NADWD - Retake Five

by Known Unknown

Official continuation of Scyphi's fic: The New Adventures of Darkwing Duck. Read that first, or face confusion! After surviving a full on Negaverse invasion, the straggling remains of the Fearsome Five find that there no rest for the semi-wicked: not when they owe it to St. Canard to be a better class of criminal! But with their luck, reclaiming their bad name may be difficult...

14. The Case of the Kindly Clown

Disclaimer: This story takes place in the universe of Scyphi's The New Adventures of Darkwing Duck, a world where Darkwing has returned after a seven year disappearance into the Negaverse, Gosalyn and Honker are all grown up and fighting crime as the Crimson Avenger and Techno, where J. Gander Hooter has left SHUSH, and the Negaverse is slowly undergoing new management.

It's extremely important that you read Darkwing Duck Returns and NADWD first, as the prominent original characters (and in some cases, lack thereof), plot developments and daring twists from those stories will be used without much (if any, at times) explanation in these continued stories.

The War on Gosalyn – The Mystery of the Kindly Clown

---

Evening, On The Rooftops of St. Canard

St. Canard. A town mired in sin, in a universe overstuffed with positrons. Like its heroes, it was a selfish town. An impulsive town. A town too clever for its own good. Yet also a compassionate town. An indomitable town. A town with it's own sense of honor shining in the darkness.

Darkwing and his family were well suited here. But NegaGosalyn… no, she never felt that way. She came from a land where – most days – honor and compassion were just dreams. She wanted those things – wanted them so badly – but she often failed to find them.

Maybe that's why she was here, in this town, avoiding her newfound responsibility instead of back home trying to make her world a better place.

She grunted to herself. Excellent – she had come on patrol by herself to try and clear her head, and instead she was focusing on all her problems from back home. Though she supposed it beat focusing on the problems here.

There was still no sign of this universe's Gosalyn. Thanks to those responsibilities NegaGosalyn neglected – thanks to her - one of the finest ducks she had ever known had been reduced to an insane menace, with none of them having any idea how to undo it. This world looked a little less bright, and anything that made it resemble the Negaverse was just… wrong.

But she couldn't think about that now, or she – as NegaGosalyn – might falter. This world would not see her cry, figuratively speaking, not when she was supposed to be the Crimson Avenger. And until the role's rightful holder was returned safe and sane, she would fill the part to the best of her ability.

Poised on a shadowed rooftop, she scanned the skyline for a crime – any kind of crime. A bank robber. A stockbroker. Anything. She needed the distraction.

There wasn't much to see. People on the streets. Dirigibles with Glomgold Industries advertisements floating far overhead: a little animated short of a smiling Glomgold shaking hands with children with the words "HEAR FROM THE REAL HERO OF ST. CANARD AT 11." A gaggle of TeleConstructors hovered past the rooftop, on their way to another construction site.

That was one difference – two, technically. Ever since the theft of Scrooge McDuck's prototype months ago – at least, as far as Darkwing and friends told her – those things had been popping up throughout the city in droves, hard at work building new bits of money and power for the magnates feuding over the city. Glomgold was either sending them to every corner of the city, or plastering his face all over everywhere else. And even McDuck's St. Canard headquarters was positively swarming with them, after that little crash a few weeks back.

If she looked close, she could probably discern whether these were Scrooge's, or one of Glomgold's "just different enough to avoid lawsuit" knockoffs. But she didn't care much. She had more important things to worry about.

Such as that telltale sound of tinkling glass, faint amongs the hustle and bustle of the desensitized metropolis. A robbery!

Her eyes scanned the grimly lit streets: two blocks down. A small time business owner locking up for the night. Two burly ducks armed with small arms, intending to use the cover of night to hide a break in. A potentially deadly confrontation.

The night would offer these criminals no cover: they had yet to realize what was ''truly'' the most dangerous thing in the dark.

… perhaps her inner monologues could stand a bit more cheer. But that was neither here nor there…

The head crook - a duck with hair so long he would didn't need a mask to hide his face – pressed the shopkeeper into the wall, while the other continued to smash up the store window.

"Like, chill out dude." He said, painfully lifting the duck to eye level. "Just stay frosty and, like, nothin's gonna harsh your flow."

In the face of what sounded like the most dangerous slacker in the world, the everyday citizen had no defense but a smidge of confusion. "… I have no idea what you're talking about, but whatever you want!"

Sensing an easy operation, the robber grinned. "Suh-weet!" He called out to his partner. "Ease up on that glass, Kay. We totally gotta split with the swag before we get pinched!"

The sound of breaking glass stopped… in fact, it had stopped a few moments before, but neither crook nor victim had been paying much attention. Either way, he assumed his message had gotten across… but then after a moment, it became clear there was little movement going on from one side of the broken storefront to the other.

Whipping around, the crook leveled a glare that could have blistered milk if anyone could actually see his eyes until the mop of hair. "Kay, like, what're you up to back here? This ain't an arca-"

Finally, he noticed. "Kay" was nowhere to be found. But there was a shadow forming…

The caped blur moved before he could react. In an instant, the shopkeeper was knocked out of his hand, and an instant later he had been knocked head over heels into the sidewalk. He skidded several feet until he slammed into something surprisingly doughy.

He looked up - it seems he had found Kay: slumped against a fire hydrant, out cold.

So much for his brother-in-law's invaluable help. But one didn't get to be the leader of an illustrious two-man 80's-to-90's themed criminal enterprise without some hardiness. He rose, spitting his hair out of his face, and squared off against his sudden opponent.

"Wait a minute…" he coughed, looking her over. The hat was familiar, but striking first and asking questions later? Seemed a bit suspect. "Aren't you…"

The shopkeeper, who was only a little bruised for his trouble, also tried figuring it out in lieu of running. "I think that might be the Crimson Avenger…" he said, tilting his head like he was looking at abstract art. "Maybe… she's a little weird, though."

"Crimson" internally winced… she had forgotten to do the motto again. No matter. She could just do it now, if they were so confused.

With a jerk that made both parties jump, she spread her arms wide and flung her cape into the wind.

"I am the heir to the cape!" She said in a sharp, cold voice.

It took some effort suppressed the annoying inner voice that kept telling her "no, you're not." She knew that already…

"I am the hammer that crushes the brittle bones of the unjust!" The other two jumped again, which she took to mean her words had the intended effect. Who knew when it came to this city…

"I…" She transitioned into an action pose, cracking every knuckle she had in preparation for the beatdown to come. "… am the Crimson Avenger!"

There. That was impressive enough. She had even left the shopkeeper stunned. Though that may have been a hint of fear…

… tailfeathers, had she overdone it again?

The head crook snapped out of it first. "And I'm about to be soooo famous!" He shouted as he ran towards her, no doubt thinking he could take her out all on his lonesome.

Seriously? And she had thought the Fearsome Five were a bunch of numbskulls, back in the day…

It wasn't hard to set him straight. With her usual quick draw she pulled out her gas gun, switched out for another loadout, and watched as the hapless burglar took several thousand volts of taser. His hair went flying in every direction, and he started shaking like a bowl of jello.

"Aaagggh… bogus!" He stammered, barely able to tell which way was up, but somehow able to stay on his feet regardless.

Seeing that her quarry was still standing – even if he wasn't liable to be doing any more damage by that point - "Crimson" dashed forward and delivered a devastating punch straight to the gut, then a spinning kick that laid him out on top of his unconscious cohort. He wasn't exactly able to stand after that.

Then, in one final movement, she switched the loadout of her gas gun once more and fired a grappling net, which entangled the two robbers and suspended them – snoozing and upside down - from the nearest lamppost.

Done, and done.

The shopkeeper's eyes were as wide as saucers. "… whoa, that was brutal!"

He only realized he'd said that out loud after it was too late to take it back. He jumped, expecting to be in trouble, and looked up at his savior… only to find nothing but a blank street.

The only thing left behind was a wallet, which must have fallen from one of the burglars during their wild ride. Really, he knew he shouldn't, but you didn't get to be a businessman on the mean streets of St. Canard without a little bit of vice.

"Well, I guess I do need to pay for my window." He said, reaching down to pick it up. "I guess I'll just…"

A familiar shadow loomed once more over the street in front of him. Vice or not, let it not be said that he was a numbskull too…

He gulped and dropped the wallet like it burned him. "… like I said, I'll just leave this alone and hope there's a reward. Yup."

The shadow vanished. And meanwhile, the thoroughly spooked shopkeeper rushed back into his business to call the police.

NegaGosalyn swung back up to her perch, too lost in thought to give a care about what the people below did – at least for the moment.

That was one less incident that could have cost lives. From an outside perspective, it was a job well done. The people were safe once again, maybe even having learned a lesson along the way, but she still felt deep down – as always - like she had somehow botched it. She was supposed to be upholding her double's stalwart and virtuous reputation, but here she was breaking bones and spooking the populace. She must have looked like a demon out there.

In the Negaverse, such things were necessary to maintain order. But here in the Posiverse, she could be better. And despite her teammates' glowing statements to the contrary, it still didn't feel like she was living up to Darkwing's standards.

The people had noticed, here and there, that she was different. Not that anybody realized it was literally a different Crimson Avenger patrolling the streets at night. They attributed NegaCrimson's blunt approach and lack of joviality to their heroine going through a rough time – or at least what ended up on their blogs posts and news feeds. And that was believable, what with Crimson spearheading the fight against Negaduck's invasion only to – from their point of view - have to deal with another evil duplicate on top of it.

But it was still noticeable. Darkwing only said things about it here or there, and when he did it was almost always to understand rather than to chide or criticize but NegaCrimson never let herself forget it every time she screwed up. She was Gosalyn Mallard, just like this universe's Crimson. It shouldn't be so hard to fill the shoes of another just like her.

But it was. She could do headstrong and even heroic, but she just couldn't match that… spirit… that rallied her Posiverse duplicate day after day. Too much trouble in her past. Too much doubt about her future.

She wasn't the heroine this city deserved. But she had to honor her double by trying. And that meant being there, improving as best she could, and keeping her people safe until the true Crimson Avenger returned, no matter what came her way…

"Nice moves, mate."

That was a voice that hadn't been there a moment ago!

She jumped back and took aim with her gas gun, then realized a second too late that as she was on the edge of the roof there was nowhere to "jump back" to…

Meanwhile, on the other end of the roof Rowe watched, chuckling, as NegaCrimson fell out of sight with an uncharacteristic yelp.

She swung back up to the ledge a moment later, practically spitting with rage. He just chuckled some more.

"What the hell are you up to!" She bellowed, gas gun in hand and aimed for someplace delicate.

"You hero types." He chortled. He always had believed that humor could protect against a beating. She didn't agree. "So kick-butt in normal circumstances, yet always so clumsy everywhere else."

In response she marched forward until they were eye to eye, and aimed the gun point blank against his chest.

"You wanna say that again, Rowe?"

He smiled, ever so nervously. She tried not to smirk - so much for his theory. "… nah, not particularly mate." He said, clearly hoping there weren't rubber bullets in the barrel right now.

"Then what do you want?" She demanded. "This had better not be an ambush."

"Please," he said – this time with a genuine laugh. "If we were trying to ambush you, do you think I would be taking point?"

This – amusingly - was as good as admitting that he was physically the weak link on his team, but she chose not to push the topic. "Then why are you sneaking around, pray tell?"

He shrugged. "Technically I didn't sneak anywhere." Her eyes narrowed, but he just smirked. "True story, mate! I spotted you up here, and sped up to say hello just as you flew off to take care of those punks. So I waited. You just didn't check the roof when you got back."

NegaCrimson used her free hand to give herself a facepalm – she deserved it. "And I assume you just happened to be in the neighborhood?"

"Well, no. I was looking for you, if I'm being honest."

Her grip tightened on the trigger. Rowe seemed to realize he was treading on thinner ice. "Then I'll ask again," she hissed. "What. Do. You. Want?"

There was a time for banter and a time to drop it, and NegaGosalyn had to give some members of the Five credit – just Bushroot and Rowe, mostly – they did know the difference. "Easy," Rowe replied. "I need help."

She took the moment to turn his laugh back on him. "You can't be serious."

"Come on, mate." He groaned. "You know I wouldn't joke around about this. I've got a right-on disappearance on my hands, I do."

"A disappearance." She stared skeptically at him. "And for once, you're not behind it."

"Hey!" He gasped, insulted. "That's not our thing and you know it. Well…" He paused. That needed a bit of reconsidering. "It's not my thing, anyway. You've kidnapped more people than I have."

She flinched. He had her there.

He, too, chose not to press the topic. She was almost grateful.

"And if, by some miracle, I believe you…" She droned, full of defensive sarcasm. "Why come to me, Rowe? Why not go to the rest of your little club? Or even Darkwing, if you're so desperate."

"Because if feels… wrong." He looked away, seeming a bit conflicted. If this was an act, he was actually doing a good job. Better than usual, at least. "I dunno. If it was a situation I thought we could take advantage of, I'd bring in the Five. And I wouldn't go to Darkwing unless I was absolutely sure it was something awful, or my rep would be shot." He looked back at her, smiling in a way she supposed was companionable. "But you… well, you know us. You've got perspective."

"Translation: the missing person is one of the Five." She said pointedly. Rowe winced. "You don't know whether they disappeared because they're up to something on their own – which is none of your business – or whether they're legitimately in trouble, which is." She lowered the gas gun, but only a few degrees. He'd still be taking a hit somewhere very uncomfortable if he tried anything. "So you came to me, because I used to work with you knobs and you're hoping I'll do you a favor."

Rowe blinked. "You're… ah… taking to the whole detective thing pretty well, it looks like."

"Flattery isn't going to get you anywhere." She answered automatically. She eyed him, a shrewd look passing over her eyes. "Since I suppose this has nothing to do with how I happen to look like someone you've been drooling over for years."

"It's not like that," he said even more automatically, but the red tint that was visible even through his fur betrayed him.

"Don't play around with me." She snarled. "Don't think I've forgotten the way you tried to get close with Cri… with her even though she's pure evil right now."

"Give me a break, mate!" Rowe pleaded. "I didn't know how evil she was at the time."

"I've also done a bit of digging. And I managed to hear a few tidbits about a certain otter…" The gun when straight back up to face level. "… a supposed time loop. And a kiss!"

She fired, and the gun's tiny projectile went flying just past Rowe's earlobe. She had loaded it with rubber bullets, much to his misfortune.

Rowe looked like his entire body was fighting the urge to combust. "That literally never happened." His voice came out all squeaky, which didn't help his case even if his response hadn't been vague as fog.

She regarded him for a second. She could easily just shoot him and leave him to writhe on this rooftop. Part of her, the part that thought being the valiant Empress of the Negaverse was too much hassle and being a worthwhile Crimson Avenger was impossible, didn't see that as such a bad idea.

