The entire crew of the Iron Vulture gathered on the bridge. The captain was gone. It was up to them to decide what to do next. The first thing, necessarily, was to decide who would be in charge.

Kit had on a tough guy face, but he was scared. Not that he hadn't been scared countless times before one way or another, but this was a special kind of scared. There are those scares like from almost falling off his cloudsurfing board, or nearly getting into a wreck, or getting eaten alive by a dragon, those kinds of scares made your heart pound and got you moving. This time it was a scare that seeped deep and cold. He was in a room full of people, and he had hardly felt more alone. The thought of Don Karnage not coming back ― he didn't even want to think about it. But here it was. Few twelve-year-olds ever had to question every life decision they've made so far.

The meeting began with lots of murmurs and grumbles, and a palpable tension about who would be first to speak. A lot of glances went toward Dumptruck, who went for the reins twice before; it was apparent by the mastiff's shady smirk that he was thinking about it, and sizing the crowd up on who might be with him. Any sly nods his way? Actually, nope. Quite the opposite. Seemed everyone had had their fill of his leadership. His smirk turned into a sulk.

You may recall a certain adventure between Karnage and Baloo, involving a "sticky" predicament, where the pirate crew went for open mutiny against the captain over perceived loss of mind. For various reasons there were less pirates aboard back then than there were today. Also, before he got himself "stuck" in that situation, Karnage had already appointed Dumptruck in charge, so that by and large had settled who the new captain would be in that fiasco. But now there was no appointee, no one with a clear leg up above the others, and more individuals to try to take it for themselves.

In the semblance of a circle they made in their gathering, it was Mad Dog who finally stepped forward first, with confident strides ― but the razzes he got made him recoil like he had stepped on a landmine.

"Aww, why not?" he whined. Ultimately he slouched back into the crowd and joined the pity party with Dumptruck.

Kit happened to see Ratchet take a subtle step forward, looking as if he was about to uneasily speak up, but the mutt lost his confidence and did nothing. Kit practically wished Ratchet had made a move, thinking it was one of the better options (and that was also a harsh reckoning on just how awful the options were, for he had no love lost for Ratchet and vice versa). He looked around for Will, thinking that was about the only other not completely terrible choice, but scanning all the grim, rough faces around him, one by one, made his heart sink at the thought that they should be named leader.

Then Hal, of all pirates, elbowed his way front and center. He opened his mouth to speak:

"Mates," said a voice. It was not Hal's, to Hal's surprise. He, and the others, turned to the voice's source, where Patch leaned against the metal wall. His lone, black eye flickered. "A word with ya, if I might." He pushed himself away from the wall with his foot, and shuffled quietly into the view of all. Patch was a well-known mate, but never known for speaking up ― not in front of a group like this. But in personal and smaller settings, he had been in many a pirate's ear, for a long time, and it was perhaps that reason for some, coupled with the spectacle of him now calling attention to himself for others, that the room went silent to listen to what he had to say.

"Now it seems to me, we're in a predicament, that's gonna take some thought to figure out." Half the room nodded to varying degrees ― those that hung out with Patch the most were most enthusiastic, and that correlated down the line to those that rarely spoke to him at all, who weren't nodding but looking on quite puzzled. Patch cast a glance at Mad Dog, which got the latter nodding along as well. That was enough to promote a domino effect with the rest. With a single, soft-spoken sentence, Patch had the entire room captivated.

Kit was incredulous at what he was seeing; he was one among those who was caught utterly surprised to see Patch address the entire ship. To him, Patch had always been like elevator music… always there in the background, but never really at the forefront of your attention. Shortly after Kit first hooked up with the pirates, Patch once gave him a discreet look as if to say he'd like to eat roasted bear cub for breakfast. Kit considered it an empty bully tactic to establish where they each stood in the pirate pecking order, but just the same found Patch pretty creepy and had always steered clear of him and his shady clique. With all the comings and goings of pirate business it wasn't that difficult to avoid encounters with him. Patch making himself the center of attention now was incredibly concerning.

