swung his stick, which connected with the mallet of the shorter beagle.
"Come here, ya little brat!" yelled the large thug as he brought down his mighty hammer upon Webby, who managed to backflip away to safety. Using the momentum of her flip, Webby jumped back and rotated herself again, so that her feet were parallel to a tree trunk. Using the tree as leverage, Webby sprang off and landed on the upturned face of the mallet's head. Hopping up, Webby delivered a roundhouse kick to the beagle's face, followed up by an uppercut to the tenders.
The big beagle whined in agony as he collapsed in a heap. Meanwhile, Dewey brought his stick up to parry another blow. Unfortunately, the mallet strikes had worn down the branch's strength, and this time the smaller beagle's mallet broke the duckling's stick in half.
"Didn't see that coming," Dewey gulped, and braced himself as the remaining beagle lifted up his hammer for the final blow.
"Hi-yah!"
But a flying kick from Webby put a stop to that.
The two children surveyed their handiwork.
"Okay, the two savages are taken care of," Dewey stated, "Now let's go catch up with Huey and Louie!"
The two kids turned their tails and fled.
"How bad is it?" Louie ground out his question as he and Huey staggered out of the forest on the eastern side of Duckburg.
"It's bleeding, but only a little," the red eldest triplet reported, before asking, "Does your satellite phone still have battery?"
Louie scrummaged a hand through his pockets before pulling out his target. He checked the screen. "Yep. A lot of a battery."
"Good," said Huey, taking it and dialling Launchpad's number.
"Come on, Launchpad… pick up."
Huey's prayers were answered a few seconds later.
"Oh, hello, Master Huey, what would you like me to do for you?"
"Launchpad, thank goodness. We need a helicopter ride from the lighthouse. How fast can you make it there?"
"Oh, well, I should be able to make it there in 5 minutes."
"Without crashing?"
"Er, 7 minutes."
"We'll take it. See you there," Huey breathed as he pressed the 'end call' button.
"Gee, you really channelled Great-Uncle Scrooge there, giving out instructions over the phone," Louie lightened the mood with his ever-smooth banter, as he leant on his eldest brother for support.
"Remind me to thank him later," Huey retorted with a smirk as he continued helping Louie along.
Webby and Dewey tore through the forest foliage. Adrenaline fuelled their desperate sprinting, and primal fear blocked out most of the aches their little bodies managed to accumulate. Thorny bushes scratched their plumages, and their feet were bruised and bleeding.
Finally, they stumbled out of the forest and into the Industrial District. The two ducklings continued their footrace down the sidewalks. Dewey's phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked the screen, which said 'Huey'.
"Hello?" he rasped as he opened the call while sustaining his jogging.
"Dewey, thank goodness, meet us at the Lighthouse. Launchpad has got our ride," Huey instructed via cellphone audio.
"Got it," Dewey responded, but suddenly shrieked as a baseball bat entered his peripheral vision.
Webby watched in horror as Dewey was sent flying through the air, screaming his 10-year-old lungs out, and landed headfirst in an open garbage can.
Before she could run over to check on him, four Beagle Boys stepped out from the bushes and the alleys. Webby sighed and braced herself.
In a moment, she was running, running for the nearest Beagle Boy. Her opponent was bounding towards her as well, but at the last second, Webby leaped high and swung around a lamp pole as he lunged at her. She completed her swing by kicking him in the head.
That, along with his missed tackling lunge, ended with him faceplanting onto a sewer grill, knocking him out cold.
Webby used the speed from her leap to carry her into a forward roll into the legs of the next Beagle Boy, who tripped and fell. Webby chopped a fist at his head to make sure the job was finished.
Pulling out her grappling gun, Webby turned and fired, tangling the legs of the third Beagle Boy. With a great tug, she sent him sprawling onto his back.
Finally, the fourth Beagle Boy. And this time he had a knife on him. But her Granny's training wouldn't be wasted here.
The knife guy lunged at her and swung. She leaped back, just missing the blade by millimetres. She landed on her feet and slid out a leg for a sweep manoeuvre.
