Twisted Strings of Fate
Chapter 13
The curse was a double-edged sword for me.
I bore the pain for four men and spent my life pining for them. My love was so deep, some days, my every thought was on one or the other.
And in return, I was given nothing for my effort. Only Launchpad was my companion, and he gave me friendship. I never asked for more than that, but some days, I would wonder if anyone would ever love me as deeply as I did for my bond mates. I suppose I could have gone out and dated, perhaps eventually fall in love with someone who wasn't part of the curse.
But that felt like it would be a betrayal. Oh, how I hated this curse that made me love so much, which forced me to feel pain and give my love but get nothing good out of it. I may blame my isolation on my mother and her protectiveness, but in a way, I relied on that buffer between me and the world. For how could I, in good conscious, fall in love and marry another when my heart was already divided four ways. It wouldn't be fair to them.
Which was the true blade against my throat.
Negaduck remained a statue even when voices approached the door to his cell. He was quiet, listening in on the conversation.
"He doesn't need to be locked up. He needs a doctor," a female, British voice insisted.
"We can't just hand him over to a hospital. What if we need him?" a deep, Scottish voice replied.
"And what if we don't? We can't keep him in there. Not only does he need help, but he's also a danger."
"Those are iron bars. He's not getting out."
"His mind is broken. He needs therapy and medicine," the female insisted. "Do you know what he almost did to your nephew? Didn't you see what he did to Charity?"
Negaduck raised his head at the name. The rest of the conversation meant little to him, but that name, the girl's name. She was of great interest to him. Was she nearby? Did the voices know where she was?
"Of course I know. The reason I'm keeping Starling here instead of dropping him off at the nearest asylum is because of Charity. If this actor is necessary for breaking the curse, then he needs to stay here where I can keep an eye on him."
Break the curse? Negaduck recalled Charity talking about that. It had been unbelievable, but so was the fact that he hadn't had any pain, injury or sickness for fifteen years. He had told nobody about that, not even that hack that called himself a psychologist. It had been his secret power, but that girl had known. Which means there was something to this curse after all.
"Or, we could get him the help that he needs now, and if we need him, we can retrieve him."
"It seems more trouble than its worth. Besides, now that we have the four of them, I bet we can have this curse business all wrapped up by tomorrow."
"Where have I heard that before?"
"Bah!"
The door to the hallway opened up, and a tall, broad woman with a gray bun entered cautiously. She glanced around, only the light from the hallway to see by. Her eyes must have been good because she spotted him sitting up on the cot.
"Oh, good. You're awake," she said, her voice stern like that of a nanny or governess in a movie about the regency era. "My name is Mrs. Beakley. I hope you have—"
"Let me go!" Negaduck shouted, leaping at the bars. He thrust out his hands, grabbing at the woman's clothing. More than likely, she had the key to this jail. But to his surprise, the woman batted his assault away coolly.
"None of that," Mrs. Beakley said, adjusting her glasses. "As long as you are a guest of Mr. McDuck, you will act properly, Mr. Starling."
Negaduck sneered, "A guest? Since when did guests get such posh accommodations?" He spread his arms out at the sparse cell.
"Mr. Starling, I'm not sure if you understand what is going on, but you are having a psychotic episode. I am not trained nor do I know much in the field of psychology, but I know this much: You are a danger to society. I'm afraid as long as you remain thus, you will be lodged down here." Mrs. Beakley's bill pressed tightly together.
"How charitable," Negaduck growled. He folded his arms. "And when you're done with me, then what? I don't suppose you'll just kick me to the curb. Or are you going to silence me?"
Mrs. Beakley looked disturbed by the insinuation. "Mr. Starling, you are not among criminals. Yes, you are locked up, but that is for your own safety as well as for everyone else under Scrooge McDuck's guardianship. After seeing what you are capable of, be grateful that you aren't in chains. As for 'when we're done with you', I assure you that you will be given proper medical treatment. You are a sick man."
Negaduck gave her a big smile. "What are you talking about? I've never felt better. In fact, I'm more than better. I'm indestructible. Nothing can hurt me. Doesn't sound like I need a doctor."
"Mr. Starling, that is not be—"
"Don't call me that!"
Mrs. Beakley stepped back, her usual stoniness slipping to fear as Negaduck threw himself at the bars, screaming like a madman.