"I know you lot," said Patch, "and know ya well. I know what ya've given, what ya've sacrificed for us all." He tugged at his eyepatch, as if making an adjustment. The pirates, collectively, gestured agreement and seemed to already like this little speech very much. "But the question I ask myself ― ah, that I ask you, my brothers ― where have your sacrifices gotten ya? Where's been the appreciation?" His face curdled into a dark grin, taking a moment of pause to hear the grumbles of agreement from the crowd. Lowly, he asked, "Where's been our promised riches?" This got a louder response. "Now, my compass has always pointed North. I mean to say, it works like it should. But from what I've seen, and I know ya've seen it, too, Karnage's compass, of late, it's been pointin'... elsewhere." Kit jolted as Patch's one eye zeroed in right on him as he said that ― the look read of, once again, roasted bear cub. "Not pointin' as it should. Not true to us, not true to our piratin'. Now we stand here with a choice to make."

Now that he realized what Patch was trying to do ― nominate himself ― and that there was an apparent quiet sway in that direction among the crew ― Kit shuddered, consumed by a sense of fierce dread. If there was a worst nightmare scenario to be had here, this was it or close to it. He put the pieces in place at once: Patch was, for who knows how long, patiently biding his time, quietly strengthening his influence, waiting for the perfect moment to spring. He picked this moment. It was working.

The one thing that popped into Kit's mind: jump ship, go back to Baloo and beg forgiveness. That option was so real and so obvious that it got his heart pounding to do it and do it now. He could go back to everything like it was before. All he had to do was go. All he had to do was… he gulped… let the captain rot behind bars. Be too chicken to make a stand. Be too cowardly to be a pirate.

"Think about it," continued Patch. "It's time the wind changed! Isn't it time, maybe, that we put our heads together, that we take control, that we pick a new captain. A captain that... knows what it's like to be you." More nods and grunts of agreement. "But, who?"

"Howabout you?" someone said.

Patch rubbed his chin, pretending to be surprised. "Me? Now, that would be a change, wouldn't it. But ya know, now that ya mention it―"

"Wait a minute!" cried Kit, jumping into the middle of the room, his arms waving to get everyone's attention. "What are we even talkin' about here? Who says Karnage is gone?"

Patch's air of calm confidence was struck away and replaced with a scandalized grimace. Kit just jumped right in front of him ― he wasn't expecting that. "What the―!" he yelled. "This meetin's for us, brat. You ain't one of us." With a growl, he added, "Can't hide behind Karnage anymore, that scare ya?"

Glowering, Kit pointed a finger at the wolf's face. "I am one of you. Whether you like it or not! I dare ya to do something about it." Kit was, all the while, very cognizant of how scared he was, but doing a heck of a job, if he did say so himself, in hiding it. He had a lot of practice with acting the tough guy.

Patch became flustered. "You're a traitor," he roared, for a guy who was so sly and calm just five seconds ago, it took the crew aback.

"Aw, forget that, you've all turned on him before!" Kit looked in particular at Mad Dog and Dumptruck. "He took you back, didn't he?" Agitated grunts and syllables uttered from Patch's incredulous face. "Just listen to me!" said Kit to the group. "It's not like Karnage is locked up on Bedeviled Island. It's just a jail in Winger City! We can spring 'im out!"

"No!" sputtered Patch. He took a step in front of Kit, holding his arms out to the crowd. "Bullspit! We're done with Karnage!"

"If you got arrested," said Kit, pointing to random crewmates, "he'd come back for you! Uh, probably."

"Yeah, right," snorted a pirate. This brought about plenty of agreement.

"Okay, so what, then?" said Kit. "You guys really want a change? Nothing's gonna get better around here unless we make it better! Aren't you guys sick and tired of everyone only lookin' out for themselves? Well, here's our chance to show that we've all got each other's back! We can make a move ― together ― and finally be a team!"

The pirate crew began to glance around at one another. Judging by the looks on their faces, which were getting ornerier as each considered the other, this team thing was a hard sell.

