Dedicated to my friends, Bloodyban, Disneypsycho, DeathbyMarshmallows, Mis Mal, Frothinglizard, Roamingtigress, Mouselady, and so many others who, along with Darkwing, saw me through the roughest points of my are always in my hearts. I own Cassidy, Celeste, Johan, Trixie, and a few other characters that will be mentioned as they appear in later chapters, but for the most part, the storyline I'm building off belongs to Bloodyban, Jake Mallard is hers, Jacob Mallard is Disneypsycho's, and all the cannon character are, ofcourse, Disney. If only I owned Negaduck, if only. Lol.
Warning: This is based on a cartoon, but the contents have no place in one. I realize within the next few paragraphs, I am very likely to outrage and offend probably the majority of readers because of one characters view on life. Please allow me to clarify first and foremost: Cassidy is mentally unstable. She believes in no God, she sees no good for the most part in her fellow man, and she has extremist views set in stone which she uses the flaws of others to defend, even when her own actions are cruel , violent, and indefensible. This is an unstable young woman who seeks the destruction of her own family, whom have done her no harm, even going so far as to cripple her own sister for life in an assassination attempt, because she sees herself as righteous and defender of justice and order as opposed to a world she sees as profaned with Choas.
In short, please do not take a her views as a means to invoke a rant about women's rights, religion, politics, and so on. I will not defend her beliefs as being correct nor will I state that I entirely disagree with a few of them, but I am writing on behalf of a homicidal unstable character and expressing HER justifications, not my own, so please consider with a grain of salt, that, she is no more defensible than Joker from Batman. She world love nothing more than to burn the world to ashes and release them into the wind and would argue to her end that she was right to do so.
Prologue :
Writing is a socially acceptable form of schzophrnia-Unknown Author
Intercept from Bittersweet Poison: The Memoirs of One Cassidy Abigail Irene Vivian Quackenkov:
"I do believe, personally speaking, that orphans have, if not the most pleasant, certainly the most interesting lives. The best stories , the most heartfelt, intense, stirring tales, all center around orphans. I cite, for explain, the stories of the incredible Harry Potter, (or, Hairy Otter, as he is fondly known in the world I come from) the oh so clever siblings from A Series of Unfortunate Events, the ever unlucky Jon Snow and his half siblings of Song of Ice and Fire, imaginative Anne of Green Gables, the plucky young Lyra of His Dark Materials, Dick Grayson, better known by the charmingly colorful monicker of Robin and later Nightwing, and ofcourse, the ever cheerful and unflagging sweet Annie.
Those of us who experienced abusive or neglectful parenting may have felt some envious flickers towards the aforementioned individuals, not because we necessarily wish ill fates to befall our subpar parents, but because more than once, we long for a magical owl baring a gracious induction into a magical academy or the odd balding but genial millionaire to happen upon us, neither of which, I can assure you, has happened to ME as of yet...
And if it's happened to you, I might thank you to keep as much to yourself, as I am admittedly not above the deadly sin of envy.
Nor a number of other unpleasantries, and dare I admit it so boldly, much to my dismay, some illegal activities and the more than the odd tampering with a timeline or two. I also will confess to the outright attempt to destroy my overly jovial and surprisingly resilient sybling, as well as a profound disdain for my mother, father, and grandfather, all of whom, in my book, have committed such sins of chaotic idiocy they should be smacked soundly or worse, but taking into account their less that desirable pasts, as are chronicled here forth in the next several chapters of this rather sizable tomb, one is likely to be inclined to feel sympathy for them or excuse their choices and condemn my own.
I have no hard feelings as towards anyone who might feel so, as this recording is not for the sake of sympathy garnering. I require no comfort or condolences. Having never been one for affection, either desiring it nor offering it, it seems now in my last hours to expect any would be ludicrous and I'm fully well aware even in the most amicable of situations, I am not the most likable woman. I make no apologies, as such would be pointless even if I felt remorse.