But the other part, the one that wanted to be the best Gosalyn Mallard she could be, had other ideas…

"Who's missing?" She sighed. She was going to regret this, she just knew.

Rowe must have figured the next sound she made would be a gunshot, because he instinctively yelped and flinched away before realizing what she said. It was a good day for surprises all around.

"R-really?" He said, his voice still squeaky. He cleared his throat and tried again, a bit more confidently. "I mean, of course, mate. Quackerjack's gone missing-"

"-Quackerjack?" She snapped. So much for taking any of this seriously. "You're wasting my time over Quackerjack? What, didn't have time to check all the toy stores in town for sugar high manchildren?"

"By the fur, give me some credit!" He huffed. "I thought about that too. But another of us, the new gal – Extra – she's missing too. She was with him. It's like they vanished right in the middle of their… er… morning constitutional."

She rolled her eyes. Rowe's obvious reluctance to incriminate his comrades aside, that did spark her suspicion. If they had disappeared in the middle of a heist… or whatever Quackerjack was up to, she never liked to pry with him… that would explain Rowe's reaction. The average supervillain did not just up and give up their nefarious plans halfway through for no reason. Especially not a supervillain as obsessed and barmy as the mad toymaker.

There was nothing for it, then. She lowered the gun – all the way, this time. "…show me."

Rowe's face lit up like a overcooked casserole. "No doubt, mate!" He bobbed on his feet, with more excitement than she felt was really warranted. "NegaCrimson and the Fearsome Five, working together again!"

And up went the gun again. He froze. "You have to call me Crimson in public." She said sharply. "That's not negotiable. You know why."

"I… yeah… I suppose I do," he said. He wisely dropped the excited act, and instead gestured for her to follow him. "Come on, then. The sooner we get the mystery locked up, the sooner we can go back to being proper heroes and villains again."

She scoffed as she holstered the gas gun – to be used for a more intimidating moment. There was nothing "proper" about any of this. But she supposed she appreciated the sentiment, at least for now…

---

Extra-Secret SHUSH Lab #0691

For a defunct government laboratory, Darkwing Duck had a surprisingly easy time getting to the meeting spot. Granted, if he hadn't already been told this place existed there was no way he would have ever found it, but it was overall rather nondescript. Just a random basement hall in an obscure office in the old part of the city.

That was probably the point. SHUSH HQ may have been an extremely visible place, but you didn't build a spy network being obvious. This particular SHUSH base may have been long defunct – the decor looked like something out of the 60's - but it was doing its job well if nobody had bothered to check to see if there was anything beneath the surface after all this time.

But then, that just reinforced the question: what was Darkwing even doing here, if even this place was so unassuming that not even SHUSH wanted anything to do with it any more? The answers would be coming soon, but this whole thing still made him feel on edge.

The basement filtered into a long hallway, at the end of which was the end to this cloak and dagger nonsense.

The person who answered the door greeted him with far less enthusiasm than Darkwing himself felt. "Darkwing! You made it!"

"Yes, Techno, I did." Darkwing moved to step inside, but to his surprise the young hero blocked his way. Suspicious and annoying, but Darkwing allowed the momentary stall for now. "So what's going on here that we can't talk about it at the Tower? Why all the skulduggery?"

Techno sighed. "Right." He glanced behind him and stepped closer, apparently so whoever else was inside wouldn't hear. He actually looked nervous, at that – Darkwing hadn't seen Techno this uneasy around him since he was a kid. "I won't beat around the bush, sir. Just… remember what I said about working outside the box?"

He did remember. That confirmed the obvious answer about all this: it was about Gosalyn. Whatever Techno was up to, it was about curing her. But then, what wasn't these days?

So, his answer was to the point. "What about it?"

"Just that you might want to keep an open mind about what you see in here, that's all." And with that indirect answer, Techno turned "And of course, top se..."

To his surprise, he was stopped. Darkwing put his hand on his shoulder, gently keeping Techno from going further inside.

"…cret," he trailed off, bemused. "What's going on? Do you have any questions?"

"No. I just figured you must have had company inside, since you've stopped me at the door." Darkwing replied. Techno winced, vaguely, but didn't dispute the deduction. "So before we go in, I have something to tell you."

Techno's eyes widened. Deductions like that went both ways: there only one topic Darkwing would find so urgent to tell him right in the middle of this, but too discreet to say in front of others. "… something about her."

"Yes." Darkwing sighed. "The school Gosalyn was going to go to, St. Canard College, sent us a letter today. About what she… about what the Crimson Marauder did last month."

Neither of them needed much reminder. It had seemed so long ago, the Crimson Marauder's first real attack on the city - just her, without NegaHonker or pirates or any additional help – but it was hard to forget. She had cut a swath of fear and destruction, including setting the college campus ablaze. It had not been fun to deal with, and it was horrible to have to do so again now.

Darkwing immediately caught the concern in Techno's eyes: the young sidekick gasped and stepped closer, whispering furiously. "You mean they kn-"

"No." Darkwing said quickly, cutting off that line before it could start. "But… it's bad. She did a lot of damage. A lot of damage. They've… had to cut back."

Techno got the implications quick as ever. "… you said Gosalyn was going to go there," he whispered, unwilling to voice what he had already figured out.

Darkwing nodded. His next words were clipped and stilted: he, more than even Techno, didn't want to make what he was about to say real. "T-they've had to cancel the enrollment of several students. Including Gosalyn. She… she has nowhere to go, now."

He could hear the fabric in Techno's gloves stretch through clenched fists. "So… she got what she wanted after all."

"Gosalyn Mallard has always been the Crimson Marauder's first and most personal target." Darkwing replied, rigidly keeping the distance between his daughter and her vile alter ego. "I have no idea if she knows, but I'm not going to be in any rush to tell her if she doesn't. The way she…"

He choked, just a bit. His stilted tone began to fall apart. "… she delights in destroying her own life…"

He looked away, and Techno saw for the first time it a long while a Darkwing Duck that looked… lost. He hated seeing that. It was alien, almost exactly like seeing Gosalyn give up. It made everything feel twice as hopeless.

But luckily, for once he had the means of reigniting that inspiration himself. At least, he hoped so.

"So we save her," he said adamantly, grabbing Darkwing by the shoulders. Darkwing turned back to him, surprised at his confidence. It wasn't long ago that Techno was grasping at straws. "And luckily, I know how!"

He gestured for Darkwing to follow him inside.

Darkwing didn't know what to expect when he followed. SHUSH agents, maybe. A stuffy administrator, having been convinced to oversee this secret project after some manner of begging or bribery. Maybe even, as a flight of fancy, a squad of robot assistants: Honker Muddlefoot had never done anything like that in the time he'd known him, but given the leaps and bounds his ambition had grown since becoming Techno, Darkwing sometimes wondered if it wasn't a matter of time.

But the point is, he was imagining something… stable. Controlled. A familiar, wild eyed rat? Not so much.

"Darkwing, ol' pal!" Came the immediately identifiable, high energy voice of Elmo Sputterspark. He leaped – literally leaped - across the room and yanked the confused hero into a tight embrace. Darkwing was at a loss for words.

It was a surprise to see Elmo here, to say the least. The once villain had gone through many a change since literally splitting himself off from his evil impulses: sure, the impulsive if well-intentioned move had created a galvanized monstrosity even worse than his former self, but in the meantime he'd found love, gotten his life together and evidently he had even started bathing regularly judging from the scented aroma assaulting Darkwing's nose.

It was almost impossible to look at the man he was now and see the fanatic that was Megavolt. But it was still a little shocking, even so. Especially if he were standing in front of an unstable looking electrical gizmo, as – it surmised - he currently was.

Darkwing's eyes shot up from the now-awkward hug and eyed the device warily. "… okay." He grumbled, pulling Elmo off of him. "What is that and how much trouble are you going to be in for making it?"

"Oh, loads of trouble!" Elmo said cheerfully. He tapped the side of the machine like an old friend. It sparked ominously at him. Darkwing was now immediately sure whatever this was wasn't a good idea.

"I repeat. What. Is. It?"

Techno nudged him. "Outside the box, remember?" Darkwing gave him an unimpressed look, but he continued on. "This isn't something easily sanctioned, but with only a couple extra minds we were able to make it work. Really, you should be excited." He finished, daring to try a pointed jab at Darkwing's mood.

But no such luck. Darkwing's was too busy zeroing in the details. "A couple? As in more than one? Who else have you brought in on this, Techno?"

"What am I, chopped liver?" Elmo joked. "You know how hard it was to pull me away from my other SHUSH lab and set up this one on the sly? It was really, really hard. Really. I-"

"AND YET YOU STILL WON'T TELL ME WHY!"

"To think St. Canard's hero is so high strung…" came a posh voice from behind the machine. Someone had been doing adjustments while they were talking, which might have explained the spark from before.

Darkwing couldn't believe his eyes. "John D. Rockerduck!"

"Well," the cold industrialist scoffed. "At least you're not a subpar detective as well. I've had my doubts…"

Darkwing weathered the insult on his skills… for now. As much as it pained him to take a hit to the ego, numbers were starting to add up. "You're making another Tron Manipulator!" He said, this time to Techno. "Rockerduck's designs. Elmo's experience. Your expertise." He pointed from one to the other in turn, then fixed back to Rockerduck. "How's that for detective work?"

The old businessman's face - somewhere between gobsmacked and infuriated - almost gave him the urge to laugh, but decided to let his retort lie as is. He really did want to let that dig go, since they obviously had a lot more to worry about right now.

"Now," Techno said, trying to get on top of things before the inevitable storm. "Before you say anything…"

"HAVE YOU GONE COOCOO BANANAS!?" Darkwing screeched so loudly it echoed off the walls, making Elmo duck behind the machine – accidently pushing Rockerduck off his feet in the process. "Teenagers! It's always the same! You never think anything through!"

"Come on, Darkwing!" Techno's eyes narrowed. "I'm hardly the only one between the two of us who's ever done something dangerously impulsive. I'm not even the more prone to it."

Darkwing stared at him. "… now I know you're going through a meltdown. That almost sounded like an insult!"

That was only partially a joke. That was a low blow, and it was quite unlike Techno to make it. Gosalyn – even before she became the Crimson Marauder – had never been shy about giving a shot to his ego whenever he did something she didn't like. Even Launchpad had the occasional smarmy word to say about his actions, usually wrapped up casually inside his friendly demeanor.

But Honker… now Techno? He could give the third degree to his best friend, but he'd never done so to Darkwing before. It was stunning - flooring even! - to say the least.

Techno saw the effect he'd had and winced. Taking a deep breath, he tried again. "I'm not having a meltdown. This is the only idea I could think of that could give us any kind of positive result in a reasonable timeframe." A paused, and Darkwing could see the emotion in his eyes – desperation and… surprisingly… hope. "And… I think this could actually work. Really, truly work."

"Or put us back to square one,"

"That's a risk that, at this point, I'm willing to take," Techno said firmly, but only for a second before his shoulders sank in a sigh. "I know that sounds… bad. But it's either this, or nothing. And nothing isn't working. We have to try."

His words hit Darkwing right in his cynical center, and he took a mental step back. Irresponsible as it was, Techno was right. Tron Manipulation had started this. It would finish it, if they did it right. Just because SHUSH had a point for not getting involved, didn't mean they have to give up on it.

But it did mean they would have to face the consequences, should things go wrong.

"I suppose we do," Darkwing said. "But if anyone else, I'm the one who commissioned this."

Techno's eyes widened, as he realized right away what that meant. "But you can't-"

"I can and I will," he replied curtly, cutting off any further objection. "Depending on how this goes, SHUSH would have your head for this. I don't want both of the kids I've seen grow before my eyes losing their futures."

The teenage hero truly faltered for the first time since Darkwing got there, completely taken aback by the uncommonly earnest words. "I… thanks, Darkwing, but I can't let you take the fall for something I did."

"You will, or I'm shutting this down right now," Darkwing barked. "Take it or leave it."

It took a minute, but Techno chose to take it… by way of enveloping in Darkwing in a similarly uncommon but very necessary hug.

"T-thank you…" Techno whispered into Darkwing's shoulder, and all the stress from the last couple months rolled away. "We'll get her back this time. I swear."

This wasn't not the kind of thing the curmudgeonly hero would have liked to do in front of a former enemy and an unscrupulous business magnate, but it too had to be done, so Darkwing returned the embrace. "I know you will, kid. I know you will."

Techno thankfully – where Darkwing was concerned - pulled away quickly, and was immediately back to business. "I suppose I should tell you more about the design."

"Yeah, I suppose you should," Darkwing scoffed. "Just because I'm in doesn't mean I think any of this is a good idea."

Techno just grinned. "When has that ever stopped us?"

"Point."

The machine began sparking again as it whirred to life. Now that he was sure the arguing part was over, Elmo slid out from behind the machine and went back to checking gauges and readouts. Rockerduck, who had been watching the argument with vague interest, was now engrossed in a large blueprint.

"Still…" Darkwing continued, though with a lot less dismissal than before. He looked over the device curiously, trying to parse out its place in the future. "I'm not sure I like having another Tron Manipulator out there."

"Technically, it's not strictly a Tron Manipulator," Techno explained. "Admittedly, it…" He paused awkwardly, as the thought passed. "… can be used as one, if you give it some fine tuning…"

"Techno…" Darkwing groaned.

"But…" the young genius quickly doubled back. "It's far less effective at that job than a fully conceived Tron Manipulator would be. This design is actually meant to be at stronger affect against trons that have already been altered, forcing them to collapse in on themselves and invert moral polarity. We're hoping to use it to reverse… well… everything."

Darkwing considered this for a moment. "Sounds… surprisingly possible. But if that's the case, I'm not sure he should be so close to that thing." He pointed at Elmo, who was dutifully giving the machine a full-chassis wax.

"Oh, it shouldn't effect me." Elmo said, newly cheerful again. "It's a gorgeous perk of the design, really. I'm more of a halved whole, tron-wise, so there's nothing to 'revert.' It's like being a lone electron without a proton – and I'm loving it, mind you!" He laughed to himself, then paused. "Granted, there's a nonzero chance that direct exposure could make me explode instead, but it's not like I'm planning to blast myself in the face."

"… well, I'm convinced."

Techno sighed wearily. "Darkwing…"

Ignoring his comrade's response, Darkwing redirected his accusing finger towards Rockerduck. "And what about him? We already had to shut this greedy tycoon down from exactly this kind of thing once, and it cost us. Do we really want to do it again?"