Patch tried to pounce on their uncertainty, and shoved Kit clear out of the way. "Only an idiot would listen to a kid! I say we're done with Karnage… and his pet. Oof!" Patch was suddenly knocked aside ― Kit gave it everything he had with a shoulder ram.

"You guys had nothing before Karnage came along," he said. "You weren't pilots. Sure as hell weren't pirates!" He felt a little language would help spice up the persuasion of this group. It did. He had their attention now more than ever. "You had no homes and you had nothin' to live for. You were just trash in the gutter!" The whole room went silent. "We… all were. Until Don Karnage picked us up. Off the streets, and into the sky. Right?

"Look, guys. I know he's selfish, pig-headed, grouchy, bossy, arrogant, stuck-up, big-mouthed, and crazy, and greedy, and he's got that awful garlic breath, and he's such a big jerk sometimes… but.. and… uh, wait, what was I gonna say?"

"He's still our captain?" offered Hacksaw.

Kit snapped his fingers. "Yeah! And let's face it. You guys stink at being in charge. He's the only guy for the job." Lots of shrugs and nods followed that.

"No!" said Patch, desperate now. "You all know that's not true!"

"You all know it is!" said Kit.

"The brat's ri―er… the brat's not wrong," so spoke up Ratchet. "We've given it a shot before without Karnage. Didn't work out. It never does. I say we spring the boss."

"That what you all think?" snarled Patch, eyeing Mad Dog, who was struck very uncomfortable with the attention. The room, meanwhile, began to shift in terms of who was standing where. Patch had his backers, and they gathered behind him. There were yet others, to judge by their dumbfounded expressions, who hadn't made up their minds. Others ― like Dumptruck, Gibber, Hal, Hacksaw ― shuffled nearer to Ratchet, including Kit. It was an unspoken vote, and the left and right side of the room were like scales, with those who were undecided in between. The undecided, Mad Dog among them, could make this go either way. Patch, meanwhile, gazed at Mad Dog as if to bore a hole through his head.

Mad Dog looked down, flustered, scratched his head… then knocked his knuckles against his skull like he was trying to get a machine to work… and at length, fell in toward Ratchet. The rest of the undecided followed suit. Patch watched them do this with the most ghastly expression of furiousness. He stepped toward Kit, unfolding a pocket knife, as if puppeteered by a murderous passion. Kit, alarmed, saw him coming and went to back away behind someone ― but how shocked he was when someone stepped in front of him, instead. Actually, two people. Dumptruck and Hal, arms crossed and faces sneering, blocked Patch's path.

"Holy jeepers," uttered Kit, for as many surprises this day had brought so far, these guys sticking up for him took the cake. The devilish side of him was oh so tempted to flash the wolf a neener-neener face.

Patch backed down, smirking like he was just kidding. "So it's decided, then," he said, shrugging. "No need to mention any of this to Karnage, eh boys? We were just talkin', after all. Airin' out a few ideas, is all." Like a snake slithering into its hole, he slunk out of the room, several pirates following.

Don Karnage could hardly be-LIEVE where his fabulous feet were standing. In a jail cell. With common crooks ― the most common of the common: pickpockets, pilferers… jaywalkers?! This was no place for such a criminally esteemed sky pirate!

The jail guards couldn't care less, though. They weren't going to let him out no matter how much he protested. It was some consolation ― just a bit ― that the press had hounded the city jail and that his capture was going to be front-page news from here to Spango-Pango. The front page part he liked. The captured part, not so much.

His head was still ringing when he got dumped at the stoop of the police station. From there, all these fooligan flat-foots put their hands all over him, putting him in handcuffs, and they busted the buttons of his coat doing what they called "booking," which was copper code word for body searches so personal that made you feel like someone should have at least bought you a nice romantic dinner first. The cops were ecstatic! Lines were forming in front of telephones so they could call their families and tell them the news: Don Karnage, arrested! Then they shoved him into an overcrowded cell with wall-to-wall weirdos.