"Mr. Starli—"
"I'm Negaduck!" he shouted, shaking the bars. Although the iron cell was quite sturdy, he still managed to make the bars rattle with his raw insanity.
"Mr. Starling, if you do not calm down, I will be forced to tranquilize you again," Mrs. Beakley stated, her composure back.
Negaduck growled like a wild animal but backed down. He didn't want to return to that churning darkness that tossed him back and forth like a ship on a stormy sea. Even though the darkness helped him reconcile to his true name, he couldn't return there.
"You will be given all comforts, but sadly, yes, you will be a prisoner here until we can safely turn you over to the proper facility," Mrs. Beakley said. She glanced down at the untouched sandwich and water that sat in the corner of his cell. "If you need anything, I will return hourly to hear your requests. I will try to accommodate you as within reason."
"And I'm betting that freeing me isn't within reason," Negaduck said sarcastically, returning to his cot.
Mrs. Beakley shook her head. "I don't like having you here anymore than you do, but Mr. McDuck insists on it. If I had it my way, you'd already be getting the help you need. However, I hope you will cooperate with us. That girl who you captured yesterday, it is for her that we have brought you here."
"She's a fan, or so she says," Negaduck said, memories returning.
"More than that. She is under a terrible curse, and we may need your help to break it."
"And I'm the crazy one here, huh?" Negaduck scoffed.
"I'm sure you know what I'm talking about," Mrs. Beakley said. "You have experienced the effects of the same curse for as long as she has."
Negaduck frowned. He didn't like that this woman knew of his super powers.
"I'm sure if you were of a sound mind, you would agree that this young woman should be free of such a curse, Mr. Starling."
"I told you to not call me that," Negaduck shouted. "My name is Negaduck."
A pitying look crossed Mrs. Beakley's face, and that only made him even madder. However, instead of turning against her like before, he let his bill split into a devilish smile.
"Okay, I'll cooperate and help the girl. But I should get something in return."
"What is that?"
"I want Darkwing Duck."
Mrs. Beakley's only reaction was to shake her head.
"Oh, but I promise I'll only hurt him after the curse is broken," Negaduck said sadistically. "I wouldn't want that poor, innocent girl to be in pain. Once the curse is gone, she wouldn't feel anything I'll do to that imposter."
Mrs. Beakley merely left the room, closing the door tightly behind her. There was a click as a key slid into the lock and turned.
Negaduck laughed loudly, knowing the woman could still hear him. He continued to laugh as her footsteps receded. Once he stopped, he went to the bars, crouched down and felt around on the floor outside the jail. When his fingers came into contact with a tiny, slice of metal, he grinned.
Mrs. Beakley hadn't noticed one of her bobby pins coming out when he grabbed her, but his keen eyes had spotted it as the light from the hallway glinted off of it while it fell. Such a tiny, insignificant tool, no one would think he could do anything with it. With enough of an imagination, anything could be used as a weapon.
Or at least a tool in which to escape.
"No way. You killed it with your bare hand?" Fenton asked in disbelief.
Charity nodded coolly. She took a drink from the water bottle she had found in the back. It and a bag of expired cheese-flavored chips were the only sustenance they could find in the abandoned gas station, which they shared.
"I don't think I know anyone who could have done that," Fenton said, sticking his head back into the Gizmoduck suit. His voice reverberated from inside. "I definitely wouldn't have. Spiders creep me out."
"Spiders just don't scare me," Charity said from where she sat on the dusty floor. "I guess if I thought about how dangerous the spider was, maybe I would have used my shoe, but those guys made me so angry, I just reacted."
"Being kidnapped makes you angry? Remind me not to get on your bad side," Fenton said.
"I actually was scared most of the time. But when I found out that they wanted to use my curse, I guess that set me off," Charity said. "I've never been so mad in my life. Not even close."
Fenton crawled out, bringing with him a control box with several wires sticking out. "Ah, my communications device isn't as damaged as I thought it would be. I'll just replace a few wires, and we can call someone to pick us up."
"I wish I kept that guy's cell phone," Charity sighed. "Launchpad would have been here in two shakes of a lamb's tail."
"And taking out half the flock to get here," Fenton said.
Charity snorted.