Some kind of indignant response would have been typical after a shot like that, but Rockerduck, to Darkwing's surprise, merely waved it off with a haughty scoff. "Please! What do you take me for?" He said with high-class indifference. "After all the mayhem that has been wreaked the wake of my experiment, I've all but packed up that line of research. I was on the cusp of incinerating all our data on the project when Techno came to ask for my aid."

"And what exactly did Techno tell you, hmm?" Darkwing replied suspiciously, shooting a warning glance at Techno who – again to Darkwing's surprise – shrugged back without a hint of sheepishness.

Rockerduck either missed or didn't care about the nonverbal exchange, probably the latter. "Nothing that wasn't easy to figure out, when you have all the clues. A daring incident happens involving my Tron Manipulator experiment, which is then stolen, and afterwards practically overnight an evil version of the Crimson Avenger arises? You might not believe me, but I'm actually quite contrite about it – all things considered."

Darkwing's beak curled with a sudden rise of anger. This was a sensitive topic, to say the last. "Yes. Quite." He said, forcing himself not to react further. Instead, he distracted himself by focusing on Elmo again.

"Speaking of contrite, you're working for SHUSH!" He said sharply, causing Elmo to jump at the sudden attention. "There's no way they authorized this. What are they going to do when they find out what you've been up to?"

"Psh. They're not going to find out," Elmo grinned. "I may not be crazy and evil any more, but I do remember pulling the wool over a few eyes back in my villain days. I just did a little of that."

Darkwing decided not to point out that Megavolt had perhaps been the least subtle villain in a city already chock full of incredibly unsubtle whackjobs – even Quackerjack could keep a plan under wraps without blacking out half the neighborhood. Reformed or not, Elmo's attempts at covering up his tracks would probably need a little review as far as Darkwing was concerned, and he hoped Techno thought to do so.

Thinking about it himself was just giving him an ulcer at this point. Really, all of this was bad for his health.

"If it's not my kid, it's the kid my kid brings home…" he muttered under his breath. It was as true and frustrating now as when those children actually were children, and a painful thing to think about besides. But just like then, there was something about those kids - about Gosalyn and Honker, and their at times miraculous antics – that just made him want to throw good judgment to the wind and trust.

So, begrudgingly, trust he would. A good hero, after all, follows his gut just as much as his head.

Techno had only barely heard Darkwing's mutterings, and definitely didn't pick up on what he was thinking. He was determined about this, probably enough to go behind Darkwing's back without a hint of regret if the older hero put his foot down. But the way the teen's visored face lit up when Darkwing gave him a slow, unsteady thumbs up made him look not like a harried genius on his last desparate move but almost like that kid again.

At the very least, it really was a hopeful sight.

"Okay, Techno. You got me." Darkwing said, feigning a frustration even he was starting to lose his hold of now. "Tell me what you need me to do."

Techno nodded. At once, he pulled the three others together in huddle. "We need to plan," he said. "And plan hard. We can build the thing, no prob. We can even make it smaller. But what we need is to be able to use it…"

---

Inside MacCawber Manor,

From comfortable mid-city apartment, to creepy suburban horror show. That, it seemed, was Christine Merriweather's life right now.

It wasn't as if she was ungrateful. Far from it. Ingratitude towards Morgana Macawber after everything the woman had been through was the last thing on Christine's mind – especially when Morgana had opened up her home to them in spite of all that hardship. But the overwhelming weight of everything was bearing down on Christine as well - worse than ever now that she had time to breathe.

Charlie was over the moon, meanwhile. He didn't have to worry about these things, being a kid. He could blissfully run here and there without thinking about home invasions and close friends gone mad, or whether or not some tentacled beast was going to leap out a mirror or under the stairs and sucker his face clean off.

Admittedly, Christine was pretty sure that Morgana's tentacled beasts were tamer than that, but still…

She had to think about such things. More than she had ever allowed herself to before, but maybe less than she should have since getting involved Drake Mallard. Maybe it was only a matter of time before something like this happened.

She loved him dearly, but the thoughts wouldn't stop now that they had popped into her head. Was it worth it, being in love with a superhero? She hated that she was even thinking about it, but…

She took to wandering the manor to clear her mind. Charlie had one thing right: Macawber Manor was a fascinating place… once one put the fear of boogeymen out their mind. She'd had the morning paper brought to her by dogs without skin, and evening dinner served on floating dishes. Drake's wistful complaints really didn't do Morgana's cooking justice: the ingredients were a little strange, but the end result was fantastic. It was no wonder the woman's restaurants were the talk of Calisota.

The woman herself was a delight. Melancholy, perhaps – in a way that once might have been affected, but now seemed to settle in her every thought – but kind and wonderful to talk to… even if some subjects were a little awkward between them.

One such subject, however, they never could seem to resist.

"And then there he was, a yak with silly purple mask! My, I was so embarrassed."

They were sitting in the drawing room, as Morgana regaled Christine with some lesser shared stories of Darkwing's heroics… which is to say, the greatest hits of the caped canard's least dignified moments. "Oh, my gosh!" Christine laughed at just the thought of it, "Drake definitely failed to mention that little adventure!"

"Oh, he wouldn't. I know Dark. He's always been such a show-off," Morgana said, with the fond, honest remembrance that comes with time.

Christine smiled, with a similar feeling. She didn't need to reminisce to know that. "Well, I hope you got that spell working right in the end."

"Oh, we did. It was quite the battle," Morgana said. "We grew into a better team over time. Time… does have a way of changing things…"

She trailed off and looked into the distance. Though it seemed like a wistful thing to say, her expression was more thoughtful than anything. It seemed Christine wasn't the only one with a lot on her mind these days.

But Christine hardly knew what to say. These fun little chats were one thing, but having a deep conversation with the woman who was once the love of her boyfriend's life?

"Er…" She started, stumbling out the gate. But she was saved a few minutes to figure out what her actual words would be by a small blur rushing into the room – the kind of a blur a parent always knew.

"Mom! Mom!" Charlie squealed. He was hopping up and down so fast Christine could hardly get a hold on him. "This place is so cool! Can I go exploring a little more?"

"Er…" Christine said again, looking over to Morgana for help. But Morgana seemed less wary about this than she was.

"It is a fantastic old place, isn't it?" She said, smirking. "Explore to your heart's content. Just avoid the clearly markeddoor to the Catacombs!" Her tone went harsh, but the smile never left her face. "There are protective curses down there that could cause a wayward traveller to be lost forever."

Christine's eyes narrowed. "Wait, wha-"

But Charlie had already been set off. "So cool!" He shouted, and before Christine could interject he was already halfway out the door.

She turned to Morgana, her jaw ajar. "Could he really get lost down there?"

But Morgana – not for the first time since they moved in - waved off the concern. "Not to worry. If he does delve too deep I can always get him out right away. It's a rite of passage for young ones to get lost in the catacombs. I know I did many times when I was young. I believe Gosalyn did too. More than I did, come to think of it."

Christine wasn't convinced that Morgana's idea of what was or wasn't dangerous to a child was entirely trustworthy (or Gosalyn's, for that matter), but she accepted that Morgana would at least not let Charlie come to harm and – reluctantly – let it go.

The room fell silent after that. Morgana fell back into thought, and Christine fell back into not knowing what to say. She was starting to ponder going after Charlie, when the pale duck finally spoke.

"She's grown into such a wonderful young woman," Morgana said. She glanced sidelong at Christine's confused look. "Gosalyn, I mean. She was so close to us over the years – Bob and I – but in recent times I feel as though I've let that slip away. If I'd only trained her skills more diligently, then perhaps…"

Christine didn't know much about magic, but she had heard much from Drake about Gosalyn's potential with it – as well as Gosalyn's only occasional interest. The thought of that combining with the current situation made her shudder. "Perhaps we would have an insane pirate sorceress to deal with."

There was a pause, and Christine was briefly concerned that Morgana would be offended, but then the other woman laughed. "Yes, but insane sorceresses is something of an area of expertise of mine," she joked, if only briefly. Her somber mood quickly returned. "But I do often find myself thinking of what might have been. That perhaps…"

She winced, glancing apologetically at Christine for beginning something she felt she would regret. But as a doctor, Christine knew when you had to apply a salve.

"Say it." She said warmly. "It'll make you feel better."

Morgana frowned. She still looked guilty, but she didn't stop. "It's just, sometimes I think that perhaps had I stayed with Dark, I could have been able to prevent this. All of this. That had I waited for him, instead of getting involved with another… then perhaps Bob would still be alive today. And I wouldn't be here, alone, with nothing but memories to know him by."

Christine chose not to be offended. It was obvious where the real feelings were here. "You can't blame yourself. Not when you can blame Negaduck."

"Neutraduck," Morgana corrected automatically. "It was Neutraduck."

Christine smiled, in a way meant for maximum comfort. "See? You know where the blame lies! And you know Bob died defending us all from him."

"Oh, I do blame him. I blame him, and Negaduck and... every evil pig that put us in that position, who keep putting us in these positions!" Morgana said darkly. There was suddenly an unnerving echo in the room that made Christine shiver, though she knew the rage behind it was directed nowhere near her. Drake and Gosalyn had jokingly mentioned Morgana's temper before – just being on the fringes of it was an experience.

But then Morgana sighed, and the echo faded. "But all this thinking back… would tragedy have struck like that if it were me and Dark? Could I have defended him, and him me, better than we do now? We did make such a smart team..."

But then she snorted derisively at her own daydream. "What an awful thought, that I'd do anything – even choose another – just to have him back here, alive. Especially when it's just as likely someone else would have lost their life instead."

And there came the downside to this conversation. Christine didn't fault Morgana her feelings, but a topic like this just enflamed her own. She had tried not to think about it before, but while she was here – surrounded by all this magic and power – it wasn't hard to ponder just how little she could do to help Drake in his fight against evil in comparison. Patching the Mallard family up after a bad break was one thing, but Morgana was reminiscing about a life with Darkwing that Christine would never fully understand. And that ached, deep down.

Gosalyn was not herself - she would never have even thought such things about her if she were - but being called a "poor man's Morgana" when they last met had still stung. Christine would never be a "smart team" with Darkwing Duck. She wasn't going to be joining him while punching out supervillains any time soon. Nor did she want to, but... it couldn't help but make her feel like second best, sometimes.

Morgana seemed to read Christine's emotions off of her face, because she quickly backtracked. "No, I… I shouldn't be burdening you with this. I'm sorry. These are my problems to sort out. But… thank you for listening."

"Grieving is a process," Christine said, waving off her own insecurity as a topic for another day. "And you've done more than enough for me to be here with you for it. And I know Drake is here for you too."

The two smiled at each other, and before the silence got awkward again Christine – feeling a mite more comfortable now (even if her chair felt a bit like it was chewing on her) - kept the ball rolling with another suggestion.

"So, have you got any more stories about Darkwing Duck's brilliant heroics?"

Happy to take the invitation, Morgana snickered. "Tons. I'm sure none of them, not even Gosalyn, told you about the time with the love potion…"

---

Outside The Headquarters of Whiffle Boy Entertainment,

When Rowe and NegaCrimson arrived, the police had already come and gone from the scene and – declaring it an act of minor vandalism – left if for cleaning crews to handle. Said cleaning crews were nowhere to be seen, which may have had something to do with the reports about roots breaking through "aging" roads several blocks down. Either way, the area would be clear for quite a few hours yet.

Bushroot had already been there for some time, tracing a path back and forth. When they dropped in he turned sharply, but relaxed once he saw who they were – though his stare did linger on his cohort's heroic companion.

"You brought her?" He said, more keyed onto NegaCrimson herself than Rowe having brought anyone in the first place. "Of course you brought her. I feel like I should be more surprised."

"What's that supposed to mean, mate?"

Bushroot rolled his eyes. To Bushroot's mild surprise, so did NegaCrimson. "Like we don't all know." She pushed past Rowe and strode into the midst of the chaos. "So what's the situation here."

That was difficult to explain. Easy to see, but difficult to explain. The courtyard of Whiffle Boy Entertainment was usually modern and immaculate, showing off their chops as a cutting edge video game company, but now it was a mess: there was tar and fake feathers everywhere, mostly slathering the grand statue of Whiffle Boy they kept front and center in the plaza.

But at the same time, it was limited to there. It was no wonder the police suspected vandalism, rather than a supervillain attack: there was nothing more. No broken entryways, not lingering deathtraps or mechanical menaces, no sign anything more dangerous than a bunch of creatively mischievous kids had been here.

Bushroot opened his mouth to explain, then thought better of it. He turned to Rowe, and gave him a pointed look. Rowe responded with an assuring nod.

"Go ahead, mate," he said. "Don't forget, she was one of us."

"Was." Bushroot clarified. "She flies under a different banner these days, not that I blame her."

"I'm not going to bring you in," NegaCrimson said loudly. The two jumped, realizing that they had been talking about her as if she weren't there. "At least, depending on what we find. Like Rowe said, if this really is trouble I'm willing to help you jokers out just this once, for old time's sake. Take it, because it's a limited offer."

"That's surprisingly sociable of you," Bushroot said, with one leafy eyebrow raised.

NegaCrimson just shrugged and turned back to the chaos, so Bushroot supposed that was the best he was ever going to get. And the authorities wouldn't remain distracted forever…

He sighed. "Very well, then. Quackerjack was cooking up another 'revenge' against Whiffle Boy Entertainment," he gestured to the giant statue in front of them. "I don't know if you remember, but he hates all video games and this company in particular with a passion."

NegaCrimson did remember, even if she thought it was ridiculous. In the Negaverse, Whiffle Boy Inc was not an entertainment company, but a independent conglomerate that provided robotic mercenaries and virtual training for assassins. Negaduck was an enthusiastic consumer of their services: she suspected that their tech was involved in her initial brainwashing, for example.

And NegaQuackerjack hated them more than anyone: he used to smuggle aid to freedom fighters, hidden in toys and games. WBI had their Whiffle Enforcers burn everything he had to the ground. It was a very tragic story.

This Quackerjack's reason for hating them was a lot more petty, but she understood it well enough. So she nodded and gestured for Bushroot to continue.

"It's against our charter for the group to be pulled into personal revenge schemes: it's just not wise." "So we let him plot this out himself with minimal input… or supervision."

"Wait, you guys really do have a charter? Seriously?"

Rowe groaned. "Why is everyone so surprised about that?"

"Anyway," Bushroot cut them off, "that means that all we knew is their radios were working one second, then blanked out the next. When we came to investigate, this is all we found. That and silence." Even if she hadn't worked with the group once upon a time, NegaCrimson would have known the problem there. "Quackerjack is lots of things, but never silent. Something's wrong."

She nodded. "Agreed. Give me a moment…" She stepped away from her impromptu partners and took a look over the scene, trying to remove distractions and not to think about how strange this felt, being among them again.

