Tension Convention
by Cheezey
Chapter Three
As the time drew closer to four o'clock, the crowd at the convention began to gravitate more toward the stage at the end of the hall, leaving the booths and tables emptier than previously. Although fan opinion of the Whiffle Boy movie was low, the notion of meeting the actor who had played Whiffle Boy, Brant Strongbill, was a different story. Love it or hate it, he had actually portrayed their hero—albeit in a poor cinematic representation compared to the award winning games, many thought—so they were eager to meet him. He was scheduled to come on stage and give an introduction, and then do a question and answer session where fans could ask him whatever questions they wanted. Afterward, he would take a seat on the stage and sign autographs for a few hours, according to the flyer. Smiling maniacally from where he had positioned himself near the stage in his bellhop costume, pretending to be tidying up after the crowd, however, Quackerjack had no intention of letting the show get farther than the introduction. He was nearly bursting with excitement as he waited for the opportune moment; the hour of revenge was finally upon his hated enemy, Whiffle Boy!
With a cue card in hand and unaware that anything was amiss, a nicely dressed convention administrator came up on the stage to announce their special guest. "May I please have your attention, everyone?" he said into the microphone, causing a hush to fall over the crowd. "Good afternoon, Whiffle Boy fans of St. Canard! It's wonderful to see you all here, and we hope you've been having a great time with your fellow Whiffle fans socking it to the Weasel Kid." A convention-goer in a nearly professional quality Weasel Kid costume made a playful growl and shook his fist in the air from the right side of the crowd not far from the stage, making much of the crowd as well as the announcer laugh. "Well, you can take that up with Whiffle Boy in a few minutes, my furry friend. But before we bring him out on stage, I'd like to announce the current standings of the First Annual Whiffle-Con Playoffs."
A round of applause, whoops, and cheers sounded throughout the audience. "Now remember folks, the competition is still open for contestants until eight o'clock tonight. If you haven't played your turn yet, you still have a chance to topple these reigning Whiffle-Champs from their thrones before the deadline. For the rest of you who have played, thank you for making this quite an exciting competition. We've got a crowd full of true Whiffle-Boy experts here!" He paused and looked down at his cue card. "First up, the child division! Our current number one contender for ages 12 and under is," he paused dramatically and smiled, "a familiar name, folks. Certainly those of you who were at Whiffle Town for the big contest will remember this name: Miss Gosalyn Mallard!"
"Wahoo!" Gosalyn hollered, jumping with glee and hugging a slightly startled Honker, who had to grab his glasses. "I'm winning, Honk! Yes! I rock!" She turned toward Drake, who, along with Launchpad and much to Drake's dismay, Herb, had caught up with them. Tank and Eddie were also nearby, although Tank kept enough distance from them to make it clear he was not hanging out with his dad or his brother. "What do you say to that, Dad? I told you'd I kick weasel tail," she said triumphantly.
"Yep yep yep, I knew you would all along. You are my daughter, after all."
"Right," she replied with a wry smile. Gosalyn then stuck her tongue out at Tank, who had looked over upon hearing her name, for his remarks earlier.
On stage the announcer continued, "Next up, the teen division, for our Whiffle-Con players between the ages of 13 and 17. Holding the number one slot for the teen division is Mr. Eddie Flood."
Tank's friend Eddie let out a loud cheer and threw up his arms in excitement at being named officially as the current winner. He exchanged a high five with Tank, and then with a couple of other boys that they were hanging out with.
Elsewhere in the convention hall, the name caught someone else's attention; a super-villain incognito in a water cooler who shared the boy's surname. Nobody noticed, of course, but the water inside it began to bubble, and Liquidator's eyes were wide with shock. No, it can't be him, can it? They don't even live in St. Canard, the stunned Liquidator thought, suddenly feeling more confined than ever in that five gallon jug. From his position he could not see nearly enough of the crowd to be sure, but if it was even a possibility, he had to act fast…
"And finally," the announcer went on, "the current number one contender in the adult division, ages 18 and up: Mr. Sam Paddlesworth!"
Another gleeful cheer rose out of the crowd, that time from a skinny duck in his late twenties who wore thick glasses with a Whiffle Boy helmet over them, giving him a somewhat comical look. It became more comical when he waved his blaster—another successful sale by Blaster-Bill Inc.—in the air and shot it toward the ceiling with a victorious cry of "Whiffle Ho!" His friends and those surrounding him cheered with him and congratulated him, and the announcer smiled patiently at the audience while he waited for the excitement to die down.
Once it did, he took up the microphone again. "Congratulations to all three of you! But don't get too comfortable in those winners' seats yet. Remember folks, if you haven't played, you've still got a chance to grab that seat for yourself! Only time will tell if Whiffle-Con is saving its best players for last." He smiled. "And speaking of Whiffle Boy's players, let me now take the chance to introduce the one who had the chance to play Whiffle Boy like no other, on the big screen! Will you all please give a hearty Whiffle-Ho welcome to Mr. Brant Strongbill?" The announcer then bowed toward the right side of the stage, where Brant Strongbill, in full Whiffle Boy regalia, strode out onto the stage brandishing his blaster with the confidence only a super-powered video game hero could have.