Using electrical tape, Fenton spliced several wires and performed a crude patch job on the system. Within his contact lenses, he was able to check if his repairs were helping. After fixing one wire, he was able to pick up a signal, but it was weak.
"Dang."
"What is it?"
"I only have one bar," Fenton grumbled. For someone who was used to 5G and full bars no matter where he went, this was very annoying.
"Could it be because Gizmoduck is too damaged?" Charity asked, standing up to look at his work even though she knew nothing about technology.
"No, I think something is jamming the signal," Fenton answered. "We need to move to get a stronger signal."
"Okay, let's go," Charity said, gesturing to the broken door of the gas station.
"By 'we', I mean all three of us," Fenton said, gesturing to the mass of Gizmoduck.
Charity grimaced. "Okay, let's move him."
Together, they each grabbed a shoulder and pulled, barely moving the metal armor a few inches with their first attempt. Fenton gave Charity a hopeless look which the lovebird mirrored exactly.
"This is going to take forever," Fenton said, passing the back of his hand over his forehead. The heat of the day had turned the building into an oven. With only one water bottle to share, they were at risk of heat exhaustion if they tried to drag Gizmoduck's can around.
"Can you remove the communication stuff and just take that?" Charity suggested, pointing at the box.
"It's possible," Fenton said. "But we need a power source. I can't take the one from the suit."
"Why not?"
"Because it's nuclear."
Charity laughed nervously. "What kind of power source do you need? Like, double-A batteries?"
"Mmmm, not exactly. Something bigger."
"Like a car battery?"
"Yeah, that should work. Is there a car battery nearby?"
"If it's still in the truck out back," Charity replied.
Curious, Fenton followed the lovebird to a run-down tow truck that looked like it would crumble to dust in a wind storm. When he grabbed the hood, it came apart in pieces. "Well, at least the engine and everything here looks good."
"So, the battery may work?" Charity asked.
"If it's not dead. And even then, I may be able to jump it with Gizmoduck," Fenton explained. Leaning over the truck, he disconnected the battery, glad to see it wasn't damaged or leaking acid, which wouldn't be a good sign. It was old, but if they were lucky, it could hold a charge long enough to get a stronger signal.
They returned inside where Fenton tested the battery.
"Dead," he said and folded his arms. "I don't suppose you saw any jumper cables anywhere."
Charity shook her head. "I'll look again." She rushed all over the gas station and even check the dilapidated truck before returning empty handed.
"I was afraid of that," Fenton said with a sigh. "I can jump the battery, but it's going to be dangerous."
"Maybe we should just hitch-hike back to Ducksburg?" Charity suggested.
"No, I'm not going to leave the suit here, especially so close to Mark Beaks," Fenton said. "And I don't think you should go on your own."
Charity frowned, wondering if he said it because she was a woman, but decided not to push the issue. "How dangerous?" She immediately regretted asking the question.
"Well, I can use some cables from Gizmoduck's inner workings, but I don't have any clamps. As long as we are careful, it's not that dangerous," Fenton said, his words not matching his worried expression. "However, if one of us accidentally touches the wire, it's going to be more than just a nasty shock."
For me anyway, Charity thought. "Would the gloves keep us safe?"
"Yeah, but I only have one pair. And it'll take both of us to charge the battery," Fenton said seriously. "So you will wear the gloves."
"Not that it matters," Charity said glumly. "I'll feel it either way."
"Oh, right," Fenton said, frowning. "But I do this kind of stuff every day, so I'm less likely to make a mistake. Plus, if it's a lethal shock, you won't get hurt."
The way he said it so matter-of-factly, Charity reacted with anger. "What? You mean you could die?"
"Well…there's a small chance of that," he said with a shrug.
"Nope. We're not doing this. We'll just wait by the road and wave down someone. Maybe we can borrow their cell phone or they can get help for us," Charity said reasonably.
"I can't chance that Mark Beaks or Glomgold will find us. And with Gizmoduck out of commission, I don't have any way of fighting them off," Fenton argued.
Charity wracked her brain for any other solution, but if there was one, it didn't come to mind. "Okay. Tell me what to do."
Fenton cut two lengths of cable from Gizmoduck long enough to connect from the power source to the battery. After making Charity put the gloves back on, he showed her where on the power source to touch the bare wires.