There was a mix of guilt and pitilessness, awkwardness and familiarity there that made just standing with the Fearsome Five without a fight feel like an uncomfortable ordeal – on both sides, though less so in the still unrepentant criminals' case. For NegaCrimson, it must have felt a lot worse – especially as the wistful feeling for her own versions of them, the ones she had left back home still without any contact, did not make her feel better.

So instead she focused on the job. She probably wouldn't be winning any rewards as the Posiverse's greatest detective, not without honing her skills a lot more, but she was trying. As wild as she could be, her double was better at it than she was, though that was understandable: PosiCrimson had been fighting crime rather than causing it for a lot longer, even as Gosalyn Mallard. NegaCrimson was the only one for this job sometimes in the Negaverse, so she had to pick up a few things… and redirect a few skills from her less than reputable days.

Skills like knowing what an abduction looked like.

"Did you notice this?" She said sharply, gesturing the two criminals her side. "Tracks."

She pointed to two sets of footprints amidst the disarray. One set was oversized and all over the place, the other was small and careful.

The villains followed her eye, but seemed to have seen it before. Rowe shrugged, though Bushroot – NegaCrimson was happy to see – looked more thoughtful. "I mean, yeah mate. They must've traipsed all over the place while making this mess."

"They did." She elaborated, emphasizing the "they" to let the others know she picked up on it. "Don't bother trying to cover up the crimes here. I already know that the other one was Plumis, remember? I also don't care." She turned away from their awkward faces and back to the ground. "What I do care about is that their tracks end. Right here. "

The two gave a second look, and realized she was right. The footprints did end abruptly, without reaching anything or leaving the tarred area.

"So?" Rowe asked flippantly. "Maybe he just used one of his rocket pogos or something. Could've been this all was a distraction so he could get in the roof."

Bushroot shook his head before NegaCrimson could. "It's possible, but that definitely would've left an indent, and I don't see one."

"Not to mention it wouldn't explain what happened to the other set of tracks" NegaCrimson said pointedly. The other two flinched, having both missed that obvious detail.

Bushroot paused, considering the options. "The roof is a good idea, though. Maybe we should check." He turned to NegaCrimson. "Agreed?"

There weren't any other leads, so NegaCrimson let her raised grappling hook do the talking. Rowe, feeling slightly mollified that at least half of his idea was being accepted,, decided to jump on the opportunity. He stepped up to her, offering his hand.

"Well, I guess I'm gonna need a ride, aren't I mate?" He said, with a cheeky grin. "No way up, you see."

NegaCrimson took a look at his hand, then a look at his face, then grappled up without a word… or one gobsmacked otter.

Bushroot decided to do his dejected cohort a solid and lend him a few creeping vines. "Please don't tell me you expected anything different," he said as they whisked up the corporate skyscraper, unable to keep the humor out of his voice even for Rowe's sake.

"Oi, just shut it mate…"

They arrived to find that the roof was not a particularly lively place. The villains arrived a minute or so after NegaCrimson, and she was already canvassing the place as they pulled up over the rooftop.

Just from a quick look, it didn't seem worth the effort. There were no breaks in the skylights or conspicuously ajar doors, no booby trap jack-in-the-boxes let in wait for heroes that might wander through, no giant toys running amok in a hilariously perilous fashion. By all appearances, it was just a roof.

"Guess that's it for my bright ideas, then." Rowe said, kicking a nearby pebble to vent his frustration. It went flying off the roof and bounced off a passing TeleConstructor. "It's all empty!"

"I wouldn't say that." NegaCrimson said. She walked over to what otherwise looked like a random spot, and knelt down. "Look."

She gestured to the ground before her. There were flecks of tar there – out of place but small, and easily missed. A trace feather or two slowly swept along in the evening wind.

"Okay," Rowe corrected himself. "So not totally empty."

Bushroot rushed to the spot for a closer look, then jumped to another area not far away, and then another. "There's more tar over here! And here!" He said intently. "But they're not prints or smudges. It's more like… droplets."

"As if they fell from above, yeah," NegaCrimson said. "I noticed that too."

"So someone airlifted them out of here," Rowe concluded. "So who do we know that could've done that?"

NegaCrimson frowned, in thought. "Not many that we can't immediately rule out. None of Darkwing's group did it, obviously."

"I guess Splatter Phoenix could've if she really wanted to," Bushroot added. "But I don't see her wanting to. Plus, she would've left a paint trail."

"I thought maybe Armstrong," Rowe said. "But last I saw he's still back at base. 'Sides, it doesn't make sense, him starting a feud with Quackerjack all of a sudden."

Bushroot looked up sharply, and caught Rowe's eye. Both were replaying everything they knew about their tenuous situation in their heads, wondering if it were possible. "…don't forget it just yet", he said, finally. "It's still a possibility. If Glomgold's finally making his play to brush away loose ends, we'll need to be ready."

NegaCrimson raised an eyebrow, having been watching their alarm with interest. "Trouble in Tartarus?"

Bushroot turned away, having momentarily forgotten their third wasn't one of them any more, but rather than get evasive Rowe just laughed. "You have no idea, mate." Bushroot punched him in the arm. "Ow! Hey!"

"Is there anyone else we haven't considered?" Bushroot said pointedly, trying to direct the conversation away from handing internal secrets to someone who was (technically) their enemy.

He might not have needed to worry. NegaCrimson was distracted, eyeing something in the distance. Bushroot and Rowe, again unaware that she had broken off from them, continued throwing to throw ideas back and forth.

"Not unless that crazy sheila with the wind powers is back," Rowe replied.

"Unlikely," Bushroot said. "Last I checked, the Elements had vanished entirely. But I guess it could be someone with the same-"

"Hey, what's going on there?"

Bushroot and Rowe stopped their brainstorming and looked to where NegaGosalyn was pointing. Behind them, the TeleConstructor that Rowe had nailed with the pebble was still hovering around. It dipped back and forth, as if jerking in multiple directions at once, and nearly crashed into the building in the process.

"You guys would know this city better than I would," NegaCrimson continued. "Are those supposed to be flying around alone?"

The other two shared a surprised look. "Isn't that one of those construction things, mate?" Rowe said. "The ones we stole from Scrooge?"

"The TeleConstructors, yes. And that one's definitely acting erratically." Bushroot confirmed, now feeling very suspicious. NegaCrimson was right: in their short tenure here in St. Canard, the citizens had gotten used to scores of TeleConstructors zipping around the skyline in groups. Seeing one by its lonesome, far away from any construction sites, was a definite red flag.

Rowe too followed the troubling track. "By the fur! You think one of those is responsible for-"

In lieu of continued speculation, NegaCrimson again interrupted the conversation by springing into action – with a sprinting start, she launched herself off the edge of the roof and sprang towards the TeleConstructor, grappling hook at the ready. She scored a connection to its metal base and hanged there, holding on with no problem as the machine veered against her weight.

Bushroot and Rowe stared. There wasn't much else they could do about it.

"Always on the move, that one," Bushroot said flatly. "Or is that every version of her?" He turned to Rowe for a little banter, but the otter was already on the move as well.

"Well, I'm not getting left behind this time, mate!" He said – realizing that there was one thing he could do. With a flying leap, he sprung off the edge of the roof and grabbed onto NegaCrimson's leg. "Banzai!"

This did almost make NegaCrimson lose her handhold – but only almost. She slipped her grip for a split second, but preferred to spend the next few seconds glaring down at her unexpected addition than panicking over a few lost millimeters.

"You crazy knob!" She shrieked. "What do you think you're doing?!"

He laughed as he held on for dear life – there were, after all, quite a ways up. "Just joinin' in the fun, mate!"

NegaCrimson was about to respond with something biting, maybe even try to throw Rowe back onto the roof, when suddenly the TeleConstructor – likely reacting badly to such a sudden strain – finally found a direction it liked and took off. First upward, then outward, it quickly sped away from the roof.

"Here we go!" Rowe laughed daringly from her perch on her leg – and if NegaCrimson hadn't been fighting the urge to kick him, she might have been impressed…

… meanwhile, Bushroot was left behind, with no heading of his own and nothing in particular to do but watch the two of them disappear into the horizon.

With a roll of his eyes, he turned back to his way out: which is to say, back to the sheer drop over the edge. A creeping vine would get him down as simply as it brought him up, but there was no way he could follow them across the city like that.

"Typical." He said with an ironic laugh. "I guess I'll just have to find something else to take care of, then?"

---

Floating Elsewhere, Outside St. Canard,

"Today's the day."

"Uh huh…"

"I'm finally going to do it!"

"Si, we believe you."

"I mean it!"

Louie Duck – for once since the day he took up his rather strange new pastime not dressed as the flamboyant Masked Mallard – paced around the deck of the ship he had shared with Kit and Panchito the past months. The two watched him fidget on his feet, deeply amused – something that left him far less amused.

"No more stalling! No more self-doubt! I'm going to push past all that!" He declared, more dramatically in his head than in reality. "I'll march right into that building, with its excessive corporate intrigue, and I'm going to talk to my brothers!"

"Now there's a dangerous undertaking," Panchito chuckled, a once energetic laugh that was a little strained as of recent events.

Louie's determined face dropped into a pout. "It's hard for me!" Louie groaned. "Can't you be supportive?"

"I would," Panchito said with a pointed yawn. "Except Kit and I had been dropping hints and mixing messages and outright telling you to your face to do this for…" He looked away, making a show of thinking. "Weeks now, I think. Weeks for him, probably longer for me."

"Yes, yes. I'm a big fat coward who can fight pirates but gets scared of a little family awkwardness." Louie sighed. "But not after today!" Somehow he managed to get himself to stop shaking. He marched to the end of the bow and stared – resolute – into the skyline of St. Canard.

"It's just that, after losing Kit..." He sniffed, trying to be too quiet to hear - but a good uncle, even an honorary one, never misses such things. "This is what he wanted me to do. And it's the right thing. So I have to try."

The sea air suddenly seemed to get a lot heavier. A somber feeling descended upon the boat that not even the sharp clopping of their equine helmsman could break. Kit was in the clutches of the Crimson Marauder, which meant the hands of the very Air Pirates he had spent the majority of his life running from. Nobody knew yet if he was alive or dead. The Crimson Marauder, brain fried as she was, may well be crazy enough to do him in. Pete, their vile liutenant, was nasty enough if so inclined. And that said nothing of who else might have the desire to inflict pain on the old bear that they simply didn't know about.

It seemed hopeless, and Panchito knew it made Louie feel guilty. It made Panchito feel guilty, and he was well known for being an optimist. A empathic kid like his nephew stood no chance against that kind of self-doubt.

So he decided to cut the tension with a joke. It always worked with Louie's uncle, after all. "Sure, but when I say you should, it's in one ear and out the other! I'm hurt." He chuckled as Louie whipped around, actually looking sorry before he caught the look on Panchito's face. Then he was laughing too, just as Panchito hope. The rooster stepped forward and put his hand on Louie's shoulder. "We'll get him back, mi hijo! We haven't failed yet, and that includes this. Unless you think facing your brothers is too hard..."

Louie shrugged himself out of Panchito's grip, though still playfully. "Hard or not, I can only fix it if I start now. I'll finally clear the air. The bond of brothers can never be broken, right? Then we'll see if it's too hard."

Panchito didn't bother to mention again that this ws the point of his little speech. If thinking of this in terms of a challenge helped him get past his hesitation, then he was happy to let him barge on ahead.

"So," Panchito ventured, "do you need a ride, or…"

"No!" Louie shouted, making him jump. "This is something a Duck's got to do himself!"

And with that, he launched himself over the side of the ship and into their one and only lifeboat… which plummeted into the water and promptly turned itself upside down. There was a string of odd syllables – Louie wasn't much the type to swear – until finally Panchito could see the sight of the upright boat drifting into the distance, even from on deck. Louie wave goodbye from a distance, but didn't turn around – a good sign, as far as the rooster was concerned.

"Ay, he's growing up," said Panchito. "I'm proud of the little chamaco. He's wiser than I was around that age, that's for sure." He turned from sight of Louie's retreat, and walked back into the bridge.

On a table at the opposite side of the wheel a mass of papers – the sum of whatever intel they had at the time, and then some – were piled here and there. Panchito walked straight over to them and sat down, looking through one or another page.

As he did, he continued to reminisce. "He's at least a lot less stubborn than his Uncle Donald, but then who couldn't be?" He laughed wildly, then noticed the empty chair. After getting used to the old adventurer's presence, going over intel like this by himself seemed like much more of a chore - the Caballeros were not known for their zeal for paperwork. But it's what he had to do to find out where his captured cohort was. "I really have to get Kit and Donald in a room one day. Heck, Darkwing and Donald would be a fun mix too."

And with that last amusing through, got to work. In front of him was everything they knew about the Air Pirates – fleet movements, known appearances, weapon schematics, criminal records and newspaper clippings – especially regarding Pegleg Pete. He had even gotten his hands on things about Gosalyn: notes from things Darkwing shared about her character, and their adventures together.

"What was it Kit would say?" He imitated Kit's raspy voice. "'Someone very important to me once said that when the bad guys start using their muscles, you have to start using your head.'" He chuckled. "That codger had to have been fighting those pirates since longer than I've been alive, the modest so-and-so." Panchito had a very clear idea just how old Cloudkicker really was, and he could always appreciate a good adventure. Kit and even Louie tended to be a bit more cynical, though. "Though these days, using our heads hasn't quite been cutting it."

It was a sobering thought, but again - Panchito was an optimist. He looked over at his horse - who was busy manning the boat and wasn't listening at all. "By then, Senor Martinez, don't we Caballeros have a saying too? 'Be as brave as you say so, and bright as a peso!' Ha ha!"

"So…" He went on. "To be brave, we need an advantage..." Chore though it was - a busy as busy work could be, his adventurer's heart was saying - Panchito delved into the papers with aplomb. "Looks like I've got a fun evening ahead of me! There's always a way to have a good time..."

---

Underneath the Fearsome Dive,

After the day he had – which wasn't even over, he could tell - Bushroot returned to the Fearsome Dive hoping to find no surprises whatsoever. He didn't need any – he half thought another shock would wilt him right where he stood - and he didn't trust his chaotic comrades to keep him from getting any – who would?

But there was no use putting it off. He opened the top secret door to the Fearsome Five's top secret underground hideout and – as expected - a dozen things assaulted his senses all at once:

One-Shot had evidently pulled something large and explosive out of his chest during a game of catch, and now there was a cave in in one of the side corridors. Splatter Phoenix had made "art" out of all of Bianca Beakley's headshots, and now the ex-newscaster had a legion of drones furiously scouring all the walls of paint while battling the typical rash of artistic monstrosities, all while copies of her head flew about the battlefield spewing complaints. Hammerhead Hannigan – not at his post at the bar upstairs – was hanging by the horns from the wall, with a certain automaton looking particularly smug. And Camille was hiding by the door practically waiting, in the form of a giant, unnervingly amorous ladybug…

But, wouldn't you know: no surprises.