He twirled his zapper around his thumb and approached the podium. "Thanks," he said to the announcer, and then smiled at the crowd. "It's great to be here. Whiffle-Ho!"
An energetic round of applause, accompanied with whoops, hoots, and hollers thundered through the crowd, drowning out every other noise in the room. The costumed Weasel Kid, eager to continue his role-play, hopped up and down and shot his weapon—a nice replica of the Weasel Kid's—up over the heads of the crowd in Strongbill's direction.
"Oh-ho!" Strongbill exclaimed, pretending to dodge the fake shot. "What's this? I thought I smelled the foul stench of weasel in here," he said in a melodramatic tone, and raised his blaster. "Well I have only one thing to say to you—suck eggs!" He then fired his blaster, which was not quite as cool as Blaster-Bill Inc.'s and only flashed from the tip with a sound effect rather than shooting projectile show lasers, back at him.
The costumed Weasel Kid clutched the side of his head and shouted, "I'll get you for this, Whiffle Boy!" and then pretended to fall over. The crowd erupted into laughter, while Quackerjack laughed for another reason—malicious delight. His moment of triumph had at last arrived. Pulling off his bellhop hat, he replaced it with his favored jester hat and kicked off the costume shoes as well. He retrieved his regular clown shoes from where they were concealed among his cleaning supplies and put them on also, already feeling much more like his wacky self even though he was not able to change completely into his jester clothes. Quackerjack then picked up the other item he had stashed with his shoes, a dual-chambered toy bazooka he had designed especially for this occasion.
Up on the stage, Strongbill concluded his introductory speech. "So, Whiffle-fans, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank you for your very warm welcome." He glanced at the costumed Weasel Kid. "Yes, even you, goofball Weasel Kid fans," he said with a note of friendly jest. "Let's open up the floor to questions." He gave a dazzling smile to the crowd. "Who wants to be first?"
Quackerjack chose that moment to make his grand introduction. "I do!" he exclaimed, and fired his bazooka-like weapon at the stage, sending a high velocity projectile straight at Strongbill. It beaned him on the helmet, shattering on impact, and covered him in a gooey yellowish mess. The stunned actor realized a moment later that he had shot an egg at him, but he did not have time to get a word in before Quackerjack leapt up onto the stage in an agile bounce. "Nice to meet you face to face, Whiffle Boy," he sneered with thinly controlled rage that showed through his smile and otherwise humorous façade. "It's nice to see it in person before I smash it in and make you pay for ruining my life." Quackerjack leveled his gun at Strongbill. "It's play-time!"
"Who are you? What is this?" Strongbill glanced out over the equally startled crowd and backed away from what he assumed was an insane fan.
Down in the crowd, Drake tensed and exchanged looks with Launchpad and Gosalyn. "It's Quackerjack!"
"You were right, DW!" Launchpad said in an anxious whisper.
"I knew that nefarious nut-job would turn up here! And it looks like he's going after Brant Strongbill."
"We've got to do something," agreed Launchpad.
Drake leaned down to Gosalyn. "Cover for me, Gos. Darkwing Duck is needed to cramp this creep's criminal caper!" He then vanished into a nearby booth.
"But Dad, I want to—" she started, but Drake was already gone, "—help." She frowned with dismay.
On stage, Quackerjack fired a few more eggs at Strongbill. "How does it feel for you to be the one sucking eggs for once?" he taunted.
With a scowl, Strongbill wiped the eggshells and goo off as best he could while ignoring the sting to his body and the larger one to his pride. It was then that he remembered something he had been told back when he had been filming the Whiffle Boy movie, something about a crazy former toy-maker that had a grudge against Whiffle Boy. There had been enhanced security all around the set at the time to avoid any disruptions. He had not worried much about it back then, and since nothing had happened during the filming or premiere of the movie, he had not given it a thought since. Now he wished he had paid more attention. No longer interested in maintaining an act, he shouted, "Security!"
"Security's all tied up right now," Quackerjack informed him gleefully. He turned his insane grin toward the crowd and called out into the microphone, "Isn't that right, my fearsome friends?"
That was the cue for Megavolt, Bushroot, and Liquidator to spring into action. Throwing off his hat and jacket and literally growing out of his bellhop pants, Bushroot climbed onto the pot holding one of the potted palms. He sent them out into the crowd while a thick tangle of vines began growing out of the pot parallel to him, weaving across and blocking the west doors so no one could escape. Liquidator burst out of the water cooler in a powerful rush, sending the empty jug careening into the crowd. He formed himself into a tall and imposing form and then summoned a wave to topple the two closest booths, which sent those standing nearest to them to scatter in a panic. Completing the chaos, Megavolt released a burst of high voltage in a full circle around him in the center of the crowd, shocking those nearest to him and knocking two out cold. Glad to finally be free of the miserable purse containing his battery pack, he ripped it out and threw the torn bag aside after putting the battery pack on his back like normal, over his loathed dress.