That being said, anyone who does not desire to delve into a ponderous and mostly depressing take behind those infamous villains, the Fearsome Five, in particular Negaduck , and the buffoonish Quackerjack, as well as some names you may or may not be familiar with, those of Agent Jake Mallard, Celeste Mallard, Keleen Vanderchill, Nimbus Phoenix, Malicia McCawber, Ariana McCawber, and a number of lesser known individuals all taking part in this strange tale of unwanted children whose fates were interwoven through the meddling of bored deities, destiny, or whatever Powers That Be whom keep the worlds spinning, I encourage you to turn back now and seek out other entertainment focused on more well known personas such as the illusive Darkwing Duck, Morgana, and Gosalyn Mallard.
Are you still here? Then strap yourself in. This ride has a number of loops, twists, and turns not for the faint of heart or weak stomached. It contains accounts of violence, a fair share of despair, dashes of science fictional exploits, more than a hint of thrills and chills, but also a dose of romantic intrigue and small pinches of levity and triumph all mixed together in a steaming stew pot of adventure. But mostly, and most importantly, it's a story about orphans. Children who were abandoned, unwanted, or misunderstood in various ways, and to a lesser extent, their parents, and how they shaped the world I am about to introduce you to. It's not always a happy world, in most of its dimensions, but it is unquestionably an interesting one. And it all starts at the very end of all things, a man made apocalypse of sorts..."
A Secondary, Bitter, Hopeless Prologue and Chapter One: The Meeting of Two Dark Minds
Cassidy was silent for a long time, staring out into the harbor. It was sunset. The final sunset. Slender hands were stuffed deep into the pockets of gray trench coat as if questing vainly for the answers there, as if somehow the deep and profound truths she sought might be tangled in a bit of lint and loose thread in one corner, trapped there from a tumble in the clothes dryer, before she replied at length in a hollow voice,"What do I want? I want you to push the button. Because even after all this, after every atrocity I've committed, after every life I've taken, I still can't bring myself to do it. I love this world too much."
~Where is your God now, ye humbled masses? If He existed, would not He reach down and smight us, your so called wicked, before we can undo all He has done? All that was created in His image? Merely the fact we are standing here with the ability to bring upon the end of days, doesn't that prove His none existence?~ she smiled breifly, bitterly. It was a all too common expression on her aged but youthful face.
She refused to look at the man she was addressing, refused to acknowledge the finality of it all just yet, not while she could watch the headlights of the cars flowing across Audoban Bay Bridge, like fairies in a caravan to an unknown mysterious meeting place, all set against a crimson setting sun sinking into the bay. When had she become prone to flights of fantasy? She couldn't remember. She had always been the practical one, the cold, emotionless child who scorned fairy tales and secretly hoped the dragons would devour the foolish hero and the captive princess. The darkness had long ago consumed her soul, if she had ever had one, if she had believed such a thing as a soul truely existed. But now...just this minute...she felt an unfamiliar pang. When had this all started to feel so very wrong?
"Don't get me wrong, I hate it too. The Human race in particular. We're disgusting, how flawed and self-centered and utterly pathetic we are in our attempts to justify our existence. We murder, we rape, we slaughter other species into mass extinction for the sake of a fur coat or a pocket of oil at the bottom of the ocean, we rip unborn babies apart in the one place they should be safe and call it women's rights or health care, we kill young doctors on buses because they're female and out too late at night, we kill children's parents and force them to become soldiers...we test sonic weaponry with no regard for how it effects the animals it reaches, even when they lay stranded on a beach, blood pouring from their ruptured brains...we feed Mercury poisoned illegal meat to school children, and the atrocities we commit in the name of this deity, that deity, flying planes into buildings, sending toddlers out strapped to bombs...teenagers that stab puppies to death and men who spear wildlife and post it on virtual media for entertainment! we suck..."