With a relieved sigh, he whisked about the room fixing each little problem the usual way: a few vine creatures to clear the cave in, a hasty retreat from Camille, some microwaved popcorn so they could all watch Beakley and Pheonix – he needed a break something fierce, even though he knew he probably shouldn't waste the time taking one. But he even got Hannigan out of the wall and back upstairs, though Armstrong didn't look happy (as if he ever did).

He would deal with that later - he was just happy things in here were normal, even if things out there with Quackerjack defied understanding.

"Ssso my sssweet," Camille sidled up to Bushroot as Beakley and Phoenix were in the twilight hours of their mini-war. He had been so distracted by the watercolor explosions that he hadn't made much good on his "hasty retreat." "What miracle bringsss you back to usss? Don't think we didn't noticsse your conssspicuous absssence."

So experienced was Bushroot that he didn't react to just how many "s" sounds Camille could fit into a single sentence. He could swear sometimes that she did it on purpose. "Just a little mix up I needed to take care of," he said, trying to be casual. It was probably a mistake – everyone knew he didn't do "casual" well.

"You and Rowe and Quackerjack? Sssounds like a rather ssserious mixsss to me," she smirked.

He scoffed – he wouldn't bother insulting her intelligence by denying anything (or any of the others who might have been listening in), but he wasn't going to offer anything either. At least, not yet.

However…

"Just sit tight. I might actually need your help a little later," he said with a sigh. This was going to come back to bite him, he could tell. "You can do a bloodhound, or something like that, right?"

He was right: Camille looked like Valentine's Day had come early. "For you, my sssunflower, I can make my nossse do anything."

Well, that ends that conversation! Bushroot's mind told him, as he abruptly stood up and practically whisked himself across the room. By now, Beakley and Phoenix were done destroying the lair, and it was time to make someone clean up the mess.

"Ugh! Now comes the jackbooted authoritarian superego out to stifle the right brained liberation that is my artistical expression!" Splatter Phoenix said the moment she saw him coming. He didn't even get a chance to say anything! As one of the few people with enough of a vocabulary to follow Phoenix' jargon – even the words she occasionally got wrong – he found her occasionally fun to talk to when she wasn't on a rant, but there was a limit.

Unfortunately, Beakley wasn't in an any more open mood. Like him, she too understood Phoenix better than most of the others, and as always she was unamused. "What he's going to do is make you pay for ruining my property! My likeness is my life, you second rate doodler!"

"Ha!" Came the reply. "As if your low brows weren't tossed aside by the lowbrow periodicals you call media years ago!"

Beakley responded by trying to brain Pheonix with a jagged piece of broken drone, which probably would have hurt someone not made of paint so Bushroot felt it was time to step in.

" Alright, already! Sheesh!" The two stopped – they looked displeased to say the least, but they stopped. He turned the artist first. "Phoenix, come on. We're on a roll here. You've already made the club the most avant garde hangout slash secret paint deathtrap the country has ever seen, haven't you? And your proposal for our next major crime was pretty great-"

She grinned maniacally. "Every mass produced, sensationalist piece of trash in that shopping mall they call an art gallery will be replaced-"

"'- by your masterpieces, while we profit off the materialist drivel,' yes I know," he said, heading her off. "All I'm saying is, there's no reason to pick a fight with a teammate when everything is coming up…" He paused, groaning. "… roses."

"And there I thought you were above such puerile habits as…" She too groaned, though with a lot more disgust on her part. "… puns."

"We're supervillains. It slips out like pollen, okay?" he said brusquely, getting back on topic. "Look, can't we just fix all this and call it a day already?" He said, referring of course to the small flood of paints and oils that covered the floor, mixed with floating pieces of electronics.

"Hmph," she frowned, but again – she was clearly unhappy, but she wasn't disagreeing. Bushroot may be considered softer than the other two leaders of the Five, but he has no problem showing why he was one of its more powerful members when pushed, and Phoenix hated starting a difficult fight out of the blue.

And maybe,Bushroot had to think, there's something to be said for this "authority" thing after all.

"Fine," she finally spat out, "as long as I don't have to deal with her idolizing her own visage as if it were art!""

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Beakley sticking her tongue out at her and rounded on the other half of the incident.

Bushroot couldn't say he completely disagreed with Phoenix: none of them particularly liked Beakley or her habits, even given the way villains typically hated each other, but it wouldn't be fair to blame her this: she really wasn't the one who started it.

He could, however, blame her for the resulting property damage. "W-what kind of madwoman unleashes an army of drones in the middle of their top secret lair? I've seen some crazy ideas, I mean I can't say I haven't done a few, but… you do know this place is airtight, don't you?"

"Excuse me?" Beakley scoffed, completely missing the peacekeeping nature of the conversation. "She started it!"

Ten migrane-inducing minutes later – a feat, given that plants typically didn't get headaches – he was finding that the lack of surprises did not necessarily mean a lack of stress, but at least the lair looked less like a Jackson Polecat painting.

In fact, he was just about to consider the mayhem managed and dip away from the common area to get some solitude and search for a few more leads, when Armstrong spoke.

This, in itself, was a bad sign. Armstrong was a silent observer most of the time. When he got involved, it tended to be trouble - given his barely hidden allegiances. And the look in his eye, plus the way he conspicuously stopped Bushroot from leaving when he already had a foot in the door…

Yes, Bushroot was certain this was another headache incoming…

"EXPERT. MANAGEMENT. SKILLS." Amstrong said, in that monotone that always seemed sardonic nonetheless. Bushroot scowled, waiting for him to make the proverbial right hook. "I. NOTICE. YOU. HAVE. MANAGED. TO. DEFLECT. FROM. THE. ABSENCE. OF. QUACKERJACK. AND. ROWE. AS. WELL."

There it was. "Hoo boy, this is why I prefer biology, not robotics..." Bushroot muttered under his breath. "I always end up with a pain in my leafy butt!"

Sometimes he went to soil at night wondering why they had ever bothered to accept that mysterious package in the first place - besides the bundles of cash they got from that job, of course. It had sure seemed nice at the time, but that just hid the price tag of its own it came with. Armstrong would do this whenever he spied a problem in the group he felt he could pick at – he dove in and said one or two things to instigate the conflict.

The villains knew he was a spy, knew he was just trying to keep them weak, but he had a knack for saying or knowing just the wrong thing at just the right time.

Case in point: "Oi, yeah!" One-Shot snapped, always one to take an easy bait. "Where are the other two, eh?"

"Lost them, have you 'boss?'" Beakley said with a sneer.

"Course not! Don't be silly!" He said far too quickly – why did he have to deal with sort of thing? With no other ideas for changing the subject, he marched over to the remote "nonchalantly" turned on the Five's television – fooling absolutely no one. "Now clam up and pay attention to the tv. I hear there's a good documentary on poison ivy playing…"

"You are ssstill not ssso good at lying, my sssweet," Camille whispered into his ear, clearly getting some sadistic enjoyment out of his stress. And she wondered why he didn't date…

"THEY. ARE. CLEARLY. MISSING… AND. HAVE. LEFT. YOU. TO. KEEP. HOUSE." Armstrong was also obviously enjoying himself. "ARE. YOU. KEEPING. IMPORTANT. INFORMATION. FROM. THE. GROUP?"

Bushroot winced. That wasn't entirely wrong (already, Beakley was shouting "the nerve!" as loud as she could be heard), and the others could tell from his expression. Unlike just One-Shot, this got all of the others' dander up. He really didn't want to have to try and corral the entire Fearsome Five all on his lonesome, surprisingly powerful or not.

"Hmph!" Splatter Phoenix scoffed, staring off the angry mob in style. "I won't be manipulated by any bureaucratic obfuscation!"

One-Shot jumped to her side, missing her disdainful look. "Yeah! And you can't take us for a ride either!"

Bushroot backed up, his grit already starting to fail him. "C-calm down, it's not like that. And… wait…" He stopped short, glancing at something that had just come on screen. It couldn't be… "Let me turn that up."

"Oh, don't even try it! You can't distract me from the truth that easily!" Beakley snarled. "I'm a reporter!"

"Hey, what about us?" One-Shot protested.

"Okay, sure," she shrugged. "You could probably get one past them!"

"Hey!"

"I'm actually being serious!" Bushroot suddenly shouted, which actually succeeded in quieting them for a split second. "Look!"

The group, as one, all turned to the screen. And then, as one, they all short circuited – figuratively, of course, though Armstrong came close to doing the real thing. Within the minute, Beakley and Splatter Phoenix were shoulder to shoulder leaning into the screen, One-Shot had thrown himself into a knockout from the stress, Armstrong was struck completely silent, and even Hammerhead was abandoning the bar again to lean in and watch.

Bushroot did nothing about any of this – he was too busy shouting, actually shouting, for someone to bring him the secure line so he could make a call – because this was truly unbelievable and, most importantly, probably a sign of trouble…

---

Above The City

Meanwhile, as this was happening, NegaGosalyn and Rowe were a hundred feet off the ground – literally hanging from a single hook – oblivious to any secret projects or strange television reports.

It was a boring flight, save for the sharp twists and turns. Whatever state the TeleConstructor was in, it wasn't the best condition of its life. It seemed split between tasks, suddenly veering in one direction before realigning itself with another – if it wasn't for NegaGosalyn's training and cold focus, and Rowe's sheer spite against giving death an inch, one or both of them might not have made it through.

But once they got used to it, there wasn't much to do but wait for whatever answers they were pursuing to present themselves - which left a lot of time for conversation.

"So mate, what's a beautiful mercenary like you doing in a dimension like this?"

"Seriously?"

Attempted conversation, to be precise.

It was tough to hear over the wind whipping around them, or the pressure getting to their ears, but that sort of thing hardly ever stopped Rowe when he has something ill-advised he wanted to say.

"You know what I mean," he muttered, then repeated louder when he realized he wouldn't be heard. "What're you doing in our crazy ol' dimension again, anyway? We've been fighting so much, and somehow the question never came up."

"And I repeat," she hissed. "Seriously?"

"You're clearly not livin' it up any, thaat's for sure." Rowe continued. He never had shaken the habit of living dangerously. "Only Darkwing's kids and us three crooks even know you're here."

"I'm here because Crimson can't be," she replied.

"Right… cause she's…" he trailed. Even fewer people knew what happened to the real Crimson than knew who NegaCrimson was. The thought of his one time seeing her, the way she was now, made him shudder. The look in her eyes still shook him. "But that's only now anyways," he said, dropping the subject as quick as he could. "So, what. You just happened to show up when Crimson went bonkers and that crazy Negaduck-wannabe showed up?"

There was a sigh from her this time. She tried to avoid getting into a full conversation, but it was starting to look like there was nothing for it. "I came here to stop NegaH…" she paused, covering her slip with a cough in the wind, "to stop Techno's double, after he escaped into this world. You've met him, I understand."

Rowe shrugged. "You might say that. Can't say I'm surprised someone came around to drag him back home. But all by your lonesome, mate? None of those Friendly Four-types with you?" He said incredulously.

Her voice was carefully set. She was not intending to have this conversation right now, nothing to do but hang or not. "I appreciate them, but I don't need them."

Rowe wasn't convinced. "I feel like that kind of thinking got you a whole heap of pain in the old days, sometimes literal."

"It was barely last year. Don't call it 'the old days," she replied curtly, "and it's not any of your business whether I do or don't think I need anyone else."

"Guess not, duckie," he said, "and hey, if you can take care of that jerk all by yourself, more power to ya."

"It's already taken care of." She said gravely, thinking unpleasantly of the sight of NegaHonker disintegrating at the bottom of that cliff. "He's dead."

"By the fur…" Unlike her, Rowe really did cough into the wind at that. "I stand corrected! You did him in?"

"Not me, no." She sighed. "Let's just say ever since this all started, my double's been… busy."

"Oh." Rowe looked down, and immediately regretted it. It was quite a distance below, and they were zooming around rather speedily. He tried to close his eyes, but all he could see in that moment was that look in Crimson's eyes again. Neither sight was particularly calming. "Well that's no good, mate."

"No. It isn't."

"Any…" For once, Rowe was nervous to press a conversation. "Any headway on getting her back to where she's supposed to be?"

"And how am I supposed to make any headway, floating like an idiot above the city with a hundred pounds of dead weight clinging too me?" She snarled defensively.

"Ouch," Rowe mock gasped.

"Oh, shut up," she grumbled. "You wanted to know why I'm here alone? Because if I don't work alone, if I bring other people into my messes, stuff like this happens."

"'Your' mess?" Rowe scoffed. "We called you, mate, remember?"

"You know what I mean," she sighed deeply, only getting more frustrated as they continued to whip around. She roared up at the robot poorly ferrying them around. "Oh for- PICK A SPOT YOU STUPID THING!" She shouted, yanking violently at the grapple – trying in vain to pull the TeleConstructor… somewhere, but mostly just letting off anger.

"Uh…"

She looked back down at Rowe's confused face, almost feeling ashamed at her loss of control in front of her former cohort. Almost. She turned away and stared off into the horizon, wishing she had something to bonk her forehead against. "Honestly… 'let's make you the leader, you'll be so much better than Negaduck,'" she muttered to herself, imitating some voice unknown to her companion in a rant she didn't seem to realize was not quite quiet enough to remain personal. "Some big idea. I can't even lead myself and one idiot across town, let alone anyone else."

"Dunno if I can agree with that one," Rowe said, and with a groan she realized he heard every word. She looked down again, and saw him staring up at her with a sudden, lascivious grin. "I might be biased, cause I'd follow a lovely lady like you just about anywhere - within reason."

It took some effort not to wince at his own lame words. It wasn't exactly the least transparent move he ever made, or the wisest, but he figured if flirting got her mad at him it at least would keep her mind off of her troubles. She realized right away what he was trying to do – she wasn't stupid, after all – but since the alternative was spiraling into self-doubt in the middle of a job (that could at least wait until later), she decided to lean into it.

"I could still drop you, you know," she said wryly, with a picture perfect snarl.

He just smirked back and stubbornly tightened his grip on her legs. "Nah, yer stuck with me until solid grou-"

Their banter was suddenly rudely interrupted, as the TeleConstructor veered off from its already erratic path and dropped rapidly in altitude.

With yelps of surprise, NegaCrimson and Rowe hastily doubled their bearings. Rowe really did tighten his grip, as he had the worst chance of being thrown off – not that her situation was much better.