A full scale panic erupted in the crowd as the three super-villains showed themselves in tandem with Quackerjack advancing on Strongbill up on the stage. Quackerjack pulled a set of his deadly wind-up teeth from his pocket. "Now it's time for you and me to have a little chat, Whiffle Boy." He thrust the teeth toward Strongbill's face, but the actor instinctively blocked the move with his arm. The teeth grazed that instead and tore through his costume, and Strongbill's eyes widened in alarm behind his helmet as he realized how serious the situation was.
Quackerjack switched the setting on his gun and fired several shots out into the crowd. Instead of eggs, miniature sets of his chattering teeth shot out, frightening everyone further. In the second that Quackerjack's attention wavered, Strongbill broke into a run, but Quackerjack was not about to let him get away so easily. "Oh no you don't!" Pulling a remote from his other pocket, Quackerjack pressed a button that summoned a small fleet of toy soldiers that he had planted in an empty box on the side of the stage. When whatever they shot hit Strongbill in the leg and torso, it stung and drew blood, and the actor stumbled to the side and right into Quackerjack's clutches. "Tag!" Quackerjack cackled as he grabbed him. "You're it."
He did not have the chance to taunt him further, however, before another theatrical entrance pre-empted his show. A cloud of purple smoke erupted on the left side of the stage and a familiar voice boomed throughout the convention hall. "I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the power outage that erases your unsaved game! I am Darkwing Duck!"
"Darkwing!" Quackerjack sneered at the caped crime-fighter. "So glad you could come play with us."
"You'll never get away with turning this into your own criminal convention, Quackerjack!" asserted Darkwing. "Now let him go or suck gas!"
Quackerjack made a tsk-tsk noise. "A big Whiffle fanboy like you ought to know the appropriate phrase is 'suck eggs'. But if it's all the same, I'd rather just chew you out." He then threw the teeth he had used on Strongbill at Darkwing. They chattered viciously as they sailed through the air and landed on his fedora. Darkwing swatted them away before they could do him any harm, but no sooner had he dispensed with them than he found himself surrounded by Quackerjack's toy soldiers. They fired at his legs and feet, forcing him to leap back in the opposite direction from Quackerjack and Strongbill to avoid injury.
"Sorry I can't stay to play with you right now, Darkwing, but Whiffle Boy and I have unfinished business." Quackerjack let out a mad giggle and pulled a handful of jacks out of his pocket. He loaded all but one of them into the canister of the bazooka that had previously held the eggs, and then thrust the weapon roughly against the actor's midsection. With a cruel smile he threatened Strongbill, "Now go where I say, unless you want your Whiffle-guts waffled right here on stage." As a demonstration Quackerjack then threw the remaining jack in his hand off the stage and onto the floor below where convention attendees scurried to and fro in terror. There was a bright flash and a loud bang as the jack hit the floor, and Strongbill realized grimly that they must have been loaded with gunpowder or some other type of explosive. The crazy villain was right; he had no choice but to do what he said. Numbly, he followed Quackerjack's nudging toward the edge of the stage.
A quick shot of a net canister from his gas gun allowed Darkwing to entrap and incapacitate the toy soldiers surrounding him, but to his dismay he was in a position to see both Quackerjack getting away with Strongbill and the havoc being wreaked throughout the entire convention hall at the hands of the other villains. Normally Darkwing liked to think that he could hold his own against the Fearsome Five—even if they seemed to be down to four and missing Negaduck, though he was hardly going to complain about that!—but there was too much going on and too many people in peril at once to help them all. While Quackerjack was abducting Brant Strongbill, out in the crowd Darkwing saw vines and ferns overrunning the vendor booths and absconding with valuables while larger trees literally shook down frightened Whiffle-Con attendees. At the far end of the room Darkwing spotted Bushroot planted at the door, sprouting and directing more plants from the pots to terrorize convention-goers and keep them from escaping. Darkwing could also see Liquidator tearing through the crowd as a wave, frightening and intimidating everyone in his path, stopping only to either change direction or launch a different attack at someone or something in his way.
Then Darkwing heard Launchpad's alarmed voice above the din of the crowd. "DW!"
And there's Megavolt, Darkwing realized with dread as he spotted his sidekick facing off with him. The rat, wearing a tattered dress and disheveled wig which Darkwing belatedly figured must have been a disguise to get into the convention unnoticed, had Launchpad and a small group cornered. Launchpad stood in front of them and was trying valiantly to protect them, and to Darkwing's horror he saw several children in the group huddled behind his sidekick. It was only a small comfort that he did not see Gosalyn among them; he only hoped that she was safe wherever in the crowd she was.
Megavolt advanced toward Launchpad, smiling viciously and arcing electrical energy between his fingertips. "I think deep-fried dumb sidekick is on the dinner menu tonight!"
Pragmatism forced Darkwing to make the hard decision of leaving Strongbill to fend for himself in favor of helping Launchpad and the innocents behind him, even though choices like that never sat well with him. I never thought I'd wish Gizmoduck was here to give a hand, he thought grimly, and cast a parting glare at Quackerjack. "Don't think you're getting away with this, Quackerjack!" he warned, and then vaulted off the stage to deal with Megavolt. "I'm pulling the plug on your cooking plans, Sparky!" Darkwing shouted, accompanying his announcement with a flying web kick.