"You idiots!" he barked at the jailers, holding onto the cell bars. "You will all pay for this!"

One of the cops, smirking cockily, answered: "Gee, chief, sorry that we couldn't upgrade you to the penthouse suite, but don't worry! This is just a little layover. We'll have you sent to a nice, sparkling prison in no time!"

"Oh, you think so, do you?" seethed Karnage.

"Hey, hey!" said a frazzled-looking rodent, standing closer to Karnage's personal space than his coattails. "Did he get ya? Whatcha in for, huh? Huh?"

"What am I in for?" Karnage furiously kicked him away. "Everything! What is wrong with you gooberheads! Do you not know that you gracing your gazes upon the feared pirate Don Karnage?"

"Then he got you, too," said baritone voice, a hog in an expensive, dark suit. He, and a few others dressed alike, had staked out their own corner of the cell. They were what some people referred to as made men.

"Bah, what do you know," snorted Karnage.

"I know he got us all," said the hog, shaking his head. Lots of the cellmates groaned, long in the face.

"Used to be… hic... " a drunk said, "... a guy could get a decent night's sleep in here. Now look how crowded youse guys made it! Ya had to go… hic… get yerselves caught."

"Ain't no honest work for a crook anymore," another lamented.

Karnage smacked his forehead and ran his hand down his face. "How could you all let this happen?"

"Same way you did, pal," said one of the mobsters. "That freak, he's unstoppable."

"No, I am unstoppable," said Karnage.

"Oh yeah? Bring us in on the plan then, daddio," said a flippant young hooligan. "How ya gonna get outta here? What exactly are you gonna do?"

Don Karnage bristled at him, then at all of them. "Ha! You see what I do! You just see!" But then, with them all looking at him, he felt a dreadful sense of reality waft into his mind. He was really stuck here, and if he didn't somehow get himself unstuck, bars like these were all he was going to see for the rest of his life.

Striped against the bars of the one window in the cell was a purple twilight. He shoved his way there to get a look outside. The sky, its endless freedom, his home, was all right there in front of him. Impossibly out of reach. Air traffic zipped to and fro, near and far, but what he was looking for ― what he was hoping for, his only hope ― was nowhere to be seen. As night came and his fellow cellmates picked their spots to sleep, he yet waited there at the window, watching, feeling numb. Hope was for suckers, he always knew that. Why he should even dream the Iron Vulture was going to come for him, he didn't know.

He eventually succumbed to sleepiness in the wee hours of the morning, sliding his back against the brick wall, under the window. It was like one of life's cruel jokes, that just yesterday he left Pirate Island feeling like he had everything to live for. Then, just one day, one stinking, stupid day… it's all gone. The thought that this was it, the end, finito ― honestly, it scared him.

His last waking thoughts were of Kit, going all the way back to that jungle, to that delirious hug. He wished it had never happened. He also wished it was happening now. No one would know it, but between himself and himself, he could have went for some of that softivity right about now.

Jail was a hell of a bed and breakfast, especially in downtown Winger City. The facility was meant as a temporary detainment, usually overnight, while the "the accused" got their court times or other processing settled, then they were off to a larger facility or cut loose with a citation. However, thanks to the recent workings of a local superhero, the jail got so full so fast that there was a considerable back-up in getting everyone processed. They weren't used to having to feed so many. So, when morning came, the cops that ran the place basically just handed out plates of slop and had it passed around the cell. Don Karnage opted to go on an immediate diet, thank you.

Packed like sardines with the rest and with nothing to do about it, it was just about the slowest and most excruciating morning he had ever experienced. But something very curious happened in the early afternoon, when one of the guards approached the cell, calling out, "Karnage? You got a visitor."

A visitor? It sounded like some unfunny joke, but the guard was very serious, and actually looked rather offended that he even had to be put through the process of unlocking the door for someone. Karnage went along with it, keeping his head up for some possible ploy of he knew not what. They put shackles on his wrists and led him down a hall, past more miserably overcrowded cells, into a plain room with a few small, square tables and folding chairs.