"Do not move your hands from this position," he warned Charity. "Only touch the wire coverings."
"Okay."
Fenton took the job of holding the wires to the battery. He didn't tell the lovebird that if anything wrong happened, more than likely the car battery could explode. While the curse made it complicated, he was convinced it would be better if he was in the greater danger than Charity.
Together, they held the wires still against Gizmoduck's power source and the car battery.
"I'm going to turn Gizmoduck's power on now. But only at ten percent output," Fenton said, still worried that that would be too much energy. "If anything happens, remove the wires immediately."
Charity nodded.
Then, like revving a car to charge one battery from another, Fenton used vocal commands for the suit to expel energy into the cables. On his side, there was snapping and sparks, but he held still. Just as soon as it started, it ended.
"Sorry. I let go," Charity said after screaming at the sound of the sparks. "I didn't know that would happen."
"I should have warned you," Fenton said, his nerves feeling like pinpricks.
"I'm ready. I can do it again," Charity said, although her voice was a bit shaky.
"Give me a minute," Fenton said, holding his device against the battery, checking for a charge. "No need. It's holding a charge."
"Really?" Charity asked, amazed. "That's it?" She looked relieved.
"It didn't need much. Now I just need to connect it to the communications box, and we've got a mobile device," Fenton said with a grin. With his trusty wire cutters and electrical tape, he quickly attached the two together.
They left the shelter of the gas station, Fenton leading the way and holding out the device like it was a dowsing rod looking for water. Charity kept nearby, holding the car battery. "Anything?" Charity asked as they circled the building.
"No. There's definitely something disrupting the signal, so we'll need to move farther away."
"Down the road or into the field?" Charity asked, hoping it wasn't the latter. She gave the field behind the gas station an uncertain look, especially at the cows that were languidly watching them while chewing their cud.
"Neither," Fenton said. "We need to go up."
"Up?"
Using a dozen empty cartons, Fenton and Charity clamored over a precarious tower to get to the gas station's roof, the heat of the sun doubling due to the black shingles. Charity winced, feeling the heat for both of them on her feet but didn't say anything as Fenton made his way to the peak.
"Almost," he said as he stretched his arms up high, seeing another bar blink on and off. "We need to get higher." He glanced around as if hoping someone had left a chair nearby to use. His eyes fell on Charity. "Get on my back."
"You sure?" she asked. When his only reply was to turn around and kneel down, she did as she was told. She tentatively swung her legs over his shoulders, her hands on the top of his head for balance.
Fenton stifled a grunt as he tried not to make a big show at how hard it was for him to stand up, wobbling a little as he got used to Charity's weight. His mother was always harping on him to exercise.
When he was upright, he teetered a bit as he passed up the communications device while holding the battery since the wires weren't that long. Once they were balanced, he found he could hold the stance well-enough, but not forever.
"Anything?" Fenton asked.
"I have three bars!" Charity exclaimed.
"Good. Now call someone," Fenton said.
"Uh…how? There's only two buttons," Charity wondered.
"It uses binary code," Fenton said, forgetting about that small detail. He had anticipated he would be the one punching in the phone number. Binary was as easy for him as walking. "Okay, give me the number you're calling, and I'll translate it." A slow burn crawled up his calves as his muscles complained.
Charity related Launchpad's cell number, which Fenton interpreted into binary, explaining that the top button represented zero, the bottom button was one. It took a lot longer than just typing in the number, but eventually it went through. The sound of the signal dialing came through the tiny speakers.
"Hello?" Launchpad's voice came through tinny.
"Launchpad, can you hear me?" Charity asked. Launchpad's voice sounded so good. She wished he was there. She wanted a hug from him. It was her personal opinion that Launchpad gave the best hugs.
"Charity? Are you okay? DW told me that some robot burst into the lab and took you," Launchpad shouted, his voice being disrupted by static.
"I'm fine, but Fenton and I need a ride. Can you come get us?" Charity asked. She tried to keep her voice calm.
"Yeah, no problem. Where are you?"
Charity was about to answer, but realized she didn't know. "Uh…Fenton. Where are we?"
Fenton was starting to feel the effects of the hot sun while holding more weight than he was used to. For a moment, his brain backfired before he realized he had no idea what the answer was.
"Uh…I don't know."