Gosalyn, still with the Muddlefoots, saw Darkwing leap off the stage to fight Megavolt, who let out an angered shout of obscenities at Darkwing's intervention and at being called "Sparky". Her eyes widened in horror when she also noticed Quackerjack shoving Brant Strongbill off of the stage toward who knew where. She turned to Honker with an urgent look. "Honker, we've gotta do something! We've gotta either help Darkwing or stop Quackerjack ourselves."
"You're not going to do any such thing," Herb said sternly, although it was clear that it was rooted in concern. "We're gonna stick together where it's safe. Your father'd be beside himself if anything happened to you, Gosalyn. Until we find him—"
"Aaahh!" A holler from Tank interrupted them, and they saw that he had been grabbed by one of the numerous vines slithering throughout the hall. "It's got me! Help!" He began to flail as another part of the vine tangle began probing in his pockets for his wallet or any other valuables.
Eddie, who had still been with Tank when the chaos broke loose, stomped down hard on part of the vine holding Tank. "Let him go!" Unfortunately for Eddie that only antagonized the plant and alerted it to a new target. A vine flicked out and wrapped around his ankle, knocking him to the floor.
Gosalyn saw it happen and rushed over to help. "Hey! You let them go, you jungle reject!" With instincts she had honed in her stint as Quiverwing Quack, she grabbed a box-cutting knife that she spotted in a vendor booth and plunged it into the green limb holding Tank. Herb took a kick at the plant as well, but he was as out of shape as he was well-meaning. He hurt his foot worse than the plant, and wound up on his rump for the effort. However, the combined efforts of him and Gosalyn did open a window of opportunity for Honker to grab one of the vines and coil it around another to get them out of the way, and just as Honker had hoped, the plant partially tied itself into a knot and dropped Tank. Tank had just gotten back onto his feet when he heard Eddie yelling.
"Help me! Tank! The freaking thing's got my ankle!"
Tank muttered a few words that normally would have earned him a stern reprimand from Herb, who Honker was now helping up, but before any of them could reach Eddie, a surge of water flooded past them. Tank and Gosalyn were thrown backwards by the wave, and Honker and Herb instinctively shuffled back to avoid being knocked over themselves. Gosalyn was the first to recover. "Hey, are you okay?" She looked around wildly for her friends, first spotting Honker and Herb, and then Tank, who was soaked from head to toe like she was, but otherwise all right. The vine plant and Eddie, however, were both gone.
Neither was seriously hurt, though. Liquidator was already on his way to return the former to its master to be healed and redirected, while the latter was being taken to the same individual for safe-keeping. The water dog forced his way through the crowd and what was left of the convention booths to the west doors where Bushroot was stationed. Bushroot approached Liquidator as he arrived, giving him a puzzled look when he dropped a plant and a teenage boy at his feet. "Today only, I have a very limited and special buy one, get one free offer," Liquidator told him. "Your plant needs the tender loving care of Bushroot brand Miracle-Gro to be an effective pickpocket once more, and the boy needs to be put somewhere safe and secure immediately. As a super-villain on the go, I don't have time to explain, but I don't want any harm to come to him, so act now." Liquidator's voice took on a note of urgency as he glided back toward the fray.
Bushroot glanced down at Eddie, who was disoriented and clutching his midsection as if he was either sore, wanted to puke, or both. "All right," Bushroot agreed, pausing a moment to direct some of his loot-laden plants to the carts where the goods were being stashed before turning back to Liquidator. "But who is he?"
"He's my son," Liquidator replied, and then without another word he dove backward into the crowd once more.
Stunned, Bushroot stared for a moment at Liquidator's watery wake before turning his attention to the boy at his roots. Although he knew that Liquidator, or rather Bud Flood as he was prior to his accident, had an ex-wife, Bushroot had never heard him mention any children. However, mid-crime was not the time to ponder the matter, so for the time being he just honored Liquidator's wishes and summoned one of his stronger vine tangles to him. "See that janitorial closet?" Bushroot gestured to a door not far from where they were. Ironically it was the same closet he had gotten the broom he had earlier when he had first taken on his disguise in the convention hall. "Lock him in there and no matter what, don't let him out or anyone but me or Liquidator in. If you need any help, bring in as many plants as you have to, or get me."
Eddie finally started to regain his bearings and realized that not only was he no longer anywhere near Tank or his friends, but instead he was at the feet of a super-villain that was giving orders to have him incarcerated. He looked up in a panic, having been too out of it from the dizzying water ride across the convention hall to hear anything but bits of Liquidator and Bushroot's conversation, including Liquidator's statement of who he was. "Hey!" he protested as he stared at Bushroot and saw the vine that the plant-duck had summoned approach. It gave its master an obedient little salute and then wound around Eddie's limbs, hoisting him up. Eddie let out a yelp as he was lifted into the air, the arrogant bravado he had shown at Tank's side to Honker earlier all gone now, and struggled fiercely.
Ignoring the boy's protests, Bushroot told his vine, "Keep him quiet, too." It obliged by curling a stem over Eddie's mouth, and Bushroot watched as the plant carried him to the closet and secured him inside as bidden. Bushroot then knelt at his injured vine's side, caressing the wound Gosalyn had given it with tenderness. "Now, to fix you up."