"Case in point!" He shouted, as they held on for dear life. She didn't respond, mostly because she was focusing entirely on keeping her fingers around the grapple.

As they got closer to ground, it started to become clearer where they were headed. It was a warehouse in the industrial district: one of several, though this one had the McDuck logo on it. At first, it seemed as though their glitchy ride would fly them straight into the roof, but then an opening on the side became visible as the TeleConstructor twisted around for entry. They were going inside – hopefully without any deadly whiplash.

"Get ready to roll!" NegaCrimson shouted into the wind. She didn't have to see Rowe nodding to know he was listening – again, he was rather against dying.

The TeleConstructor shot into the warehouse and suddenly stopped – as a small robot full of sci-fi servos and an absent minded scientist's best innovations, it could do such a short stop without much damage, but its riders would not be so lucky. Thinking quickly, NegaCrimson twisted her position on the grapple so that it would swing them like a vine, and then released it at just the right time.

Because of her quick thinking, the two were able to control their fall a lot more deftly – rather than slamming into the wall or ceiling at high speed. And with one more fast thought, she pulled out her gas gun – just the same as Darkwing's or the real Crimson's – and shot a pellet out of it: the object inflated as it hit the ground, creating a soft balloon of a cushion for the two to land on.

They rolled off the balloon, and it said a lot about what the two usually went through that even given the brush with death, it felt like business as usual.

"Nice piece," Rowe commented as he got his bearing again. He eyed the gas gun with an appreciative smile – it was a lot more cool when it wasn't being used against him.

NegaCrimson nodded, but kept most of her attention on their surroundings. They were surrounded by bays – empty ones. Theirs wasn't the only TeleConstructor out and about, though admittedly their was the only one still moving: others were hovering here and there, waiting for an order, or laid about the ground making odd electronic noises. Few were still in their storage.

"This must be the main hub for the construction bots," she concluded.

Rowe nodded. "Well, McDuck's at least." He said, looking around. He took stock of the TeleConstructors lying about with a bit of marvel. "They're busy aren't they?"

"Very. I'm not exactly an accounting wizard, but on a quick count it looks like some are missing," she replied. Her eyes narrowed, under her mask. "Even given how big this city is and the size of the reconstruction effort, there wouldn't be so much work that these all would be so active, would they?"

Rowe frowned, thinking about it. After a moment he noticed her staring at him, and realized she wanted an actual answer. "You're asking me, mate?"

"It's your city, isn't it? I just live here for the time being." She said, eyeing him. "How much construction do you usually get?"

He blinked. "A lot, but you're right." He said. "Not this much, mate, at least not in the last few weeks, and especially not with Scroogey and Glomgold splitting the workload." She nodded, accepting the clue, but Rowe only felt annoyed. "Course, I don't know what a warehouse full of bugged out bots has to do with Quackerjack going missing!"

"Obviously something,"she sighed, speaking to him as if it was obvious. Maybe it was, if Rowe thought about it, but he hardly considered himself a detective. "Maybe his scheme involved hijacking them."

"Possible, but I don't think Quackerjack would've been able to keep an army of toys he could play with secret, least of all from us. Maybe he hitched a ride and accidentally turned all these on."

"Maybe." She accepted. "It would be like a maniac like him to cause this much chaos. But that doesn't explain where he is now."

Rowe frowned, a little insulted. "Maniac?"

"You going to deny it?"

Rowe was about to, but then reconsidered. "… guess I can't, can I?"

"No, you can't." She said with a final air. With that she turned away and walked further into the warehouse, flicking open some kind of scanner and casting it over the ground. "I still don't think we have the full story. I'm going to try and find a few more clues." She turned back a humorless smirk, as if only by some odd obligation. "Try not to get stuck in a time loop while I'm gone."

"Charming, mate," Rowe growled, "but what about the-"

He trailed off, realizing she wasn't listening. He glanced at the TeleConstructor that brought them there – it was still on high alert, but he supposed it wasn't bothering anyone for the moment. On the flipside, that meant he had nothing to occupy his attention – no smells or immediate oddities threw themselves at him, at least.

He shrugged. "Guess I'll give ol' Bushy a status report," he said. He opened up a radio channel – Fearsome Five brand earpieces being semi-state of the art and all – but only got static. "Dang, no signal. Stupid thing." He frowned. "Then again, we are kind of sittin' in the middle of a private network."

Whatever the reason, this meant no talking to Bushroot for the time being. That meant there was only one thing left to do. But then, perhaps he was feeling suicidal today.

Throwing caution to the wind, he waltzed over to where NegaCrimson was still poring over specks of dust on the ground and – very obviously - cleared his throat.

A sigh. "What?"

"You know," he said with a 'courting danger' sort of voice. "You were wrong earlier, mate."

The look she gave him was incredulous, at least. "Choose your next words carefully, Rowe."

Now that he had her attention, he dropped the smarmy tone. "About all these things going wrong when you can't work alone," he replied. "Frankly, knowing our luck you know as well as I do that this kinda crap would just happen same as always. Not even you are slick enough to keep from getting buried under a pile of misfortune."

It took her a moment to respond. "… you don't know what you're talking about," she finally said.

"But I'm not wrong, am I?"

"I'm not just talking about setbacks on a heist or even l-losing a friend, the way we're losing Crimson. When I say 'things go wrong,' I'm talking about decisions that can affect thousands of lives, millions. Not that it's any business of yours, but that's my life now. And if I can't protect one little friend against the consequences of my own business, if I can't find my way out of that situation, how am I supposed to do any of that?"

That was a bit more than Rowe was expecting, but he would gladly take it. "Not that it's any of my business, of course," he replied, unable to help himself.

She put the scanner away. From the looks of it, she was about one more smart comment away from knocking him out. "What'd I say about choosing your words carefully?"

"Okay, okay," he backed off, chuckling. "But I think you're selling yourself short. After all, mate, Bushroot and me called you about this because we knew you were the only one who just might solve it."

"You called me because it was less risky than calling Darkwing."

"Maybe, but you're dealing just as well as he could. Who is it that's taken charge of this whole operation?" He said sternly. "Hell, in the face of this – let's call it a crisis – who is it that took Crimson's spot with gusto, eh? Who is it that's out there protecting the city day and night these days? Is it Darkwing or Techno? Nah, this has wiped both of them out."

NegaCrimson scowled. That wasn't fair. Partially true, but not fair. "They have their own reasons for being busy."

"I'm sure they do, mate," Rowe replied. "But while they're taking care of that stuff, somebody's been keeping the city safe, fighting us bad guys – which is annoying , by the way! – and making sure a certain someone's reputation stays safe no matter how many buildings she burns down."

At this, she sat down – no longer interested in inspecting the warehouse. She stared into the wall, not even flinching as Rowe sat down a short distance away. "Even if that were true, it doesn't matter. You don't have any context for this, but we're talking about… everything. Negaduck's whole empire. You're looking at the heir that's supposed to fix everything." She laughed bitterly. "Sure, I can take on problems like this. I can beat up morons in costumes and stop a few petty crimes. And that's cause at the end of the day, I'm a merc playing at being a good guy, not a leader." She glared at the otter who dragged this all out of her. "You should know better than anyone about playing with situations outside your ken."

"Ouch." He smirked. "But yeah, I do. When we started this whole enterprise-"

"You're calling a band of crazies an 'enterprise?'" She interrupted.

He gave her a dour look. "When we started this enterprise-" he hissed, insistently starting over. "We were way out of our depth, and we had nowhere to go. Our old roles were in ashes. The bad guys thought we were too good. The good guys figured we were too bad. And, mate, we were to be honest. Bushroot talks about that all the time, how in the old days he would deal with it by being a loner, and only coming up for air in desperate times. He hated it. But he told me this – this idea, of leaning into it, it's a lot better."

"Leaning into it?" She jeered again. "You mean trying to corner the market in ridiculous crime?"

This time he ignored her. "Bushroot's a smart guy. I never really… got it, before. But what we did, mate, was just… do it our way. So the villains wouldn't let us play, for not being a bunch of murderin' psychos? We redefined villainy, mate, so that didn't matter. The good guys don't know what to make of us? Well now they do, by the fur. We went out and did the thing we thought we couldn't do, and only did it by being… well… the only way we could be."

"And now, with begrudging respect, the Fearsome Five is a bigger name than it ever has been before," she admitted. "The semi-bad guys are the face of villainy in St. Canard. Noted," she said, suddenly taking a turn for the acidic. "But your bragging isn't helping any."

"I'm not trying to brag, I'm just saying!" He groaned, gradually going from a whine to something stronger. "So you're a merc. So you've got a ruthless way of looking at things. So despite all that, you're too good to go back to the way you were. So own it! You're the one who's supposed to be in charge, right?" He shrugged once more, and stood up. "But keeping by yourself, just setting yourself up to fail all the time, that ain't you."

"Great," she sighed, but she too stood up to join him. "A pep talk from a knob. Talk about wisdom from the gutter."

"Hey!"

"Okay," she sighed. "Sorry. But all the surprisingly wise words in the world isn't going to find Quackerjack, or figure out what all these haywire TeleConstructors have to do with his disappearance."

"Fair enough."

She smirked. "And no matter what you say, I still think you're a bit too bad to get it – even if I do appreciate the attempt."

"Best I'm gonna get, I suppose," Rowe sighed. The moment was clearly over. "So now what? If this is a dead end, maybe we should double back?"

"Maybe. Though it might take a-"

"Hold that thought." Rowe said suddenly, pointing over to where the TeleConstructor they rode in on was still hovering. "Think that's important?"

Having apparently had its fill of staying in one easy-to-keep-track-of place, the robot started going haywire: beeping and blaring high klaxons as it vibrated in place. The other, seemingly deactivated Constructors stayed where they were but repeated the sounds it made, filling the warehouse with shrill noise.

"Yes, Rowe!" NegaCrimson shouted as sarcastically as she could at the top of her lungs. "I do think that's important!"

"What?!"

NegaCrimson instantly decided it was too loud for this. She was about to yell so right in Rowe's ear, when suddenly the rogue Constructor shot for the window they entered from!

"Aw, crud!" She leaped forward, springing towards the robot before it could get away.

Rowe couldn't hear her over the noise, but he also leapt forward on his own. "It's gonna leave us behind, mate!" He shouted, assuming she didn't notice – but her grappling hook was already sailing through the air.

The cord struck the robot at just the last second and jerked forward, pulling NegaCrimson along for the ride again. "Hold on tight!" She barked at Rowe, just in care he could hear this time, but she didn't stop to wonder about it – with no time to spare, she grabbed him around the waist as she flew by, and the both of them were hoisted up into the air and out of the warehouse.

"By the fur, mate! Not agaaaaaain!" Rowe bellowed into the night, to which NegaCrimson just groaned as the two disappeared into the skyline.

The echoes of the seemingly malfunctioning TeleConstructors kept going without them for a minute, then stopped. In the distraction of the noise, and the hurry of their exit, neither of the discarded Constructors too close attention. If they had, they might have noticed more than just the sound, but the way they were activating – one by one, until all of them were alight.

And once the disruption was gone, they began to rise...

---

Elsewhere…

In a place far better hidden than anyone gave credit for - a mistake many would pay dearly for - a voice cried out in surprise.

"Oh! The proxies are activating early!"

Almost immediately, another voice answered. This one more in control – only a disinterested tone from this one.

"Oh? Well, it's not too early. It shouldn't put us too far out of sorts." A pause. "I'm guessing this has something with the stunt you pulled a while ago?"

"A 'stunt' you let me do, mind you!" A cough, this time – an attempt at self control. "But no. If anything, it looks like this is an side-effect of your… erm… unique recruitment technique."

"So you're saying this is our fault?"

There was no change in tone, but somehow the original voice knew to throw itself back and run over its words. "N-no!" It squeaked. "Of course no! I-It's just an odd situation, is all."

"Whatever," the second voice replied, as if there hadn't been an explanation at all. "Can you still control the TeleConstructors?"

"Y-yes, " the first voice wavered, as if shuddering. "They're just all waking up, and it'd be awful getting them all down and resetting them before your deadline. But all they're doing is trying to exercise their pre-programmed acts."

"Then keep some of them doing it, at exactly the addresses we planned," came the reply. "The rest, just get them hovering somewhere out of the way. We don't want a mass panic just yet. That's the fun part, and it comes later – when I can fully enjoy it…"

The voice gulped – but with no response, it could be assumed that the other voice had finally left this one all alone. Its owner could not be happier, but knew better than to make a party of it – so it got back to work.

It put in a name, and then another, and then another. A mass of TeleConstructors massed outside of that warehouse – one they were only viewing through a screen – but as the voice continued to work, one then more separated.

They each went off on their own, each with their own target – their own mission. Each due to bring new and unexpected chaos to another unsuspecting soul in St. Canard – the decisive strike, in a war most didn't realize was even happening…

---

Back To Macawber Manor

Christine looked out of the window with a bit of worry. Time had clearly gotten away from them while they were sharing stories: it had gone from a hazy dusk to very dark out – though, granted, it was always like that around Macawber Manor.

"I think we lost track of time, somewhere…" she mused. Morgana was still seated, and she turned back to give the sorceress playful smirk. "I blame you and your stories about bunny commandos."

Morgana chuckled, but at the cue she rose as well. "Blame me all you want, dear. We both know you were rapt at attention."

They shared a laugh. Christine – feeling a lot better than she'd had since she came here – looked out towards the hallway. A bit of that worry came back – just a tad – as she remembered what else the time meant.

"I think we should get Charlie out of those tunnels." She said. She gave Morgana a questioning look. "And you're sure he's alright?"

"Trust me," Morgana said warmly. "I would have been notified the moment he was anywhere near danger. In fact…" She produced a ball from her cloak – a crystal ball, Christine realized, go figure – and gazed within it. "He looks to be right outside the entrance. He must have had quite the adventure, and made it back. Such a bright kid."

"I know," Christine grinned. "He's amazing."

"Well then," Morgana smiled as well. Christine's good vibes were lfiting her spirits as well – perhaps, she thought, more friends would do her good now. "We should reward him, shouldn't we? I'll get out the remains of my last blood cherry pie – it's to die fo-"

There was a loud, incomprehensible shriek from the foyer. Christine jumped, but Morgana simply sighed – as if it were nothing at all.

"Oh, bother. That's the doorbell," Morgana explained. "I'll get it."

"But what about-"

Morgana waved off Christine's obvious question. "Don't worry, like I said he's just by the entrance. You could get him as easily as I could."

Christine nodded – that seemed simple enough – and turned her way down the hall, towards the catacombs. She heard Morgana reach the door behind her, as she tried to remember the directions to the entrance: forget the maze of tunnels, the manor itself was too confusing for words and she hoped she wouldn't have to ask Morgana for help after all.

