Snuff
Drops of water hitting and trickling down his beak brought Dewey back to the waking world.
The duckling moaned in a pitiful whine at first, before squealing in surprise when he found bloody water trickling down his cheeks.
That's when the rain began to fully pour. The smell of wet, gunky trash entered his nostrils and he let out a snorting groan. Pain scraped the nerves of his throat raw.
"Ow! W… Webby…?"
Images of a pink-skirted duckling brawling several grown dogs started flashing one by one in his mind. Although his memory was still vague of what had just recently happened, Dewey started struggling from his stuck position inside the garbage can, calling out for his best friend in increasing panic that threatened to drown him mentally.
"Webby! Webby?!"
Dewey started yelling and kicking. After several tries he brought the trash can crashing down on its side.
"Augh…!" Dewey moaned as he wiggled his little body free from the bin.
"Need to get home…" he thought laggardly, his mind still fragmented.
His eyes eventually caught sight of the $10 bill that laid in front of him.
"Who would throw away a perfectly good wad of cash?" the boy muttered as he reached out a hand to grab it. As soon as he touched the money, however, he recoiled.
"That's slimy! Eugh!"
The feeling of blood trickling inside his bill, which had just now become apparent thanks to a taste of metal, made Dewey reconsider the situation.
"It's still free money that no one wants. It's free money that you need. Use it, you moron!"
Inwardly sighing, Dewey made to pick up the bill again.
"Now to find a bus back to the mansion…"
Huey and Louie raced along Hookbill Harbour, their feet slapping the wooden planks of the pier. Rain battered their faces and soaked their clothes and feathers.
To their relief, they saw Launchpad's helicopter less than a mile up ahead, though the gale that was beginning to form blocked out their greetings to the adult.
"Kids! What happened to ya?" Launchpad stammered in alarm, sounding uncharacteristically grave.
"The Beagle Boys," Huey gasped out, bending and putting his hands on his knees for support. He wasn't as energetically fit as his younger brothers, and physical action drained him the quickest.
As it turned out, Huey didn't need to gather more oxygen to say anymore words. A dark look glazed over Launchpad's face at the mere mention of the city's most dangerous street gang.
"Get in. I'm taking you two home right now," Launchpad said to the kids.
"We can't! We have to wait for Dewey and Webby!" Huey screeched out.
They were having to raise their voices now, to be heard over the souring weather.
"This situation requires more duck-power, kid," Launchpad explained with sympathy, "We'll get more help from the manor first. You should never take the Beagle Boys lightly."
"But…but…but…!" Huey pleaded, before Louie gently shook his shoulder.
"Huey," the youngest triplet spoke up, "You know Launchpad is right, and that, for once, his logic is completely sound."
Huey spared a glance back at the way he and Louie had come.
Dewey and Webby were not on their tails. They weren't even anywhere in sight.
Grim despair washed over Huey.
"My fault. My fault. I'm the oldest child. It's all my fault."
But Louie's words had struck a chord deep inside.
Louie and Launchpad were correct. The three of them couldn't be of much help to Dewey and Webby without backup. McDuck Manor had to be their first destination.
And they couldn't waste any more time waiting around.
"Okay. To McDuck Manor!" Huey said as he jumped on board the helicopter. After helping Louie inside, Launchpad shut the doors and took off, flying at redline speed towards the mansion.
Warmth spreading throughout her body was the first thing that brought Webby back from the overwhelming darkness.
Immediately, her feet felt heavy and her hands felt stiff, like blood wasn't circulating efficiently through her limbs. Webby tried to move, but found her body immobilized.
Instinctual panic flooded her senses and she spasmed around, desperately trying to move.
The rattle of chains rang through her ears, and her heart skipped a beat.
Slowly, Webby opened her eyes.
Glancing down, she saw that her feet had been shackled around the ankles, with heavy steel chains leading to the floor.
Turning her eyes upwards, Webby saw that her hands were shackled around the wrists, with the same type of restricting chains trailing up to the ceiling of her cell, suspending her painfully off the ground.