Silence.
"Charity, are you still there?"
"Launchpad, we're lost," Charity said, her calm being eaten away by uncertainty. She swallowed, her throat hard as the tears spilled down her cheeks.
"You're lost? What—what can I do? How do I find you?" Launchpad said, his voice growing even more concerned. "I'll be there in a heartbeat, but I need to know where you are."
"I don't know," Charity said, her chest threatening to start sobbing. "We're not in Ducksburg, and there aren't any signs or anything."
Over the speaker, a second voice was talking in the background, arguing with Launchpad.
"Where is she? Did that tin-brained Gizmoduck find her? Is she alright?"
"Just a minute, DW. I'm talking to her."
"Where is she?"
"They don't know. They're lost."
"Ho ho, that's rich. All those fancy gizmos and doo-dads, and he gets lost." The derisive voice could only be Darkwing. "Let me talk to her. I'll find them."
There was a lot of static that sounded as if they were wrestling for the phone. Charity, her tears slowing down, rolled her eyes. Boys…
"Charity. Charity. Are you there?"
"I'm here, Darkwing. And I'm fine. Gizmoduck saved me." She was fine crying while talking to Launchpad, but she was not going to let it show in her voice while Darkwing could hear.
From below, Fenton cleared his throat. "Not to rush you, but could you talk a little faster? Please?"
Charity remembered where she was, having forgotten their dire circumstances when she heard Launchpad's voice. "Right. Darkwing, we're lost. Gizmoduck's suit was badly damaged and it's not working."
"This wouldn't have happened if that mad scientist hadn't drugged me," Darkwing shouted through the speaker. "He's got a lot to answer for, especially withholding that he's Gizmoduck. But for now, look around. Describe anything around you. What can you see?"
"Well, I can't see Ducksburg, that's for sure," Charity observed. "But there's not much else."
"What does the landscape look like? Desert? Forest?"
"Farmlands as far as the eye can see. There's a dilapidated barn over there. Some black and white cows," Charity said dully.
"Faster please," Fenton said through gritted teeth. His knees were starting to wobble.
"Darkwing, we might lose the signal. I don't know what else to say," Charity said, sounding urgent.
"Launchpad says you're at an abandoned gas station. What company?"
"Uh…the one with the green dinosaur, I think?" Charity answered, recalling the faded logo in the front window.
"We're also approximately forty miles outside of Ducksburg according to my GPS, but I didn't memorize the coordinates."
"Fenton says we're at least forty miles out," Charity repeated. She could feel Fenton start to give out from under her. "That's all we have, Darkwing. I don't know what else…Oh, I remember something." She closed her eyes, trying to remember the conversation with the two idiotic villains that had captured her. "We're around ten miles from the ocean."
"That's something to go by. Hang tight, Charity. We'll come for you. Oh, for that over-sized bucket, too."
Fenton practically collapse as the call ended. Charity climbed off his shoulders and helped him to his feet.
"Are you okay?" Charity asked, touching Fenton's shoulder as he wiped his forehead and caught his breath. She could feel his fatigue and the ache in his back and shoulders from their bond. While he wasn't in pain, he could still tell that his body had strained to hold her up.
"I'm fine," Fenton said, straightening up. "I'm more worried about you." He reached out and touched her cheek, his finger coming back with a drop of moisture.
She was still crying. First she was the damsel in distress, now she was crying. Was she going to touch every bad cliché today?
Before she knew it, Fenton encircled her with his arms, holding her—not tight—but in a comforting way. It wasn't a Launchpad hug, but it'll do.
"We should get inside," Charity said when she finally pulled away. "It's too hot."
Together they climbed off the roof and went back inside, which wasn't much cooler than outside. As they sat on the floor, Charity handed the water bottle to Fenton, which only had a few swallows left.
"No, you drink it," Fenton said, shaking his head.
"I drank most of it. You take it," Charity refused.
Fenton took in Charity's appearance. She wore jeans and a sweater. Not exactly the best outfit to remain cool. She was in the same predicament as he was, but Fenton knew when a woman was going to be stubborn. He learned that from his mama.
He took the bottle and drank the last of the water.
Silence reigned in the gas station, neither one knowing what else to say. Charity was fine with the silence, her thoughts too full to notice that Fenton seemed uncomfortable. The male duck, stuck with a woman who he knew was in love with him, felt pressured to start a conversation.