Then she heard a thud, followed by an "oh, my!" from Morgana, and she stopped short. That didn't sound right. There was a piercing shriek, and at first she assumed it just another bell until she realized it was coming from Morgana.

She whirled around, to see the aftereffects of a bright flash. Morgana was standing there, dazed, and she looked up to see a blur flying in her direction - aiming something unknowable right at her…

There was another shriek, and then another flash.

---

SHUSH Central, Roof

Director Navis stood alone, well, semi-alone, enjoying the night's breeze while she could. She wasn't the type to eschew work when there were responsibilities to be handled – and there were always responsibilities - but she did know well how to get a little relaxation in the midst of a job.

SHUSH was working on an extension of their HQ – nothing major, just a few offices for filing and a dozen redundant rooms to cloak those files' exact location. It wasn't a rarity – though given the cramped nature of St. Canard such an addition was forced vertical. But someone needed to be out here to oversee things. It was the price of faster construction.

Whereas a team of construction workers might have taken months, McDuck's TeleConstructors would take only a couple of weeks. That is, if they were working right.

The previous foremen reported erratic behavior from the robotic builders in the previous days, nothing major, but erratic and unresponsive were dangerous words in the field of espionage. And the kids Scrooge McDuck put in charge of his St. Canard branch hadn't been much help: Huey Duck kept blowing off her demands, and Dewey kept assuring her that there didn't appear to be anything wrong on their end.

In a situation where everyone either had no idea what was happening or couldn't give answers, Navis was often compelled to do so herself. Plus being out here allowed her to accomplish something besides high blood sugar during her coffee breaks.

If only it weren't so monotonous. The Constructors were operating normally: they flew backwards, they flew forwards. They welded here. They welded there. Up went the girders. Down went the detritus. Over and over and over again.

Feeling a surge of uncharacteristic boredom, Navis turned away for a minute and looked into the city's skyline. It seemed a little less bright, somehow. She hadn't been long, but she could feel an energy in the hustle and bustle sometimes, the way people who lived here their whole lives could. And these days, things felt… tenser.

Ever since the Pirate Auction, she knew. Ever since the Crimson Marauder.

Nobody but a select few knew what happened on that fateful night. As far as the public knew, the true Crimson Avenger was still out there protecting them, and the Crimson Marauder was just another evil doppelganger to add to the growing list. But the city's so-called heroes had changed, grown somber and more desperate, and Navis had to begrudgingly admit that the city was starting to feel it as well.

She sighed. Darkwing and his brood would never believe it, but it broke her heart refusing their use of Tron Manipulator technology. The man's daughter was out there, insane and murderous, and she had cut off his only path to getting her back – she fully understood the cruelty of such a situation. But her logic was sound. Tron Manipulation had gotten them into this mess, and too many others to count.

How long before something like this happened to the entirety of Darkwing's team. SHUSH couldn't keep them out of trouble forever, nor did she want things to come to blows between the two groups – again, not that Darkwing would ever believe it.

So she made the tough choice. She knew this job would be difficult when she took it. Darkwing might even thank her one day, though she doubted it. Whether he did or didn't, she had to keep the world turning as it always had – heroes or no heroes.

That didn't make the city feel any less dour. But it did steel her heart.

Though speaking of steel, she started to notice something strange. The screeching of metal over metal had stopped. In fact, all the noises had ceased.

She looked back at the construction site, to find that all the TeleConstructors had stopped. Instead of moving about doing their jobs, they were just… hovering there. And, she realized with twinge of suspicion, all of them were turned away from the extension.

All of them were facing her.

Suspicion turned to dread. Something was up. She knew it, but hindsight didn't figure this situation out. She took a step back, intending to fetch an agent with expertise in programming and – most certainly – counter-hacking. But all of the Constructors moved forward to match.

She froze. It wasn't clear what was going on, but this had "catastrophic security risk" written all over it. And possibly, "threat to the life of a superior agent."

Quick as the fast draw every agent of SHUSH had to be, Navis whipped a radio out of her cloak. Whatever was about to happen, she had to make her people ready. "Navis to security! Lock down the-"

There was flash, and the call stopped short with the trace of a wild laugh...

---

Karl Barksalot Memorial Park

"What is it your pilot friend says, mate? Any crash you can walk away from…"

NegaCrimson blew a leaf out of her face and stomped away from Rowe, lest she lose her composure and punch him in his smarmy face.

They had crashed, it was true, but she had no intention of being happy about it. Their ride had erratically flown headlong into a tree, sending them sprawling through the branches like a giant duck and otter shaped kites. It was annoying and actually rather embarrassing, and she was starting to get very tired of the wild snipe hunt this whole case was slowly starting to appear to be.

If there was one upside, it was that their rogue TeleConstructor was no longer flying around like an inebriated bee. It was laying on the ground, offline – the collision had finally done it in. But that outweighed nothing: an annoyed, pointless feeling was starting to well up in her throat, and she'd had enough of it.

"I'm starting to think that Quackerjack set this all up to mess with you and Bushroot," she snapped to her "partner." "And lucky me, I ended up getting dragged along for the ride. What a waste of time."

Behind her, Rowe gave a thoughtful hum. "Yeah, I was beginning to think so too. 'Til I saw this."

She turned around. Rowe was crouched over the broken TeleConstructor, inspecting it for clues – something she, in her annoyance, had admittedly overlooked. He traced his hand over a dent near its base.

"Look at this, here," he said. "That wasn't made by the crash. And it's familiar, ain't it mate?"

It only took a quick glance to tell he was right. That wasn't a dent. It was too wide, too precise. What it looked like was… teeth marks. From a giant, oversized mouth.

"Quackerjack's chattering teeth!" She said. Rowe nodded, having come to the same conclusion.

"Can't believe we didn't see it before," he said, "This thing here's been in a bit of a scuffle with Quacky, but he got it good."

"Yes… he did," NegaCrimson said slowly, as the wheels in her head kicked into overdrive. "Maybe this wasn't a waste of time after all. Let's see…" She paced back and forth, trying to visualize everything. "Someone reprogrammed this thing. It attacked Quackerjack for… some reason, and took him somewhere. But he damaged it, causing it to malfunction. And now… now it's repeating itself."

"So all we have to do is look around, and we'll find him?" Rowe said, looking around as if Quackerjack would appear just like that. No such luck, however.

"If you want," NegaCrimson relied, a smarmy smile of her own coming to her as everything fell into place. "Personally, I think this city would be fine to be down one of the Fearsome Five."

Rowe didn't bother to dignify the joke. "Two," he said, only correcting her.

"Two…" NegaCrimson paused. "That's right. Plumis disappeared as well."

"She goes by 'Extra' now, but yeah, mate," Rowe said. "Kind of forgot about her for a while, didn't we?"

"Forgot about her…" NegaCrimson repeated again, as if in a trance. Then suddenly, her eyes opened. "Right! We forgot about her! Where does she fit into all of this?"

"How should I know?" Rowe raised an eyebrow. "You're the one doing the detective thing."

"No, you knob! I mean…" NegaCrimson took a deep breath to center herself. "What if she's more important to all this than we thought. We've been assuming this whole time that Quackerjack is the one this has all been about, but what if he's not? We found a trail to Quackerjack. We didn't find anything about Plumis!"

Rowe grimaced, unsure. "I don't know… Extra still kind of a small player on the villain circuit. She's got it out for Glomgold, but I doubt he even cares. Who would go this far to attack her?"

"True," she admitted, "but it's a theory I'm saving. This all seems too fishy."

"Lucky for you, mate, I like fishy."

Not exactly appreciating another joke, NegaCrimson narrowed her eyes at him. Not entirely caring, he smiled sheepishly at her. And they were interrupted by the sound of Bushroot's voice coming in through Rowe's communicator.

"Come in! Rowe, would you answer already? Honestly, can't count on anybody to answer a phone these days, I swear-"

"Guess we're out of that interference. I better take this," Rowe chuckled. "He'll be at this forever if I don't." Sparing her glare another smirk, he put the communicator on. "Hey, Bushy. How's it hanging, mate? Got quite the goose chase to tell you ab-"

"Forget that right now!" Bushroot bellowed, so loud that Rowe winced and NegaCrimson could hear every word. "Do you know what's on the news?"

"Uh… no?" Rowe blinked. "Investigating, mate. Remember?"

"Then turn it on, if you can! You need to see this!"

At bit confused, but trusting Bushroot to know urgency when he saw it, Rowe turned to NegaCrimson. "You wouldn't happen to have some gizmo we can use to watch tv, would ya?"

Since she had heard Bushroot's request the same as him, NegaCrimson was already on it. "No, but I do have a radio." She said, fiddling with her wrist. "Give me a second…" She tapped a button on her own communicator, and out came the voice of a late night newscaster.

"The financial sector is reeling today, following the upset of Flintheart Glomgold's press conference just a few hours ago…"

"Oh, great," she sighed. Speaking of drains on her patience… "Now what's he up to?" Rowe shushed her, and just to get it over with she obliged.

"On his own network program, News on the Wing, Glomgold assembled a team of reporters and gave a shocking address, detailing the events of many apparent crimes over the course of his many years as a businessman."

The two looked at each other in alarm. "Wait, what?" They said at the exact same time.

"These crimes include grand larceny, smuggling, exploitation, fraud and even attempted murder. Police are investigating each of the incidents, but if Mr. Glomgold's confessions hold weight he could be accountable for dozens of felony charges. Here is an excerpt:"

Now Glomgold's voice came in over the radio. Despite the situation, his tone of voice seemed content – even a little perky. "Ah cannae longer hold in me conscience over all the harm ah've committed, ah just cen't. Even me time here – this great race fer St. Canard's soul, feh, just an old man's greed – is the result of me vile misdeeds. Ah wouldn't even be here if ah hadn't done business with a band of criminals, the Fearsome Five-"

"He wouldn't. He's not-" Rowe gasped. NegaCrimson shushed him.

"- and manipulated them into stealin' me rival Scrooge's trade secrets, then blackmailed 'im into leavin' it be."

The interviewer, Clive Ganderson, pushed forward – shock clear on his voice. "Blackmailed him? With… what?"

"Ach, ah cannae say. Scrooge, he's a better man than me. He always has been, he always will be. And all ah threatened was to drag him innae the mud, over nothin'. Ah cannae do it any more!"

The recording cut off there, but the newscaster continued his report. "Neither Scrooge McDuck nor his local representatives Huey and Dewey Duck could be reached for comment about this or any other of the many crimes against them Mr. Glomgold went on to indicate. The confession continued for several hours, before the press conference was forced to conclude: the many statements included inside information on the workings of the Beagle Boys gang, connections to known terrorist Horatio Bluebottle, collusion with several local criminals to frame News on the Wings' own Julia Plumis – who is now known as the supervillain Extra, development of illegal 'Armstrong' technology once invented by Dr. Gyro Gearloose, an extensive diamond trafficking operation based out of South America…"

NegaCrimson cut off the transmission there. But they both stared at the radio for a moment, as if it would spout out some other crazy revelation on its own.

"Okay…" she said, after some time. "That was unexpected."

"Unexpected?!" Rowe exploded. "Mate, that's downright inconceivable. He can't just confess to everything! That's… that gonna make this place a madhouse!"

"Yes. Yes it will," she agreed. "Which means I need to get back to Darkwing." Rowe tensed alongside her, but she put a hand on his shoulder. "But I agreed to do this. So we're going to look for Quackerjack and Extra here, and only here. If they're not here, I can't continue on."

"That's fair," he said. He walked ahead, perhaps understanding the crunch this put her on more than she thought he would. Or maybe this left him with madness of his own to deal with. "Let's get movin'. Extra'll want to hear to good news. She'll be over the moon."

His jokes were shaky, as if he were trying to steady himself. She knew the feeling. "Not to mention Quackerjack," she added. "Chaos like this? He'll be laughing for days."

"Yeah, I can already hear him," he said, trying to calm his nerves with the thought. He didn't quite manage it, but at least his voice wasn't quavering as much. "Speaking of, I should call Bushy."

He turned on his communicator, and the space ahead of NegaCrimson quickly devolved into panicky shouting between the two supervillains. She let them talk, even though probing their frantic jabbering was probably a smarter move strategically: flustered enemies have loose lips.

But she had thinking to do. Rowe was right to freak out. This was insane. Flintheart Glomgold would never act like that, even on a good day. Was he up to something? Was incriminating himself part of some master plan that none of them understood? It didn't seem to make sense.

And was it related to the disappearances? Two members of the Fearsome Five vanish, Glomgold starts giving out bitter secrets, what was next? Tuskernini swearing off cinema?

She had to keep her eyes open. That fishy feeling was only getting stronger.

Rowe stopped her as they reached the center of the park, which was graced with a giant fountain. He had already finished his conversation with Bushroot, though his eyes were still a little wild.

He gripped her shoulder, yet didn't seem to notice her annoyance. "Oi, remember when I said I could already hear Quackerjack laughing?"

Assuming this was another attempt at a bracing joke, NegaCrimson gave him only a half-hearted glare. "… yes?"

"I think I can hear him. Listen!"

NegaCrimson quirked an ear. He was right. She could hear laugher – distinctive and high, in a way only the villainous jester could.

They ran forward, towards the source of the sound: the plaza in the center. As they got closer, they could hear him in front of the fontain, laughing on and on – something was happening! There was a crowd: were they apprehending him? Was he attacking them? They couldn't tell. They might have expected him to be mobbed by police or security on the average day – but there were no sounds of a scuffle.

When they got close enough to see, they realized why – with what would have been the most shocking experience of the day, if not for news.

The crowd was made up of kids and their parents – this being a nice neighborhood, parents sometimes took their kids out at night without fear of running into villains, super or otherwise. And though it seemed they had, there was no angry shouting, no frightened shrieks, no pitchforks and torches. They actually seemed happy.

The kids giggled merrily, approaching the masked harlequin at the center. Quackerjack laughed uproariously and pulled something they couldn't quite see - something bright and dangerously colorful - out of his pocket, handing it to the unsuspecting child…

"Seriously? He's doing the trick toy thing again?" Rowe mused. "So much for originality."

NegaCrimson didn't care about whether it was original or not. She dove forward, intent on protecting the crowd from whatever Quackerjack was giving out… and Rowe stayed put – not caring much about disrupting an ally's plans.

She squeezed into the mass of people, trying to get through to the center before it was too late. "Stop! Don't take that it! It's a…"

Then she saw what it was, and it was her who stopped. "… a balloon animal?"

Quackerjack grinned up at her. "It's a puppy! The cuddliest animal there ever was!" The child took the animal and ran off with it, squealing happily. NegaCrimson was too stunned to stop her.