There was ― a little old lady? ― standing there, waiting for him.

"Ay caramba, my son!" she cried sadly, in a croaky, high-pitched voice.

"S-son?!" stammered Karnage. Now, if anyone knew what Don Karnage's dear mamá looked like, it was Don Karnage himself. And he could attest that this was not her. She was not a bear, and she was not three-foot nine, for starters.

Then it occurred to him. "What. Is. This," he uttered. The boy was disguised in a ridiculous wig (a mop head), glasses (goggle lenses, glued to stems made from hanger wire), a blue shawl (that is, a tablecloth), a red and white checkered dress (another tablecloth), hunched over a metal cane that looked suspiciously like the shaft of a flight stick extracted from a CT-37, if you took a good look at it.

"Oh, what shame," sniffled the… old lady… dabbing her eyes with one of Ratchet's oil rags. "What shame on our family!"

"What do you think you are doing here?" demanded Karnage.

"How dare you speak to mamá like that!" the lady exclaimed, and whacked Karnage across the shin with her cane.

"Yeowch!" he cried, hopping around. "Why you little piece of―!" Then he got the other shin whacked. "Ow! Aauugh! Stop that!"

"I'll teach you some manners, you bratty beast!" she said, and kept whaling on him.

"Ow! Ouch! Stop it!" pleaded Karnage, as he fell back into a chair, covering his head under his shackled arms, getting wholloped from all sides. "I'm sorry!" he cried at last.

"Well," huffed mother dearest. "Is more like it, no? Yes? Yes-no?"

The guard left them alone, rather amused at the spectacle. He assumed a post right outside the door. Kit took the seat opposite of the captain, and where they huddled over a table. Karnage pointed at the makeshift cane, eyes bulging at the kid. "Let me see that for a moment," he said.

"Uh, no," said Kit, tucking it away. They kept their voices low. "Just listen. We got a plan. We're gettin' you out tonight!"

Don Karnage was one big incredulous ear canal of listening as the boy laid out the plan. As the other pirates who dealt with this Corsair Crusader character attested to, the most important thing, they agreed on, was to be as quick and quiet as possible. Karnage was a bit annoyed by this ― he felt he was worth blowing up a wall or two and making a grand escape, lots of explosions ― but he allowed himself to entertain this idea, too. They would wait until the dead of night ― two o'clock in the morning, precisely ― they would have a plane make a speedy landing in the empty street in front of the jail. Karnage was to hop on, they'd take off, and be in the sky before anyone hardly realized what happened.

Karnage scowled at the boy. "And what, I am supposed to just open the door and walk out of here?"

"Yep," smirked Kit, to the other's surprise. In his disguised voice, he lamented, "Oh, my dear boy! My dear, dear, boy! Hold your mamá's hands!" He made sure the guard outside, who occasionally peeked in, heard it, while reaching out his hands for Karnage to hold. Karnage did so, bemusedly, and Kit grasped his hands as if prayerfully ― but Karnage felt something cold and metal being slyly placed into his palm. A key.

"What?" he blinked.

"It's to the cell door," winked Kit. "Open it at two, right when we swoop in. Everyone's gonna be asleep. Maybe a guard or two up front, but this is gonna be the last thing they'd expect. Once you're out of the building, the plane'll be right there."

"How did you get this?" asked Karnage, taking the key in his fist.

"Aw, what, lifting one little ol' key from a guard's belt?" said Kit, subtly beaming under that white wig and glasses. "It's all about gettin' the right guy for the job."

The wind left Karnage's lungs in a big sigh. Not that he was going to say anything, but after the throes of last night's doubts, that key in his hand meant a lot more to him than just opening a door.

For Kit's part, he seemed to pick up on what was going through the captain's mind. He decided the captain didn't need to know about the vote on the bridge, or how close the captain to being left to his demise. "You… knew we were gonna come get ya, right?"