Across the room, the furious Megavolt had gained a temporary advantage over Darkwing and Launchpad. While Megavolt had taken a few more painful Quack Fu belts from the caped crime fighter, Darkwing had failed to consider the conductivity of the metal folding chair he had leapt up on to gloat over the fallen villain's groaning form. In a moment of irony that Quackerjack would have no doubt found hilarious if he had witnessed it, Megavolt had just been close enough to touch the leg of the chair with his middle finger while Darkwing was standing on it. The resultant yowl and thump of the zapped Darkwing then falling off of the chair and onto the floor had been music to Megavolt's ears. When Launchpad, after shooing those he had been shielding away to find a safer spot, knelt to see if Darkwing was all right, Megavolt nailed him with a painful burst of electricity as well.
It had not been enough to keep the heroic pair down and out for long, but it was enough for Megavolt to recover and get back on his feet. "It's been fun, Darkwing, but I have to enlighten these Whiffle-dorks into giving me their money." He grinned, sparking more electricity between his fingertips. "My Light Liberation Crusade isn't going to fund itself, you know!"
Gritting his teeth, Darkwing rose to his feet. "The only LLC you're going to incorporate is yourself into prison, Megavolt!" He thrust out his gas gun. "Now surrender or suck gas!"
Megavolt grabbed a cord that ran along the floor, one that once powered the vendor booth that they stood in which was now destroyed. "Eat amperes," Megavolt retorted, channeling his energy into the cord and causing the stereo it was plugged into behind Darkwing to explode. Instinctively both Darkwing and Launchpad hit the floor, saving them from injury. Darkwing then saw an opportunity as Liquidator rushed past behind them. The watery villain was gone as fast as he had come, but he had left something key to defeating Megavolt in his wake—a watery trail.
"I'm on a low-voltage diet, Sparky, so you can have my portion," Darkwing quipped back as he fired his grappling hook. It grabbed onto one of the still-standing cubicle-style walls of a vendor booth not far from Megavolt's side, and Darkwing used it to pull himself up and over. Megavolt reacted just as Darkwing predicted, and sidestepped to a more advantageous position—one right in the middle of Liquidator's residual puddle.
A confident grin lit up Darkwing's masked features as he made a casual landing, enjoying the sight of Megavolt sizzling and shaking as he shorted out from stepping into the water while still sparking from an attack. "Yep yep yep, you never learn, Megavolt, do you?" He shook his head in a condescending manner at the villain. "Your felonious fantasies are fated to fizzle as long as Darkwing Duck is around to protect the populace!" Darkwing folded his arms arrogantly, clearly pleased with himself.
Furious and more than a little sore from his short-out, Megavolt remembered the blaster that Quackerjack had given him to stash in his boot. "Darkwing," he groaned in disgust, reaching for the concealed weapon beneath his dress. "Don't you ever shut up?"
Darkwing's eyes widened in an offended glare; he did not expect to be mocked after delivering such a dazzling defeat. He was about to fire back a witty retort as Launchpad joined his side.
Meanwhile Megavolt grinned, for apparently Darkwing did not expect what he did next either, which was to pull out Quackerjack's modified Whiffle-zapper and fire three shots in rapid succession at the hero and his sidekick. Darkwing barely had time to let out a "yipe!" before leaping out of the way of the unexpected attack and toward cover. "I didn't see Blaster-Bill Inc. selling those!"
Unfortunately while Darkwing was lucky enough to avoid being hit by Megavolt's zapper, Launchpad was not. Darkwing's loyal sidekick let out a loud yowl of pain as one of the lasers struck him directly in the arm, just above the elbow. It seared through his bomber jacket and feathers and deeply into his flesh.
Pleased with that shot, Megavolt got to his feet and took a few more pot shots at Darkwing where he was crouched behind an up-ended table for cover. "Game over, Darkwing! It was a blast, though!" Megavolt cackled before running off into the crowd to continue his looting with the others.
Ordinarily Darkwing would have pursued, but a quick look over at Launchpad told him that his sidekick's wound had to take precedence. "LP!" Alarmed, he knelt at his friend's side. Launchpad was wincing, doing his best to hold it together, but it was obvious from the unnatural way he clutched his arm that the wound was too serious to put off tending to. "LP, are you okay?"
"Yeah. Fine." Launchpad forced a reassuring smile. "Go on and get him, DW. I'll bandage it or something." He started to relax his fingers from where he held his wound, but the way his eyes widened and the way he shook and swallowed when he tried to do so made it clear that he needed real medical attention, and fast.
Darkwing glanced out at the chaos in the crowd, still far from under control. Screams rose everywhere and Darkwing could still see plants looting and terrorizing as well as Liquidator roughing up some hapless convention-goer. He also knew that even though he could not see him, Megavolt must be up to no good, and the fact that he did not see Quackerjack did not make him feel any better. Brant Strongbill was nowhere to be seen either, and it was an easy guess that he was in the demented duck's clutches, enduring who knew what for the crime of portraying Whiffle Boy in a movie. "Don't you move, LP. Just take it easy. I'll get you help."