That's when she spotted Big Time, Burger and Bouncer out of the right corner of her vision.
Big Time let out a deep laugh that boomed throughout the cell. If her body weren't securely restrained, Webby would have shrank a little against the brick wall behind her.
"Well, little Vanderquack, it looks like street justice has finally caught up with ya," Big Time announced, stepping forward.
"Heh-heh," Webby giggled nervously, swallowing down a lump in her throat, "Street justice… so rad and cool and, uh, gloomy all at once. Am I right?"
"You've got the gloom part down alright," growled Bouncer. He jabbed out his fist.
Webby squeaked as the air was crushed from her stomach.
Burger didn't allow the child any reprieve, however. He followed up a second later after his brother with a high kick to duckling's beak. A fist chop slammed across her face moments later.
Webby gagged as the full forces of Burger's blows began to register. She could feel her right eye becoming a black shiner – it throbbed excruciatingly.
All of a sudden, she couldn't breathe again, as Big Time slammed one fist after another against her small chest. Her world flashed blindingly in epileptic colours.
However, she was brought back sharply to her senses by the alarming sensation of teeth digging into her shoulder. Webby screamed.
Burger was biting her right shoulder. He hooted ferally as his ears drank in the sounds of the little girl's screams.
His hand found her beak, and muzzled it half-shut in a suffocating grip.
The duckling's screams still came forced out as muffled, drawn-out whines as Burger bit into her abdomen several times over.
He didn't stop biting, though. But eventually his hand released her beak, and Webby freely began screaming out loud again.
Heavens HELP ME! This hurts this hurts THIS HURTS SO MUCH! ARGH! AAAGH! STOP! Make it stop MAKE IT STOP PLEASE! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE! AAAAAGH!
Finally, he stopped biting her. Her blurred vision came back momentarily to see the three beagles in front of her laughing – jeering at her. At her bloodied little body and her agonizing pain.
She didn't hear their laughs, though. Her ears were ringing. Ringing with the sounds of her own screams. She'd gone bloody deaf through madness.
"Where's your Grandma now, brat?!" Big Time sneered. His words throbbed in her head.
No. She had not gone deaf. But she had been bloodied. Badly.
Granny… Granny… please… please, help… help me…
The cell door swung open and clanged on the wall. The sound made Webby flinch and whimper pathetically.
"Aw, dudes, you saved some fresh duckling for the rest of us to try, right?" asked one of the Longboard Taquitos.
"Hmm, she's all yours," Big Time grinned at his entering kin in wicked satisfaction.
"Oh yeah, I've been waitin' for this moment for forever," said another Taquito as he waltzed in with a stool leg in each hand.
Webby whimpered and tried futilely to back away as that particular beagle approached…
It didn't matter.
The wooden beam slammed full force into her legs.
The sickening crunch of tibia bones was the last thing Webby heard before her world was overwhelmed by the sounds of her screaming again.
Dewey slumped in his seat just as the bus jarringly accelerated from a standstill.
Geez Louise, this driver's rough.
He squinted as he glanced back at the driver who had let him on, and rudely shoved a $5 dollar bill in his hand in exchange for his $10. All without saying a word.
Really, he was cold, wet, and soaked with rainwater mixed with his own blood, and that darn adult of a driver had nothing to say. Nothing?
Dewey then noticed that the driver of the bus had been the same one that had kicked him, his brothers and Webby off on that first day that Webby had journeyed outside the mansion's grounds with them.
Oh Webby, where are you?
And… what happened to me?
Webby coughed out tears, blood and mucus from her beak.
Her body was now covered in a multitude of lacerations. Her legs had been snapped and cracked.
As she hung against the wall, suspended off the ground, and bleeding out profusely, the poor child only found the energy to moan.
"Stop… please…"
"Under normal circumstances, we would," replied Big Time, "But you see, we owe our Ma a birthday gift, after you and your tall new friend ruined her last one. And guess what, sweetie-pie? You are our belated gift to her. We just need to put the finishing touches on ya."