"Of course I did," insisted the captain. "Hmph! Took you morons long enough." He turned his nose up, folding his arms. But then… the hell with pretending not to know better. He leaned in toward Kit, scowling. "Enough of the sugar boatings, I want the truth. How many tried to take over? Tell me!"

"It's really not important."

"What! That many?"

"I didn't say ― ugh, forget it. So, two o'clock. That works?"

Karnage nodded.

"Um, you need me to get you a watch?"

"No!"

"All right, all right. Don't get crabby." With that, Kit slipped out of his chair, and slouched over the cane. "See ya tonight. Oh, and one last thing: just wanna say 'sorry' in advance."

"Sorry… for what?"

That's when Mother Karnage whopped her wayward offspring with the cane again, right on the noggin.

"Ow!" yelped the captain. "Gah! Stop that!"

"Is what you get, you, you criminal elementary, you!" shrieked the old lady. Sobbing, she hobbled away, where the guard patted her shoulder in consolation. "Oh, boo-hoo, woe is me. He never thinks of his poor, old mamá! Boo-hoo-hoo!"

Karnage, rubbing where the bump was already forming on his crown, watched mamá's exit, reflecting aloud, "He enjoyed that too much."

Two o'clock in the morning could not have come fast enough. Much as the hours seemed to linger forever in the confines of jail, they were even slower when you were anticipating an escape. There was a clock on the wall outside the bars, facing the cell, with a big round white face and a particularly loud tick-tick-tick with its seconds hand. No doubt, it was strategically placed to let the incarcerated guests get a taste of how slow the minutes tick when you're cooling your heels. Another hour gone by? Nope… barely ten minutes, fella.

Karnage had nothing but snooty looks for the rest in the cell. They all thought they were so smart, audaciously doubting him, that the most vivacious villain in the world couldn't get out of some rinky-dink clink. They didn't have his genius! They didn't have his power! They also didn't have a key hidden in their waistband, but that was beside the point. He would have liked to have seen the look on their faces tomorrow when they found him gone. Needless to say, when night finally, finally fell, and his fellow crooks in the cell found their places on the crowded floor to snore until morning, he wasn't the least bit tired. He was doing all he could to not look excited ― he didn't want to tip anyone off, of course.

At about five minutes to two, he tip-toed his way to the cell door. The last guard to make any rounds in this area was over an hour ago, and he could faintly hear a radio playing ― a room up front where the overnight guards were being lazy, no doubt. Gingerly, he took the key and unlocked the door, which creaked as he pushed it open, prompting him to go slower. He checked, and no one had woken up from the noise. Just a crop of snores and bad breath. As he stepped out, he decided to leave the door ajar, a little present for the police when the others woke up.

From there, it was actually pretty easy. A jail in a police station ― not exactly supermax security. He made quiet but hasty strides down the hall, trying to balance himself on his heels in awkward ways to keep his boots from squeaking on the waxed floor. He found two guards, just as he predicted, in a room munching on cold pizza. Their backs were turned to him, so he just snuck on by. There was now just the matter of one more officer at the front desk ― who, sadly, didn't have the courtesy to be asleep on the job. He sat there playing solitaire, cards laid out all over the desk. In front of him was a glass door and sweet, beautiful freedom. Karnage crouched down in the hall, gauging the chances of sneaking out without being noticed (that is, shot at). The room wasn't poorly lit, so chances weren't great. He even considered jumping the guy, maybe a nice smash over the head with a lamp, but it would have made too much ruckus to not alert the others.

Thus he was in a no man's land, tail out there in the open, cops ahead and behind, and with just the tiniest bit of bad luck things were going to get very lively indoors. And now that he had made it this far, his brain so conveniently contemplated: when exactly was the last time a plan actually worked? It had to be two o'clock this very minute. He had bated breath as he looked out through the glass door ― a bearded hobo trudged over the middle of the street, dragging a duffel bag along.

The hobo stopped, looking around as if he had heard a car coming… but there were no cars coming either way. He scratched his scraggly-haired head. But then he jumped and ran for his life. The duffel bag got left behind ― and splattered under the screeching, braking wheels of an airplane that just landed.