A temporary answer to his quandary came in the form of Gosalyn and Honker. "Dad!" Gosalyn gave him a big hug and then noticed Launchpad's position and injury. "Oh no, Launchpad, what happened? Are you okay?"
"I'll be fine, kiddo," Launchpad said through gritted teeth. He tried to get up to a standing position, but without proper use of his arms to balance himself, he only shuffled on the floor until Honker helped him up.
"Megavolt shot him. He's shorted out, but he's got some kind of Whiffle Boy gun that shoots real lasers," Darkwing warned them. "Quackerjack must've made it as some kind of sick joke on Whiffle Boy."
"That's not the only thing he's done, Sir," Honker said with a sigh. "We just helped a group over there put a huge teddy bear that was kicking with razor claws and stealing from people out of commission."
Gosalyn nodded angrily. "That creep loaded this place up with nasty toys. I don't know where he went though, but he had Brant Strongbill with him. I saw them heading behind the stage before we got personal with one of Bushroot's plants that tried to get Tank and his friend."
"Are Tank and Herb all right?" asked Darkwing. Normally he would not be inclined to express concern about the Muddlefoots, but even as annoying as he found them, he certainly did not want to see any harm come to them.
"Dad and Tank are fine," said Honker. "But we—"
"Good," Darkwing cut the boy off. "Because I need you and Gosalyn to get Launchpad out of here and to the emergency room."
"But DW—"
"No 'buts', LP. You're hurt and I won't let you lose your arm, which you might if you don't see a doctor and soon," Darkwing argued sternly. "Bushroot has plants at every exit, but he's only guarding the one set of doors. I'm going to clear our way to the fire escape instead. By now I'm sure the hotel knows what's going on and the police have been notified. Make sure you get Launchpad out and to the hospital and as many of these people as you can out, too. If they're only after loot, Quackerjack and his pals will probably cut and run once we break through their defenses."
Gosalyn looked up at her father. "What about you, Dad? You need help, and so does everyone else stuck in here with those super-powered jerks. And Brant Strongbill too, Quackerjack's still got him."
"I know, Gos." Darkwing sighed. "We just have to hope that whatever Quackerjack's doing to him, it's not fatal, and we can rescue him once we get all these people out of here and these guys defeated." He shook his head. "I never would've expected them to plan something like this, especially without Negaduck."
"At least he's not here." Gosalyn frowned as she went to Launchpad's side while Honker took the other.
Darkwing made a face. "Yeah well, let's not jinx ourselves by asking for it; we've got our hands full as it is."
The four of them made their way toward the fire escape. As they did so, several other frightened Whiffle-Con attendees spotted them and joined them, creating a small group that attracted unwanted additional attention from nearby plants and toys under the villains' control. Darkwing could not really blame them; they were frightened and wanted out of there as badly as he wanted to get them and everyone else out. Fortunately, some were more helpful than they were a hindrance. One dog with a take-charge attitude told Darkwing that he had been in the army for six years, and he certainly held his own against an aggressive fern that tried to get the better of the group. Another member of their entourage was a duck woman with a mean-looking face that turned out to be quite adept at brawling; Honker mused that Tank would probably like a girl like her and was actually glad that his brother was not with them to get pointers. A third, who had been at the convention as a vendor selling Whiffle Boy costume items, tossed them his stock of Whiffle Boy helmets to wear for safety before he joined them in finding a way out. Eventually they managed to overtake the last plant guarding the door, a particularly nasty vine tangle that kept generating new limbs seemingly out of nowhere, by getting it to overwhelm itself. Darkwing had everyone throw whatever they could at it while he sent a teenage boy with them to sneak over and open the door.
In reality it had taken only seconds, but it felt like an eternity to Darkwing before the door came open. Being a fire exit, a loud alarm immediately went off as it did, signaling everyone in the hall, convention-goer and villain alike. Without wasting time, Darkwing then shoved the kid, a lanky canine boy, out the door first. Gosalyn and Honker, steadying the injured Launchpad, were ushered through next, followed by as many of the crowd as Darkwing could direct out until Liquidator showed up to stop him.
The water dog rose into a tall and intimidating form in front of the caped hero. "Stop unwanted leaks from your convention with a Liquidator brand power-wash!" He unleashed a powerful wave of water out on Darkwing that slammed him hard against the wall, and he sneered at the pinned duck. "Guaranteed to scrub away unwanted crime-fighters, or your money back!"
Darkwing rolled to the floor, stunned and sore, while Liquidator moved to block the door to keep anyone else from escaping. However, thanks to the alarm everyone in the hall now knew of the potential escape, and the power of a panicked crowd all moving in one direction proved too much even for one of the most powerful super-villains of St. Canard to handle. Sheer numbers overwhelmed Liquidator—and nearly trampled Darkwing, desperately trying to get upright again as frightened people pushed past him in the hopes of getting out—and the villain was pounded down into a thick puddle as Whiffle-Con attendants stomped and sloshed over and through him.