Webby heard the tell-tale sparks of electricity crackling to life. She craned up her sore neck, forcing her gaze to be at eye-level with these dogs.
These horrible adult dogs who took primal, savage pleasure in abusing a child.
And that's when she spotted Broadway Beagle looming closer and closer to her, a jump starter in his hands.
"No…" Webby rasped out, blood gurgling in her mouth, "No! Please! Don't!"
"Now, now," mocked Broadway as he set up the jump starter, "You will not ruin my masterpiece this time, youngling."
A frightening buzz registered through Webby's ears just before Broadway jammed the sparkling jump leads against her chains.
Agony rocketed through her body.
"DAAAAUGH! NAAAAAARGH!"
The pulsing voltage subsided for a moment – just one miniscule moment – before surging through her nerves once more.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" Webby screamed in a strangled, tormented voice.
Again.
And again.
And again cruel lightning burned through her.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"
From the cold floor of the amphitheatre, Lena jolted awake, a wave of sickening dread washing over her.
Her last few moments of her dream had been of Webby – bloodied, battered, helpless and screaming.
"What troubles you, Minima?" the voice of her aunt asked, as the cursed shadow materialized on the stone wall beside her.
"It's…" Lena hesitated, before deciding to go through with honesty, "It's Webby. She's in trouble."
"And why does that concern you?"
"Aunt Magica, Webby is…" Lena paused, slightly ashamed of admitting this information to her evil aunt, "She is my best friend. I have to help her."
"If you do that, you're helping our enemies. And this time we don't get anything in return from them by doing so," Magica glowered at her niece.
"You mean you don't get anything," Lena pointed out, irked, "And honestly, I can kinda understand why they wouldn't want to concede anything to you. But for me? I get their resources, and their friendship… and…"
Lena remembered how strong Webby's love for her grandmother was, and vice versa. She remembered their bond, and she remembered Beakley extending that offer to her, unconditionally.
"And I get to be part of their family. Their supportive, caring, loving family. Not this broken one full of curses and lies and hate," Lena finished.
"Now don't you think that I'm going to let you waltz out on me so you can join them just like that!" Magica snarled.
Lena closed her eyes. But not out of fear.
"You can't stop me, Auntie. You're only a shadow. A pathetic, intangible shadow that is the only link to my wicked upbringing. A link that I can, and will, cast off."
"No-!" Magica made to protest, but was cut off as Lena turned away and started running.
The teenaged duckling had now found her new purpose.
Help her new family.
And start by saving Webby.
The searing agony and her screaming – oh heavens, her screaming – went on for ages.
Webby hardly had the energy to cling onto consciousness anymore.
She just hung limply from her chains. Her eyes were simply closed, the darkness being her only relief from the constant pain. Her wrists and ankles were numb, half-dead from the lack of proper blood circulation thanks to the shackles.
Right now, every waking moment for the duckling was spent on clinging to the weakening strands of her mortality.
The cell door banged open again. Webby let out a small whine and shivered. Shivered like an abused pet.
Ma Beagle had arrived.
"My golly! Why, isn't it Bentina's little brat?" the old female dog remarked, sniffing at the juvenile duckling in an unnerving way, "I've been dying to meet you. Especially after you humiliated me at that arcade and had the gall to crash my birthday party!"
The alpha dog slammed her crowbar into Webby's ribs.
Webby whined distressingly again.
Ma Beagle, unfazed by the pitiful child, brought up a fist in a vicious uppercut.
Webby felt her lower mandible break and hang limply.
"Augh…"
The Beagles' matriarch still didn't relent, however, pounding fist after fist into Webby's stomach.
"Impertinent child! Back in my day, our elders would have our hides for such disrespect! It's a pity you ain't my offspring though. THIS – this is the average punishment for the most mildest of sins. But your grandmother wouldn't appreciate us sending what's left of you back in a doggy bag to her. So sadly, the lashing is as far as we can get with you today. You better be thankful."
Ma Beagle whistled, and several of her sons came in to start releasing Webby from the now bloodstained chains.
They dropped her broken body unceremoniously on the floor before they left again.