Playing cards from the precinct's front desk went flying, in their player's shock. Karnage ran and burst through the door. The plane's side door was open, where Ratchet had his hand stretched out. He meant well (which was mighty saintly by pirate standards), but perhaps underestimated the captain's resolve in not needing any help from his underlings ― Karnage mowed right over him leaping into the plane. Hacksaw was piloting, and Kit yelled, "Punch it!" The throttle was thrown full forward, and the plane erupted with speed, driving between the glow of street lamps and parked cars. It was airborne in seconds. Mad Dog and Dumptruck pulled the door shut. That done, they all stood still, looking at each other, looking around. Something was… wrong. Something was suspicious.

"Wait… what're we missin'?" asked Ratchet.

"Uh, nothing, I think," said Kit. "Captain's in, plane's in the air…"

"No, I know what you are saying," said Karnage, scratching his head at this unmaterialized mystery. "I feel, I don't know... something strange. What is happening right now?"

They gave it more thought. Ratchet scratched his head as well. "Wait. Did a… did a plan actually work? No hitches?"

Mad Dog and Dumptruck gasped. They all realized, that was it! What was wrong was that they weren't all scrambling to fix anything that went wrong, because nothing went wrong. They actually put their heads together and got the job done. "Der world's not ending, right?"* asked Dumptruck fearfully. [*Footnote: ah ha ha, not yet you big silly dog. Oops, sorry, spoiler...]

But the plane suddenly jolted as if it had just ran over or was hit by something.

"The heck was that?" asked Kit.

"A speed bump?" guessed Mad Dog.

"In the air?"

"Could be a real tall one, smarty-pants!"

Then there was a pounding sound from the ceiling ― someone was on the plane!

"Here come the hitches," grimaced Karnage. "And it better not be that one son of a hitch!"

"Avast!" they heard the hitch shout.

"How'd he get on the plane!" cried Ratchet. "He's gonna get us all killed!"

There was a rack of blunderbuss-inspired rifles on the cabin wall ― Karnage was the first to swipe one and the others quickly followed, except Kit. "Soon as you see him, start blasting!" ordered the captain. Ratchet grabbed the last rifle on the rack and proffered it to Kit.

"You wanna be a team, huh?" he said. "Well, runt? It's him or us."

Kit looked to the captain for some sort of authorization on this, and Karnage looked at him, but gave no indication either way, which for all intents and purposes was a green light. Kit accepted the weapon nervously.

Thumps pounded from above, the noise of clambering outside the plane. The pirates raised their weapons toward the ceiling ― with Karnage inadvertently getting a shaky rifle muzzle right under his chin courtesy of an unpracticed protege. He yelped and shoved the gun away.

"S-sorry," gulped Kit.

More thumps from above, and the pirates were about to shoot. "Wait!" said Karnage. "You shoot down our own plane, you bananas-for-brains!" The pirates lowered the guns, but then the noises went toward the cockpit, as if their assailant was about to burst through the windshield. They aimed ― Hacksaw turned his head, saw all the guns in his face, shrieked and dove for cover. The plane, which happened to be already in the midst of a strong updraft, rolled with no one holding the yoke, and was upside down before anyone knew it. Bodies were tumbling all over the place!

Somewhere in that swirling, chaotic pirate kaleidoscope, Don Karnage managed to grab the yoke and wrangle the plane under control.

"What happened?" blinked Hacksaw, crawling up from the floorboard. Karnge responded with his own personal version of whack-a-mole, hammering Hacksaw on the head with a rifle.

In the moment that followed, the crew recombobulated, Hacksaw resumed piloting, and the rest took a breath. There were no more noises from outside, and that was no surprise; no one could have held on after a ride like that.

"What was… him?" Kit asked apprehensively. The others who had been previously introduced to the Corsair Crusader nodded.