Out on the floor, Megavolt and Bushroot saw the tide turning, and they decided to play their hand by using the distraction of the escaping convention-goers as a way to secure the loot they had gotten. Now that the west doors were being ignored, Bushroot had his plants smuggle the carts of loot out of them while Megavolt directed the plants and toys still cleaning up valuables on the floor toward the exit with their hauls.
Unable to rise back up and stop the escaping crowd, Liquidator changed tactics. He flattened himself to an innocuous puddle and let the masses pile over him while he flowed back and out of the way of the crowd. Behind Darkwing now, he then rose into his water-dog shape watching the hero, allowing him to think he was secure in his victory as the convention-goers fled. He had one last trick up his proverbial sleeve, and he grinned as he had not had a chance to try it on such a large scale until that moment. It would not stop them from escaping, but it would give them a miserable time on their way out and buy him and his fellow super-villains a little time to get the most of their now-quashed looting caper. Closing his eyes and remaining still, Liquidator focused his will and used his powers to call to all of the water that had been recently under his control, especially that which had been drank by unsuspecting convention attendants while he had been undercover. The water took on characteristics akin to his thoughts, and Liquidator began to visualize all of his water to be nauseating, roiling, and hot.
Moments later, random individuals throughout the crowd, both in the room and outside, clutched at their sides in agony and doubled over, including Darkwing Duck. All of a sudden the flapping terror of St. Canard felt like it was his guts that were flapping, and twisting and burning. He let out a strangled gasp as he crumpled to the floor, clutching at his side.
"Darkwing Duck!" A few concerned individuals in the crowd that were altruistic enough to care more about the fate of the hero that secured their escape rather than their own immediate sense of self-preservation called out to him. Two of them came over to hoist him up and carry him out with them, while Liquidator surveyed his handiwork with smug satisfaction. He had not realized that Darkwing Duck drank him; it was a shame he had not paid more attention to the faces of those that had, he thought, otherwise he might have learned his secret identity. Regardless, he could punish him now. He focused specifically on Darkwing that time and made the water in his system as restless and painful as he could, eliciting a delightful groan of agony from the hero as he did. Liquidator was still savoring the sight of that when Quackerjack came up behind him in the now practically-deserted convention hall.
"Licky! What did you do?"
"I told you, the Liquidator's Revenge is the gastrointestinal misery of champions," he replied to the other villain with a cruel grin. He noticed that Quackerjack had Brant Strongbill with him, tied to a serving cart with jump ropes. The actor's bill was gagged and a Mr. History doll was bound to his chest, prattling off boring historical trivia in a monotone to sap his will to do anything but sleep.
Quackerjack let out a gleeful giggle. "Will it kill him?"
Liquidator frowned as Darkwing's benefactors got him outside. "Probably not, results vary with distance," the watery villain said with a note of disappointment. "I can guarantee pain and suffering to at least a small degree, however, enough to buy us time to relocate our valuables to better location, location, location."
"I was thinking the same thing," Quackerjack agreed, and held up Mr. Banana Brain. "Let's get the loot to the warehouse hideout on the south side, Clyde. This convention's finito, Benito!"
"Far be it from the Liquidator to argue with the fine fruity opinion of Mr. Banana Brain! Inform the others that it's time to make the great escape, and I'll make sure they know the ransom price is right." He gestured to the fire door and the escaped Whiffle-Con attendees beyond it.
"Make it nice and big, too. We know how popular Whiffle Boy is with how many losers were at this convention." Quackerjack sneered in disgust. "They ought to pay through their beaks to have his hide back in one piece just for having such bad taste."
Liquidator nodded agreeably. "Certainly. The Liquidator aims to please." As Quackerjack began to push the cart with the unconscious Strongbill on it back toward the exits where Megavolt and Bushroot were helping the plants get away with their ill-gotten gains, Liquidator added, "And tell Bushroot to send the special package directly to the greenhouse to Spike. Experts agree that there's no need to have that sent to the warehouse."
Quackerjack gave him a suspicious look. "What is it? Is it valuable?"
"You have my ironclad guarantee that it's not loot of any monetary value or interest to you or Megavolt, just something for Spike to play with. Besides, independent surveys say that Spike can't tell the difference between loot and a chew toy, so only a fool would give him something valuable."
That explanation satisfied Quackerjack; like the others he knew that Bushroot's fly trap was not the most discriminating in what it munched on. The stitches in his clown shoes were a testament to that. "All right. Catch you at the hideout then, Licky!" Quackerjack then broke into a run as he pushed the cart with Strongbill on it, and made it do a wheelie on a smooth patch of floor as he headed for the opposite end of the room.
When he arrived, both Megavolt and Bushroot greeted him with optimistic and pleased looks. "Darkwing's taken care of?" It seemed as if Bushroot thought that was almost too good to be true.
"Yup! Playtime may be over for us, but it'll be over for Darkwing longer." Quackerjack grinned. "Licky did something to him. I think he drank him by accident." He giggled again, amused by the mental image of Darkwing doubled over in pain. "And to think, he complained about my brilliant water bottle disguise."
"It might've had something to do with the brand logo on it," Bushroot pointed out.