Her accomplice allowed her to continue her monologue with his persistent silence. She supposed he felt there was time. This was the only time. After the button was pushed, there would be no time. Time would come crashing to a halt with screams and then silence. So for now, he allowed her her regrets. She wondered if he had any regrets. If he did, he wouldn't tell her, not even now. Though looking at the gold wedding band he still wore, even after all these years, the one tiny chink in his seemingly flawless armor, she thought, just maybe, his own regrets were the reason he was standing here now. Not that reasons mattered at this late point in the game. She swept a wayward lock of brown hair away from her face.
Then again, here she was, ranting about the injustice of crimes committed against the innocent to an individual who had tried kill his own child, HAD killed his own wife! The irony was not lost on her. ~All these centuries, parents have told their children to sleep well, that there are no monsters under the bed. But they all the lied. The monsters were living in plain sight, without bloodshot eyes, horns or devil tails, clad in the guises of loving housewife and dutiful husband, the average citizen on the street, each and every one of them, hiding a behind a mask more convincing that that of any vigilante, hiding dark intentions and darker desires.~
~The Monsters have always been real. We ARE the Monsters.~
"But the fact is, I can't kill a child, much less a million of them. I still love the sound of a newborn baby or a toddler laughing, the idea of a first kiss, the concept of devotion in marriage, these things I've never experienced but I still see the value in them and they're too beautiful for me to destroy, even though I see the truth, I see that the only way for the world to survive is for the Human race to perish. I see that the only way to spare the children being tortured and slaughtered is to put them all to rest as suddenly , as painlessly, as possible in a way no more can ever be, but I still can't do it, so I'm asking you to be stronger than I am in your mercy, in your conviction that we are a plague on ourselves and this world that must be crushed out. A virus. So be better than me, and do what I don't have the heart to. End it all. Push the button."
Slowly, she turned and placed one trembling hand over his steady one, her still youthful fingers feeling the calm in the aged veins and bones that were prominent there. His pulse was even. His face was blank, stone, one of the earliest memories she had was his face looking down on her with an expression much like this. Her life had come full circle in the least predictable of ways. Jake Mallard's ever cold ice green eyes locked with hers, and together they slowly increased pressure on the deceptively small trigger mechanism that would unleash Armageddon.
End Prologue
Chapter One:
Three years and a lifetime earlier...
His morning had been going well, border line pleasant even, before she had walked into his office. The plaque on his cherry wood desk read Jake E. Mallard, Cheif Agent of S.H.U.S.H., but volumes could have been filled with what was left unsaid by that simple pronouncement. Failed father. Murderer. Wife killer. Refugee. Trained assassin. Former business owner. Insane.
The spacious office was reminiscent of one from his past, walls lined with file cabinets and book shelves, framing a single window embedded with state of the art one way mirrored glass that darkened in accordance to the brightness of the day outside, never allowing a view from outside in, nor too much cheery sunlight.
Spread out like a Playduck centerfold on his desk were the contents of a relatively small file entitled Swanson, T. , the most recent contents of which were a number of high quailty grayscale photos depicting a body on a chalk outline. He perused these with the air most men might reserve for family graduation photos, taking considerable pride in the fact that despite his age, he had never grown lazy or too content to indulge in wet work. Especially when it came to settling old scores. Infact, he had retained an almost artistic flare for the job, in his own not so humble opinion.
He looked up in surprise, shoving the photos into a nondescript manila folder on one side of his desk as a slender, curvatious fingure entered. His expression quickly shifted from one of annoyance at the interruption to a sly grin of appreciation as his gaze traced a pair of long slender legs from black stiletto heels up to a slit grey pencil skirt and matching business suit jacket over a white blouse, both revealing a hint of supple young cleavage. Her face was equally as pleasant as she stepped in and closed the door behind her, placing a steaming cup of hot black coffee on a coaster before him. Rich, robust, and only a hint of sugar.