There was a thump that got them quickly alarmed ― then a BANG on the side door, that made the door rattle. Frantically, they scrambled their rifles ready, just as the entire door was violently ripped from the plane. The Corsair Crusader jumped into the cabin, one hand holding his bicorne hat to his head, the other hand wielding a cutlass formerly belonging to Don Karnage; the sharp edge of it was pointed directly at the captain's nose.

"Avast ye!" he shouted.

"Blast ye!" ordered Karnage. "I mean, him! Blast him!"

The gunshots exploded from every rifle. A couple put big holes in the fuselage, but the others met their mark. To say that the Corsair Crusader was "shot" would be an understatement of the likes of saying the ocean was merely wet. The pirates nailed him, and the blasts turned his chest into a gory wreck, with holes you could see clear through. His fancy hat blew away, and his grip on the edge of the doorframe abated.

"Ow," he whimpered at length; life left him, and he fell backwards into the darkness below, and a few thousand feet of altitude.

"Finally!" declared the captain, while they all struggled with their footing with all the heavy wind whipping into the cabin. Kit had been knocked back on his rear when he pulled the trigger; the gun packed a blowback he did not expect. He had closed his eyes when he fired, and when he saw that at least two of the shots missed, he truly had no idea if his was one or not. Mad Dog, Ratchet, and Dumptruck were hooting and cackling over their success, Kit hardly felt a compulsion to join them, not after just having seen through a guy's chest.

"Yes, you missed," said the captain, grabbing him from under the arm to help him up.

"I… I did?"

"Probably," shrugged Karnage. "Now give me that before you don't miss me in the face!" He took the musket away and along with his put them both back on the rack. That done, he stuck his head out where the door used to be. The city lights of Winger City were long behind them.

Whose idea was it, exactly, to jailbreak the captain? Apparently, just about everyone's, to hear how each professed it as his own brilliant idea. As soon as Don Karnage stepped out of the plane inside the Iron Vulture's hangar, he was greeted by a roar of piratey yarrs, but the gathered pirates were quick to clamor for credit on how they never for a second considered a new captain and were never going to leave their one and only behind. Within seconds this turned into arguments, and a few more seconds there was a brawl, fists throwing and teeth breaking and fur flying. In other words… another Tuesday.

Karnage calmly side-stepped through it all, and saw Kit watching from the side, leaning nonchalant with his elbow over a barrel. There Karnage joined him, leaning mirror-like on the barrel's other side.

"H'okay, tell me. How did you do it."

Kit shrugged. "I mighta done a little cheerleading. Ya know… rah rah rah, Don Karnage."

"Hm. That so."

"I even tried it like this: 'Gimme a D! Gimme an O! Gimme an N! What's that spell?' Yeah, nobody knew, so I never got to the K." The captain grinned at that. "The way I see it, it's like one of those packaged deals," said Kit. "You gotta come with this pirate thing. I don't wanna be here without you."

"Yes, yes. You are just like me, you know."

"In a good way?"

The captain made a face at him. "There are only good ways. Er… In the baddest type of good, of course."

"Um, right."

"I'm saying, I would not want to be here if I wasn't here, either. Now that I think of it, it's a problem I have never had. Any-way, I would say you did… hm..." Holding his hand out, palm down and wobbling it were scales tipping to one side and the other, "... not too bad of a job."

"Aw gee, thaaanks," drawled Kit. " So… you think maybe we can forget that… other thing?"

"Forgetting the what thing?"

"About the whole… me borrowing the plane?"

"Ahhh, that. Ha! My boy!" Karnage began to snicker. The snicker turned into a belly laugh, and before Kit knew it, the captain had become a bemusing spectacle, holding onto the barrel in outright hysterics, uncontrollably cracking up, mirthful tears and all. When he finally settled down a bit, gulped a few breaths of air, and wiped his eyes, he smiled at the kid and said, from the bottom of his heart, "Not on your life!"

"Aw, c'mon!" griped Kit.

"But cheer up!" said the captain. "For what you did for me, I tell you what I do for you."

"Yeah? What?"

"I'm going to get you a new pillow!"