"Besides, we all complained about your stupid disguises," said Megavolt, obviously still bitter about the ugly purse, wig, and dress, the last of which he still had on, although it was now tattered and burned from the fighting and short-out.
Quackerjack stuck out his tongue. "They worked, didn't they?"
Megavolt just glowered back at the duck and returned to the more important matter at hand. "Well if he took care of Darkwing, then we should be in the clear. I shot the sidekick pretty good with this earlier." He patted the zapper that was now stuffed into a makeshift belt that he had made out of an electrical cord.
Casting an anxious glance at the door, Bushroot suggested, "We ought to get out of here while the getting's good then. Now that all the people are out, the police are bound to show up."
"That's what I came over to tell you. We're going to rendezvous at my hideout on the south side," said Quackerjack. He bounced up and down where he stood gleefully. It had been a while since a caper had gone so well, especially with Darkwing involved.
"All the loot goes there too, right, and him?" Megavolt gestured to Strongbill.
With a nod Quackerjack held up Mr. Banana Brain and had him answer, "That's the plan, Stan." He then turned toward Bushroot and added in his normal voice, "Oh, and Licky told me to tell you that his special package goes straight to the greenhouse to Spike?" Quackerjack gave him a curious look, along with Megavolt who did the same.
Bushroot realized that Liquidator meant for him to have his son, still hidden in the janitorial closet and guarded by his plants, taken to the greenhouse to be watched by Spike for safe-keeping until he could get to him personally. Given the cryptic wording of the request, it also seemed that Liquidator wanted to keep the matter between them and not involve Quackerjack and Megavolt, at least for the time being. "Sure. No problem," Bushroot said as if it was no big deal.
Megavolt gave Bushroot a dubious look. "What is it?"
"Oh, he just found something he thought Spike would like, that's all. Nothing you guys would want," Bushroot answered with an uneasy smile, hoping that they would leave it at that, which they did.
Megavolt shrugged and muttered something about how it'd be nice if someone thought of his light bulbs that way sometime, to which Quackerjack responded by handing Megavolt a sturdy box to "keep them safe in", which seemed to appease him. Meanwhile, Bushroot instructed one of the indoor palm trees to put a tarp over Eddie once the vines brought him out of the closet, and then he telepathically asked his vines to take the boy back to the greenhouse and have Spike watch him but not hurt him.
While the villains inside coordinated their escape with everything they had stolen, outside the hotel things were more chaotic. As Darkwing had suspected, the police had been called when the convention hall had first been sealed off and the vicious plants blocking the entrances and exits had been spotted. Once the fire door opened and the convention-goers started to escape, law enforcement and emergency teams descended upon the crowd. Some attempted to circle the building and pursue the escaping villains and plants, but Quackerjack, Megavolt, and Bushroot were too fast and too practiced to be caught so easily, especially with so much else going on. Darkwing had not been the only one suffering from the malady dubbed "Liquidator's Revenge"; at least twenty others had been afflicted with something similar and some had been hit much harder than the caped hero. EMTs tended to some of them, and others that had sustained injury in the trashed convention. Fortunately most of the injuries were minor, and the few serious ones, such as Launchpad, were shuttled into ambulances and off to the hospital fairly quickly.
Honker had gone with Launchpad to the emergency room. Gosalyn originally intended to go as well, but when she saw that her father had fallen ill, she stayed behind to make sure that he would be all right. Darkwing was just starting to feel normal again after the initial bout of Liquidator's internally-based attack when the watery villain made an ominous reappearance at the fire exit door. He had waited until Bushroot, Megavolt, and Quackerjack, as well as their ransom object, were safely out of the hotel before making the ransom demand. Once the moment arrived, he rose into his water-dog form and slammed the metal fire door loudly against the side of the building to get the crowd's attention.
"Listen carefully, Whiffle Boy fans, for this one time exclusive offer to get your convention movie star hero back in one piece," he announced as a dread-filled hush fell over the crowd. Law enforcement drew their guns, and a few fired, which only made Liquidator laugh. "Super-villains everywhere agree, discharging firearms at the Liquidator may induce side-splitting laughter from your target and make you look like an idiot to all of St. Canard." He sent a wave of water out into the crowd and focused for just a moment to re-surge the pain he had inflicted earlier into those that had drank him. Gosalyn caught Darkwing as the effect made him groan and hunch over once more.
Liquidator continued, "So if you're serious about making a deal to secure the safe return of one Brant Strongbill, the coalition of Liquidator, Quackerjack, Bushroot, and Megavolt require payment in the sum of fifty million dollars in small denominations of unmarked bills, delivered right here to the front steps of the Hotel Swanlord in exactly three days' time for pickup. C.O.D. only, no refunds and no exchanges. The health and safety of the hostage is guaranteed only if Darkwing Duck is bound, gagged, and incapacitated in plain sight of the pickup and payment is made on time. Late fees of ten million dollars a day apply up to and including two additional days, in which the late fee is forfeiture of Whiffle Boy, a.k.a. Brant Strongbill himself." He bowed toward the crowd. "Thank you for shopping with Super-Villains 'R Us. Have a nice day." Liquidator then collapsed with a splash and flowed back into the building, vanishing before anyone could follow or trace him.