"I guess you were surprised that it was me inside the Gizmoduck suit?" he breached.
Charity turned her head to him, pushing her inner thoughts away. "I guess," she said with a shrug. "I never guessed you could be Gizmoduck."
I bet she was disappointed, Fenton thought. He wasn't exactly the poster boy of what a super hero should look like.
"I was a little disappointed," Charity said.
A shock ran through Fenton's system as she echoed his thoughts, cementing his self-image.
"When we met back in the restaurant a few days ago, I sort of…felt something," Charity explained, her eyes soft on him. "And when we met again this morning, I thought there was something more to us meeting. My family's curse is usually the deciding factor in who we marry. My mom married my dad because she bonded with him through the curse. The same with my grandfather. Rarely does someone in my family fall in love without the influence of the curse. So, I thought that…my feelings toward you could have been real."
She looked away, pink tinging her cheeks at her boldness.
Fenton's heart skipped a beat. What if they were? What if her feelings were real at that time?
His earlier tests had concluded that the curse recognized him as Gizmoduck even if she didn't make that connection, therefore she acted as if she were in love with Fenton without knowing his secret identity. But what if that wasn't the case? He hadn't taken in account that something may have happened between them in that short, chance encounter at the restaurant. If it did, then his earlier tests were inconclusive. And because of that, whether or not Charity's feelings for Fenton were the same as how she felt about Gizmoduck was a mystery.
"I'm glad it's you that's Gizmoduck," Charity continued with a smile. "I kind of had this vision of what kind of man Gizmoduck would be. I kept imagining a muscle-bound, pretty-boy who was all smiles and no brains."
Fenton raised an eyebrow. "That's how you thought of Gizmoduck?"
"I only met him once," Charity defended with a laugh. "He caught a chunk of a building, tossed it out of his way, and told me to get to safety in this deep, manly voice." She looked at Fenton and bowed her head. "Sorry, I'm talking about you as if you were another person."
"I kind of think of Gizmoduck in that way as well," Fenton said. "I know I'm Gizmoduck, but I don't act like me when in my role. At least, not most of the time. When I'm in the suit, it's like I'm someone else."
Charity smiled and scooted over so they were side-by-side. "Well, Fenton is much easier to talk to than Gizmoduck," she said.
Fenton had a sudden desire to put his arm around her. But would that be too forward? She had moved closer to him. Was it because she wanted him to touch her? What was appropriate in this kind of situation? What if she pulled away? He had hugged her before, but that was instinct. Whenever his mama had a bad day, he always gave her an embrace. But that didn't necessarily mean that they were close enough to anything more intimate.
Fenton remained where he was, inwardly sighing. He wished he had better social graces than this when it came to girls. Not even his date with Gandra—which only turned out to be espionage in disguise—had been a disaster.
"What's it like to be Gizmoduck?" Charity asked. They were so close, when she turned her head, her beak was only inches away from his.
"Uh…well…it's kind of like being on a roller coaster, but one you can drive," Fenton described poorly. "I don't know how to put this. It's more than just having a metal armor and all these super gadgets surrounding me. It's like I'm wrapped up in courage and confidence. It's really hard not to think and act like Gizmoduck once I'm in the suit."
"I kind of wish I had a Gizmoduck suit, too," Charity said with a laugh. "I could use some of that confidence."
"You seem pretty confident to me. And how you got away from Beaks and Glomgold, that took a lot of courage," Fenton said. "You don't need a suit. You're amazing as is." His face flushed as he realized what he had said.
Charity leaned forward and kissed his cheek, soft and sweet. Eyes wide, she jerked away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—" She buried her face in her arms. "Oh, this stupid curse. I…I reacted without thinking."
"No. No. It's fine. I don't mind." When he saw her face peeking out, he was certain his face was just as red.
"I'm sorry. I don't want to make things awkward," Charity said, her face still half-covered by her arms.
"If this is you without confidence, with a suit, you could take on the world," Fenton blurted out. He had intended to say something funny to diffuse the situation, but he worried he may have made it worst.
"I don't need to take on the world, just my life until I can get this curse broken," Charity said, finally straightening up. "Or maybe just around Darkwing."
"Darkwing?"