Ma Beagle loomed over the battered duckling.
"Now child, remove your clothes."
That gave Webby a brief surge of frantic energy to force her heavy eyelids open. She whimpered in feeble protest.
Ma Beagle's foot slammed into her face.
"What's the matter?! Too weak to listen to your elders? Too frail and puny? Or is it just defiance, huh? Darn youthful stubbornness?" Ma Beagle growled, before chuckling lowly, "No matter. I think I can coddle a baby one more time, my age be screwed."
None too gently, she hauled Webby up into the air with one hand. With the other hand – the one holding her crowbar cane – she stuck the hooked end of the crowbar under the collar of Webby's dress and yanked down hard.
Frayed, tattered, and bloodied fabric ripped in half, clean down the middle.
Webby let out a gargled scream once more – Ma Beagle had also added another long laceration down the center of her abdomen, thanks to the crowbar's hooked end cleaving the surface of her soft skin, but to the vile dog this was obviously a bonus.
Ma Beagle tossed aside her cane and dropped the bloodied, and now naked, child to the floor. She pulled out a coil of rope and a long metal pipe.
"Now it's time to let my boys know how much I appreciate their birthday gift for me – even if it is belated," Ma Beagle smiled abhorrently as she bound Webby's body to the pipe, "And I'll let them have their fun with you too."
Webby whined in newfound agony and alarm.
"Oh, don't worry. It's not that kind of fun. Just think of it like a mini-parade before we return you home," Ma Beagle grinned devilishly as she hoisted up the pipe that Webby was attached to and walked out of the bloodied cell.
The rain, belting down into open wounds, did nothing to lessen Webby's pain as Ma Beagle dragged her across the Beagles' Junkyard.
Leering hollers and whoops from beagles all around threatened to plunge her mental state into complete insanity. Webby almost didn't care anymore.
Insanity would be bliss compared to this.
Blood rushed painfully to her head as Ma Beagle started climbing what looked to be the tallest junk pile in the yard. It was hard to tell from her upside-down position on the pipe. Webby felt several more hard objects bang and rattle against her head mercilessly as the Beagles' matriarch continued their ascent.
Finally, they reached the top. And Ma Beagle finally righted the pipe that Webby was tied up to. Now right-side up again, Webby could see the entire Beagle Clan beneath her, on the ground level of the junkyard. Their jeering increased tenfold.
"Where's my whip?" Ma Beagle bellowed as she jammed the pole securely into the top of the pile so that it stood firmly upright.
A lanky Beagle Boy quickly made the ascent to hand his mother her prized whip.
"Ah, perfect," sighed Ma Beagle as she uncurled the leather strap. Webby squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself, whimpering.
She gasped sharply as the whip struck her neck.
A strong blast of wind pelted freezing rain against her small, naked body. Everything ached and burned and stung.
And the whipping just made it all worse.
Her bottom was the next area to be struck. And all the junkyard erupted in howling laughter.
Her beak was struck next. Her broken beak was whipped mercilessly, and she let out an anguished shriek.
More laughter. More laughter. Auditory senses suffocating from the sounds of merciless, cruel laughter.
She couldn't take it anymore.
Webby screamed and sobbed and sobbed and screamed.
Her broken, ailing body shook with wailing cries.
Salty tears mixed with blood and rain and stang her face, and she continued her crying.
Agonized screams mingled with her sobs. Her driven-to-insanity-by-humility-and-pain sobs.
NO! PLEASE LET IT END! LET THIS END! PLEASE PLEASE I'LL DO ANYTHING JUST MAKE IT STOP IT HURTS! PLEASE! PLEASE AAAAARGH!
The whip cracked over her blackened eyes and she screamed once more.
Her pained, grievous cries overwhelming her world once more, Webby barely noticed the pole losing its grip from its perch in the junk pile.
She didn't care when she started falling – it seemed like an eternity to her.
She barely felt her body banging against dilapidated pieces of trash on her way down.
She only felt merciful, blissful, and wonderful darkness envelope all that she was as her consciousness slipped far, far, far away from the living world.