To her great shock, the Beagle Boy dropped low and caught her leg with his free hand. Then he lashed out with his own leg. His kick caught her squarely in the temple and she was launched into a shrieking tumble.
Despite a wave of grogginess that was beginning to cloud up her mind, Webby forced herself to her feet. The lunatic with a knife was lunging again. Too quick this time.
Webby let herself go limp and fell on her back. The knife slashed the area where she had been not just a second ago. Quickly summoning strength in her arms, Webby levered her prone body into a position where she could kick both her feet into the gut of the knife guy.
He dropped to his knees, winded from her strike. Webby seized the opening, yanking on his right ear, cocking her left fist back and launching it forward, delivering a finishing blow that the Beagle Boy would still be feeling the next morning.
Webby let out a ragged gasp as she sank to her knees. At the very least, she hadn't gotten any more scrapes. All but a very few of her scratches could be traced back to her and Dewey's frantic dash through the forest.
Her heart stopped as a shadow swallowed her up. She looked around for the shadow's source. Her eyes settled on a tall and broad Beagle Boy standing on the edge of the building on the other side of the street. He let out a howl, which was responded to by a plethora of many more howls, each of them ominously menacing in tone.
"Of course," thought Webby despairingly, "We just had to end up in the sketchiest neighbourhood."
She searched her skirt pockets for something… yes, a $10 note.
Webby grimaced as she stuffed the note in her beak, letting her tongue slide around and salivate it.
She ran over to the trash can where Dewey still lay inside. Blood was slowly oozing from his nostrils, but other than that, he looked fine. Webby groaned in regret.
She had to make this look convincing.
Her tongue pushing the crumpled and saliva-covered $10 note to the edge of her beak, Webby spat into the bin. The money landed square on the center of Dewey's shirt. She hoped he would notice it and use it with common sense to catch a ride home.
Taking the lid on the side of the garbage can, Webby also hoped that the Beagle Boys wouldn't be smart enough to check inside the bin for a second duckling.
Then, her heart racing, she raced away.
To her increasing panic, Webby didn't see or hear any cars nearby, and the buildings on the other side of the road all looked rotten and dilapidated. No other members of the public were nearby, it seemed. She was truly alone now.
That was both good and bad. Bad in the sense that no one could help her against an incoming horde of street criminals. Good, or at the very least bittersweet, in the sense that members of the public would likely only end up as casualties if they were to get involved in the fight that was about to happen.
Webby spared a quick glance at her left as she continued running. Heading back into the forest was an option, but a risky one at that – and she'd definitely be cutting herself off from all other options if she chose to take the chase through there.
And besides, if her pursuers did manage to catch up with her, it wasn't likely that anyone would find her remains in the forest…
Wrong thought, Webby! WRONG THOUGHT!
Caught up in the possible horrible outcomes of her predicament, Webby almost didn't notice the stilt-clown beagle lumbering directly in front of her. She somersaulted out of the way, and wielded the trash can lid that she still held in her hands like a frisbee.
The flying lid managed to knock out the stilt-clown and another Tumblebum. Webby spun around and, horror of horrors, it seemed that the entire Beagle Gang (minus Ma Beagle and the Ugly Failures) were on her tail.
She was too late to notice Backfield Beagle thundering at her from her left, and his outstretched arm shoved her against lamp pole.
Pain exploded through her mind, and she barely managed to dodge a blurry fist, crying out as she rolled away.
The skateboard-riding beagle, one of the Longboard Taquitos, suddenly sped by, seizing her hair and dragging her up and along for a frightening ride.
Webby screamed, but was cut off as a thick fist smashed into her side, abruptly stopping her body's momentum. Webby felt another big hand envelope her, and time slowed as her world tumbled. Her blurry vision started to grey at the edges as time resumed at its normal speed and she found herself being slammed on her back against the asphalt road.
A booted foot caught the side of her forehead, and as her grey vision smoked towards inky, unfeeling blackness, Webby felt furry hands shoving her small body into a sack.