"Oh, it's not really anything, but have you ever met your idol?"
Most of the people Fenton admired were scientists, philosophers, and inventors, all of whom were dead. The closest he could compare it to was Gyro, who had had a grand reputation for science majors all over the world. It had been amazing to be chosen as Gyro's intern, and given that Gyro's manners weren't exactly exquisite, genius more than made up for politeness.
He shook his head.
"I've been crazy about Darkwing Duck for most of my life. You know how Launchpad is?"
Fenton did. He nodded.
"Well, I may not be as big of a nerd as he is, but I have been in love with the idea of a masked, super hero since I was ten. So, meeting Darkwing was a huge deal, but not what I expected."
"How so?" Fenton asked, inviting her to continue.
"He's so…intimidating," Charity said, and her face grew even redder than before. "I never know how to react to him sometimes. And I can't trust my feelings or my instincts, so I don't know what's real anymore."
Fenton knew how she felt. Between the incident with Beaks tricking him into working for him and Gandra stealing the voice commands for Gizmoduck, he had felt so foolish for trusting people that he shouldn't. But Charity, her situation was different. She couldn't even trust herself. Her feelings were constantly tricking her into believing she was in love.
He felt ashamed at his own desires to act on her feelings. For all he knew, her infatuation was only a product of the curse. She didn't love him, only thought she did. A part of him wished it wasn't that way. After all, Charity was a pretty girl, and she was easy to talk to. If circumstances were different, he would…
No, he couldn't think about that. There was no "what if's" right now. Not until the curse was broken.
However, from what Charity was saying, it sounded as if Darkwing Duck hadn't realized this as well. Something stirred in Fenton, a small, dark spot in his mind that resembled resentment toward the masked duck. Fenton always thought the best of people, accepting their bad points along with the good. Heavens know he wasn't perfect, and he shouldn't expect anyone else to be. And even as he silently judged the caped super hero for what Charity said, he pushed his negative feelings away, giving Darkwing the benefit of the doubt. After all, there were two sides to a coin, not one.
And because the thought of talking more about Darkwing didn't appeal to him, he changed the subject.
"So, what was Launchpad like growing up?" Fenton asked, smiling. "He must have been a handful."
Charity rolled her eyes in good humor. "Oh boy, was he. I think he gave gray hairs to his parents, his teachers, his neighbors and my mom." She laughed. "There was this one time he somehow acquired illegal fireworks…"
Scrooge hated technology. Oh, some of it was kind of useful, but sometimes enough was enough.
"How do you hang up this blasted thing?" Scrooge grumbled, glaring at the cell phone. Could he just lie it down on the table? Or was it voice activated?
Mrs. Beakley gently took the cell away from her employer and pressed the red button on the screen before handing it back. "What's the news? When are they coming back?"
"According to that purple weirdo, there was a little hiccup at the lab," Scrooge said. He raised an eyebrow. Very few details had been relayed through the phone, which made Scrooge suspect it was more than a hiccup.
Even though Darkwing Duck hadn't said anything, Scrooge did know that the building had been broken into, but the bin remained untouched, the sensors surrounding his money as peaceful as ever. He wasn't worried with Gizmoduck there. The lad may be a little eccentric, but after everything that had happened in the past year, Fenton could handle anything.
"They'll be back soon," Scrooge said.
"I have lunch almost ready. I'll gather everyone around the table. When the others return, Huey and Webbigail can tell everyone what they found," Mrs. Beakley summarized.
"Very good, 22," Scrooge said. "And what of our guest in the basement? Is he behaving himself?"
"I've already checked on him several times. He hasn't eaten or drunken anything," Mrs. Beakley said with an edge of concern. "He is very disturbed. I have a bad feeling about him."
"You worry too much," Scrooge shrugged off her warning. "What about Donald? Has he woken up?"
"Yes, and none-too-pleased by being knocked out and carted all over," Mrs. Beakley said with some humor. "He's back on his boat, most likely grumbling about the way his latest fight ended."
"Oh, I know how he feels," Scrooge said, recalling a certain blond woman. "There's nothing more frustrating than going head-to-head with an opponent you can't hit."
Mrs. Beakley raised an eyebrow, knowing who he was talking about.
"Where are the kids?"