Well, she may not have been bright enough to request permission before entering, and he was still puzzled as to why his secretary, Marge, hadn't buzzed him first...perhaps Marge was out on a sick day and this was one of her new assistants, still yet to be broke in? His eyes flicked from the cream colored plumage between her breasts to her blue eyes, tastefully outlined and accentuated with long darkened lashes. The color of her beak , a demure grey, and the faint darkening around her eyes, tan, were those make up, or natural? Oh well, he'd know soon enough, why spoil the surprise...he'd break her in in all sorts of ways...
"I don't think I've seen you before, my dear. Are you new, or transferred in from..." He started in his most suave and intoxicatingly, smooth tone, only to be unceremoniously cut off as she made a scoffing sound, and, to his amazement pulled the chair out opposite him and seated herself without as much as a byyourleave, if with a decided grace.
"MY GOD, you are stating already. Save Yourself some dignity, old man, and quit while you can salvage some of that bloated monsterity you call an ego. I'm not one of your "secretaries " or those doe eyed little novice agents that swoon the moment you a smile and offer them a glass of champagne," she countered in a surprisingly low but melodic voice.
Unexpected heat rushed to his face as he glared her vehemently. Quickly recovering himself, he snatched up a gilded pen from his desk to jot down damning information that would be the end of her short lived career. If she wasn't willing to make other, more preferable arrangements, that was. Jake Mallard was admittedly not beyond the thrill of breaking in a wild horse, particularly a fetching young filly half his age who he could introduce to a very literal crop. "What's your badge number, miss? I'm going to speak to your superior about your utter lack of respect."
"My badge number isn't registered with your system. Yet. I'm special operations, code name Wasp," she casually examined her nails, causing a long piece of bangs to fall coyly across her face. Her brunette hair was trimmed and styled shoulder length in the back, but for some reason, perhaps one of those new dangled up does he was unfamiliar with, the front of her hair one one side was long and swept to one side.
He tried to gauge her age, frowning. She almost looked fresh enough to be in her late teens, but that was impossible. So was her statement. "My systems are always kept up to date, Wasp...I demand the name of your commanding officer."
"Oh, well, in that case..." She reached over and tugged on the drawstring, closing the blinds on his single window completely before she met his eyes."I work directly under you. Both myself and my partner, Viper. But I'm getting ahead of myself, let me further embarrass you by stating its absolutely sickening that a man of your advanced age...you're what, 65 now? Would presume he could use his honeyed to use and powerful position to lure little ole 19 year old me into your dragons lair. For shame, Gramps."
"I'm 55, I'll have you know, "Jake sneered at her mock shaming, growing rapidly tired of whatever game she was playing. The prospect of breaking her spirit was quickly becoming rivaled by his annoyance, and her apparent lack of intelligence. She was either a very bad liar or suffered from lack of any credible information sources, both which made her useless to him. Also, reminding him of his age, whether he would admit it or not, was a sore spot, though he was in superb shape, able to compete with most of the agents in their twenties. "You're NOT 19. No teenager would ever make it past our security clearance..."
"She would if she were a true, fully trained, certified Agent, a progeny who graduated high school at 12, graduate school at 16, and had extensive weapons and combat training from the age of 6...oh, and I used YOUR documentation forger, you remember, the one you used to get your job here to begin with?"
Although his face betrayed no hint of his shock, he calmly slid one hand almond the underside of his desk to the discreet little button hidden there next to the intercom call button wired to his secretaries desk ,"I'm going to have security remove you from the premise, and I'm pressing charges for tresspassing on government property. When I'm done with you, you'll be older than I am now before you're eligible for parole..."
He froze as a cold, familiar shape pressed uncomfortably into a very private area. No, it couldn't be. "There's no way you got a gun in here, past our security system. Our metal detectors and scanners are state of the art." He felt sweat creep down the side of his collar, dampening his pristine white plumage. His expression, however, was set in iron.