Seeing that a superhero had arrived, though unsure why, the crowd began to disperse. Soon, only Quackerjack, Rowe and NegaCrimson were still by the fountain.

NegaCrimson snapped out of the stupor and grabbed Quackerjack by the collar. "Alright, clown, what the heck are you doing out here?"

"Why bringing smiles to the faces of all the wonderful children of St. Canard, of course!" Quackerjack smiled, despite the grip. "You look like you could use a smile yourself!"

"With one of your toys?" She drawled. "I think not."

"So what do they do, Quacky?" Rowe said, laughing at NegaCrimson's intensity. "Grow to the size of buildings? Make the kids fly? Some other ill-advised but totally awesome feature that parents'll hate?"

"Oh my, no!" Quackerjack gasped, looking shocked. "I wouldn't want to hurt the poor dears. Besides, a simple balloon animal is far more magical than anything like that."

NegaCrimson dropped him, ignoring the light laugh he gave upon hitting the floor. Once more, she was struck dumb. "I'm sorry, what?"

"That's what I said, Fred!" He jumped to his feet, chipper as anything. "But what are you doing here, together no less! Far be it from superheroes to fraternize with known villains, right?"

"I'm sorry, what?" She repeated, stuck on the 'poor dears' comment. So Rowe picked up the slack.

"We're out here looking for you, ya crazy clown!" He shouted. "What are you doing out here, mate? What happened to Whiffle Boy? Where's Extra? We've been going stir crazy lookin' for you!"

Quackerjack blinked, taking that all in at once. "Sorry to worry you. I've just been here, is all, after that nice flying machine gave me a ride."

Rowe bristled. "You mean after your teeth took a bite out of it?"

"Yes, I may have lost control of my temper at the time. I just didn't realize – it was almost like a taxi service!" Quackerjack replied. "I'm not proud of it."

"… taxi service?" Rowe said incredulously. "But what about Extra?"

"Oh, I was worried about her at first. Well, maybe worried isn't the right word. Agitated, maybe?" The jester shrugged. "But if they took her someplace as nice as this, then I'm sure she turned out just fine?"

Rowe could hardly take any more of this. "So you've been out here in the park handing out balloons all night? But what about your plan? What about Whiffle Boy?"

"Oh, that was a bad idea. Knocking down the video game industry just for being successful? It's all so… petty."

"WHAT?!"

At this, NegaCrimson – who had since snapped out of her own haze – had to yank Rowe back to avoid the scene from escalating. When she got him a good distance away, he was still muttering to himself.

"Can't believe this – what the heck is he on and how can I get some – this just doesn't make any sense - Petty? I'll show him petty…"

"Rowe." She said once, then again much louder when he wouldn't respond. "ROWE!" He stopped and looked at her, eye twitching in sheer confusion. "Calm down. Breathe." He did so, reluctantly. She waited for him to compose himself before continuing. "You…" She gulped, not happy about her newest realization. "You do realize how he's acting, don't you?"

"Like he's been replaced by a pod person, that's how!" He shouted loud enough for Quackerjack to hear, though Quackerjack just shrugged and busied himself playing hopscotch by the fountain. "Wait," Rowe's eyes bugged out. "Maybe he did. Is that a thing that can happen?"

"According to Darkwing's case files, it is a thing that can happen, yes," NegaCrimson said, before cutting off Rowe's inevitable outburst. "But I don't think that's what's going on. Look at him!" She looked back at Quackerjack, who was removing the sharp edges from one of his jack in the boxes as he hopped around.

Rowe didn't even know what he was looking at any more. "It's like he's a completely different person. Like he's the opposite."

"Exactly!" NegaCrimson said. "He's had his trons reversed!"

"You mean, just like…" Rowe gasped as understanding finally hit. "… but how? And why? That sort of thing doesn't just happen!"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out…" NegaCrimson said. Her clutched her temple, trying to force the rational explanation out.

The facts buzzed around her head. A tron reversed Quackerjack. And out of control TeleConstructor. A warehouse of unresponsive TeleConstructors. Signal interference…

… Glomgold. Plumis…

She jolted upright, surprising Rowe for a second. "Rowe!" She said suddenly, "regarding Extra, how do her powers work?"

He stared at her. "Is this really the time to be getting strategic information?"

"Shut up and listen to me!" She hissed. "She can copy skills, right? So if you had someone who knew how to do something, but wasn't doing it, could she do it instead?"

She let the question hang. Rowe, who didn't have all the information she did, continued to stare. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It means she's figured it out!"

NegaCrimson spun around instantly, though Rowe was a mite slower. "What, you talkin' about yourself in the third person now?"

Then he realized that though he recognized the voice, it hadn't come from the duck in front of him.

"Oh…"

Slowly, he turned to the side, to what NegaCrimson was already ready to engage. There was a TeleConstructor floating there – a pristine, non-malfunctioning one – and it was glowing ominously.

Glowing was almost never a good sign. "Oh."

The Crimson Marauder's voice – the same din as her Negaverse counterpart, the one she too had as the Crimson Avenger - echoed out of it from an unseen speaker. "You're pretty bright for a knockoff, double!" NegaCrimson tensed, but didn't let the jab get to her. Not that it stopped her. "And what are you two doing together? What, is this a date? Talk about pairing spares."

Unfortunately, Rowe didn't have NegaCrimson's self control, and he took the bait. "Hey, mate! We already went over that and this is not-" His companion punched him sharply in the side, and he shut up. "I mean, er, back off!"

The Marauder cackled, tinny and wild through the static. "You guys are a riot, do you know that?"

"Yeah, well. What are you doing here? Why'd you scramble poor Quackerjack's brain, huh? And Glomgold, I guess, but screw him."

NegaCrimson glanced at him. "Don't bother asking her. I already know everything."

"Well, aren't you just the Negaverse's greatest detective?" The Marauder said slyly. "Go ahead, tell him!"

Rowe looked at NegaCrimson expectantly, but no explanation came. Instead, she gestured behind them in the smallest of ways. "She's not here to shoot the breeze, you know that," she whispered. "We have to get out of here, before whatever trap she has planned acti-"

"Think fast!"

The two had only just enough time to realize that the glow coming from the TeleConstructor was heating up. A compartment was opening in the front, and from out of it…

"No! Take cover!" NegaCrimson shouted. Rowe was already on the move – as an otter from the rough side of the tracks, his survival instincts were maybe even a bit more spry than hers. But there didn't seem to be enough time!

In a flash, everything changed…

---

Darkwing Tower, In The Wee Hours of the Morning…

Darkwing hurried to and fro across his base, without any real destination. Every once in a while, he would pick up a document from out of a printer or grab a plastic bag full of this or that from inside a cabinet, glance at it for a split second, then toss it away.

"Gah! I can hardly believe it, but Glomgold was involved in so much shady stuff that I might actually have too much evidence! Look at this: purchasing records from an illegal weapon sale. A glove, from a hi-tech theft that even I didn't know was part of the same scheme!" He ranted, very overwhelmed. "That guy would do anything to get at Scrooge. The police'll reject half of these for being superfluous"

"I suppose, but too much beats too little," Techno called down from his perch at the computer. Where Darkwing was going through their physical files, he was doing much the same on their digital files.

"You're right about that," Darkwing sighed. "It's just too bad I had to drag you from your project. Trust me, nobody wants that to work as much as I do."

Techno nodded, though he didn't look away from the screen. "That may be true, though I'm at least a close second." He said, in what might have been a joke. "But this is more important. A confession like this could change everything. Glomgold is about to hit rock bottom like a stone."

"Don't forget, he's the one who jumped!" Darkwing added. "But we're going to be the ones who help him get there!" He grinned, and sauntered over to the next group of files, but tripped halfway and ended up buried under a mountain of paper.

"Whoops!" Launchpad chuckled, pulling Darkwing out of the heap. "Careful, Darkwing! Bust of the century or no, papercuts are no joke."

Darkwing ruefully kicked at the paper heap, good mood already gone. "Ridiculous! This would be so much easier if SHUSH would answer a call now and then! We could share notes!" He turned to Launchpad. "Any reply from Mia, at least?"

"Not a one, DW." Launchpad said, a little sadly. "Guess she's busy."

Darkwing scoffed. "So much for a working relationship."

"They're probably doing the same thing we are," Techno replied sensibly. "I doubt anyone there has any time to chat. I'm more worried about NegaCrimson."

Darkwing frowned, his natural exuberance finding another target. "Yeah, that's right! She's been dark ever since we got out the lab. If I say it once, I say it a million times, we need to keep those communicators up to code! She could be at the bottom of the sewer for all we know!"

Launchpad gulped at the mental image. "She's too good for that, I'm sure. Maybe she's just doing a little bit of stealth. Can't have the radio messing you up, right?"

"It would make sense," Techno concluded, though if anything he sounded more worried, not less. "She was prepared for everything tonight, since she was doing patrol by herself. Only Launchpad was available for support, and the Thunderquack can't go everywhere. She might have taken on a threat that she was forced to do herself."

"That girl's been running herself ragged covering for both of us," Darkwing slumped, letting his guilt show on his shoulders. "We can't leave her in the lurch like that."

The corner of Techno's beak quirked sadly. "She volunteered, remember? The blames herself for what happened. It's kind of a shared trait these days."

"True," Darkwing said, matching Techno's sad smile with an ironic chuckle. "And it doesn't help that whenever we see her, we see…" He trailed off. "We really ought to give her something special one of these days. She deserves it."

"Hmm…" Launchpad tapped his beak. "Maybe a nice few brunch somewhere?"

Both Darkwing and Techno glared at him. "Must you always think with your stomach?" Darkwing groaned, knowing his sidekick too well.

"Hey, you know me DW-"

"EXTERIOR DEFENSES ACTIVATED!"

Everyone jumped to action. The alert never lied, and was never mistaken. Something unwelcome was attempting to find its way in. Darkwing leapt for where he left his gas gun, while Techno – who was only wearing some of his gadgets – rushed to get the rest of them on. Launchpad, with no gadgets to speak of, just flanked Darkwing – ready to back him up.

The tower went quiet, too quiet. All three heroes – or one and two sidekicks – waited, careful for any sound, any disruption, until…

"EXTERIOR DEFENSES DE-ACTIVATED!"

Darkwing dropped his gas gun on the floor. "Wait, what?"

"Maybe it was a false positive," Techno grunted. He was caught still trying to latch one of his more cumbersome external gadgets onto his suit, and was now faced with the possibility of having to take it off.

'Yeah!" Launchpad said. "Maybe the sensors were mistaken!"

"No way!" Darkwing groused. "After all the fine tuning you did on these systems, Techno? There's no way they made a mistake."

Techno flushed. "I'm glad you think so highly of my abilities, Darkwing."

"Well I'm not, mate."

Suddenly, a shape dropped from the ceiling and landed right in the center of the HQ. Rowe stood up and brushed himself off, as if the other three weren't looking at him like his head was on fire.

Granted, his head almost had been on fire a minute ago. "Those blasted defeneses of yours nearly turned me into a puddle! Could ya maybe turn it down a bit?"

"Rowe!" Darkwing made to dash into a confrontation, but slipped on his dropped gas gun. He slid halfway across the room, then had to right himself with an off-balance jump that somehow landed him right in front of the otter – which, of course, he played off as intentional. "What the heck are you doing here?"

"Ain't that the question of the day?" Rowe chuckled. The others didn't seem to see the humor. "Er, I can explain."

"I assume it has something to do with your boss getting indicted?" Techno said, approaching far more carefully. "Whatever you're up to, I'm afraid you're going to have to leave, now. Before we make you."

"Now now," Rowe gulped. "Just calm down. There's no trouble here, mate." He glanced upward. "Any time would be nice."

"Sorry!"

A second shape fell from the ceiling, surprising Darkwing into dropping Rowe. NegaCrimson took the opportunity to hop between Rowe and the others, smiling amiably.

"That's on me, I brought him! And it's such a long story… sorry!" She was speaking a mile a minute. "And I was late, too! Sorry about that! I was just doing some cleaning up there!" She chirped. "You wouldn't believe how many spider-webs are up on the ceiling. But… er… sorry for the misunderstanding!"

The other three stared at her. None of them said a word.

After half a minute, she started to feel self-conscious with all the blank looks. Nervously, she leaned over to Rowe. "I… uh… did say sorry enough times, right? I feel like I did."

Rowe, for his part, fought a laugh like he'd never fought anything before. "I don't think that's what got them gobsmacked, mate."

This was absolutely true. It was not the lack of sorrys that stunned Darkwing, Techno and even Launchpad into gaping silence. Nor the appearance of Rowe, nor even the revelation of spiders living on the ceiling.

It was everything else about NegaCrimson.

To be precise, it was probably the huge, frilly pink dress which she now wore over her costume. And likely the elaborate curls she had gotten her hair styled into, which were billowing out from under her hat like cute little curtains. Or the pink bow she had attached to said hat. Or maybe just the fact that she was smiling and humming like something out of the Sound of Music.

Whichever it was, none of these were expected parts of her appearance.

"W-what the…" Darkwing gasped out. "Crimson… NegaCrimson… whoever, what in the world are you doing?"

"Oh, this? W-well, I thought it looked nice, and it had been so long since I freshened up that- "

Seeing that this explanation was not fixing any of the confusion, Rowe stepped forward to interject.

"Look, Darkwing. Like the lady said, it's a long story." Three sets of eyes turned to him, as a nervous dread entered his voice. "And mate, we better tell it fast. Cause we're all in a hurricane of trouble…"

To Be Continued...

---

Author's Note: We're in the home stretch now, sports fans. The next arc is the finale, the climax of it all, and our heroes have their work cut out for them from here.

The original idea here was to do several of these little stories in between the fight in the archipelago and what's coming up next, but most of them fell through and I wanted to get to the main event, so most of them ended up here. It allowed me to do fun things like pace the story here with snippets of how everyone around them is doing.

One thing I realized a long ways into Retake Five is that I hadn't done much with Bushroot - who beyond the first could stories fell somewhat by the wayside even in stories that involved the Five despite being one of their leaders this story was started with (not that he would admit it) and, of course, a classic Darkwing baddie, which led me to add a few more idea in this and the upcoming arc that would allow him a stronger role. He's actually rather tricky to write, because he's generally so passive that other characters tend to take the scene from him. Which I guess is why he kept getting away from me in the first place.

Good! Glomgold was fun. Expect more Good! Shenanigans coming up, as well as it's opposite. And for my favorite Duck reference of the day: Karl Barksalot - named, of course, for Carl Barks.

Either way, next time in Let's Get Chaotic! it will take everything to keep St. Canard from tearing itself apart - and hopefully, to save those the heroes have already lost. See you then!