She tilted her head to one side, foreigning curiousity, pressing the weapon more soundly against its target. He refused to give her the satisfaction of flinching. " Tell me, is it still the Astra or have you finally upgraded to the Browning Hi-power. You always did perfer the German based weaponry. Me, myself, and I , we're more interested in the future. I guess that makes this entire mission a bit..ironic, really. What you currently have caressing old family jewels there is infact, a 3D printer based model known as the Liberator .380. I call her Libby for short. She's mostly composed of a high grade plastic resin and silicone compound. Only the firing pin and the ammunition are metal, less content than your average wrist watch or jewelry, very unlikely to set off even the most precise of metal detectors at this day image..although technically, it's a violation of the Concealed Weaponry Act...oh well, you can't make an omelet without cracking a few eggs, as they say..."
Jake had had enough. His temper was flaring beyond his self control as he gritted out, " If you think you can just waltz in here and shoot the Cheif agent of S.H.U.S.H. in his own office, then waltz back out unharmed, you must be insane."
A startled look eclipsed her face and her free hand flew to her breast as if aggregiously and unfairly wounded by his implication. "Shoot you? I would never want to shoot YOU, that would defeat the entire point of me being here! Granted, as much as you love to sow those wild apple seeds , I can see how you would be concerned, but this is just a precaution. Once you understand who I am and why I'm here, there's no need for any violence between us, especially since my entire purpose, is to help you get exactly what you want!"
At first, he'd taken her for a F.O.W.L. Operative. Now he knew what he was dealing with was far worse. "You're insane."
she threw back her head and laughed. It was far from a joyous sound. Far the opposite, it had a chilling factor to it. She sniffed and wiped away a fake tear." Well they do say it runs in families. My father is. My mother may have been, who knows. My sister CERTAINLY is that, and dense to boot, and my grandfather, well, he's a certified homicidal maniac. My great grandfather on the other hand.." She smiled at him knowingly then suddenly scooped up the folder off his desk with her free hand, flipping through the photos calmly before he could protest, " My great grandfather has his little...flights of instability. My my my. Poor Todd Swanson. He was never even remotely connected with Mallard Industries in this universe, you know? Well, ofcourse you knew that. He had no connection to the merger that stole your business back in the Negaverse. I can't imagine what satisfaction killing his double here really brought you, but I suppose it still feels like revenge, doesn't it? You really should learn to let things go..."
Her azure gaze flicked to the golden wedding band on is finger. "But that's highly unlikely. I'm surprised you don't have the briefcase she gave you for your fifth wedding anniversary. Though it would have been difficult to flee a murder scene carrying a heavy leather briefcase, especially when your hands were bruised after beating your wife and nearly you son to death. And for the record, yes, I know your son is Negaduck."
Jake stared at this demon, this horribly knowledgable nightmare disguised as a young woman before him, half convinced he was dreaming, or maybe that the Devil had finally emerged in the flesh to lay claim to his soul. Hadn't the Bible described the Devil as being an angel, beautiful beyond all comparison? Surely this wicked apparition before him fit such a description. Even now as she withdrew the weapon from its undesirable place in his genitals and casually dragged the tip of the barrel between her cleavage, he felt temptation stir in him. The Devil come to collect her dues. No he refused to believe in superstitions. "How.." He croaked out, trying to find his voice.
"How do I know all I know?" She stretched luxuriously, tucking her firearm back in a thigh holster before settling in like a contented cat with a captive canary to disembowel at her leisure. " It's a very long story, but you have an open schedule today. And this office is entirely soundproof, so I'll explain. Let me start with the basics though. I'm here to help you eradicate the forces that stand against you: Jacob Mallard, Ava Moore, and most importantly, Negaduck and those closely associated with him. My name is Cassidy. Agent Cassidy Mallard. I'm from the future. Your future. And that's only the tip of the iceberg. Wait until we hit the Titanic..."