"Most likely rotting their brains with television," Mrs. Beakley answered, gesturing in the direction of the rec room.
Once again, Scrooge considered if technology was all that it was cracked up to be. When he was a duckling, they didn't even have a radio. He entertained himself with sticks, rocks and his own imagination.
Then again, if left to their own devices, the triplets often found trouble enough for a lifetime. TV wasn't so bad.
When he stepped into the room, Scrooge didn't see what was wrong with the picture before him. All he could see was the head of one child over the couch in the low lights and thought the others were elsewhere. But then he saw that the TV was off, and that caught his attention. He narrowed his eyes at the large, blank screen. He moved around to the front of the couch, wondering what was going on.
"Bless me bagpipes!" he exclaimed, tensing when he found Louie tied up and gagged, eyes widening at the sight of his uncle. He reached out and tore away the cloth that prevented the green-clad duckling from speaking.
"He's out. That guy in the basement. Negaduck got out," Louie shouted, fear spiking his voice.
Mrs. Beakley was immediately at Scrooge's back, in a perfect Jujutsu stance that was most useful when expecting an unexpected attack.
"Where is he? Where are the others?" Scrooge asked, turning in a circle, feeling Mrs. Beakley moving with him. His eyes roamed the room. It was large, but there weren't any places for a person to hide.
"He left a few minutes ago," Louie said, his voice softer. "He…he took the others. He had a gun and a knife." He looked almost ashamed. "I didn't fight him. I let him tie me up."
As he explained, Mrs. Beakley untied him as Scrooge watched the door. "That's alright," she soothed him. "You did the right thing. There's no shame in surrendering when it's the smart thing to do."
"Where did he get a gun?" Scrooge wondered, scratching his chin.
Mrs. Beakley groaned. "Did it look like one from the Darkwing Duck show?" she asked Louie.
"Yeah, it did."
"Before I locked him up, I searched him. He had an…impressive arsenal of weapons, most likely taken from Darkwing's lair. I put them in the room next to him, but I didn't lock them up."
Scrooge swore in Gaelic. "Alright. Let's get Louie to the panic room. Does anyone know where Della and Donald are?" he asked.
"Mom was in the garage," Louie answered. "She was looking for her old motorcycle. And Uncle Donald is on his boat."
"They may still be safe. We'll find them, and the four of us can take care of Starling," Scrooge said. "He should be glad he's under that curse, or else I would—"
And that was when the lights went out.
Louie whimpered. He grabbed Scrooge's arm.
"He went for the electrical box," Mrs. Beakley said.
"Little good it'll do him. It's daytime," Scrooge said, although in this room it, the tactic was more than adequate. There weren't any windows in the rec room. "Let's move." Grabbing ahold of Louie's arm, he led them out into the hallway.
Light from the windows streamed in; no electrical lights were needed. Why would he turn off the electricity? It wouldn't help.
They chose speed over stealth as they headed for the stairs in the foyer. However, they stopped in their tracks when they noticed the color red where red shouldn't be. A long, dark smear made a snake-like trail from one end of the foyer to the other, disappearing behind a door.
Mrs. Beakley knelt down and touched it. "Blood," she confirmed. "But whose?"
"It's from dragging a body," Scrooge noticed, his brain working it through. "He could carry the kids easier than dragging them, so this is from either Della or Donald." He gritted his teeth at the thought of any of his kids in that predicament. "I'm sorry, 22. I should have listened to you."
"No, it's not entirely you're fault," Mrs. Beakley said, keeping her back to the stairs. "I didn't think he could escape either. If I suspected he could break out, I would have insisted he not stay in the house."
They raced upstairs, not stopping for anything. They went into Scrooge's study where the elderly duck found the book Crime and Punishment and pulled on it. That caused the entire bookcase to open up to reveal a metal door. He typed in a number which caused the door to open with a whoosh.
Inside it looked like a bunker complete with rations, water, blankets, and a few other necessities. A light shone strong and bright since it was on a generator separate from the rest of the house.
"In you go, lad. He can't get you here," Scrooge said.
"You're going to leave me alone?" Louie asked, although he knew that would always be the case. Mrs. Beakley and Scrooge McDuck would never hide in safety as long as their family was in danger.
"We'll take care of things," Scrooge said, patting his head. "If we don't come back in a couple of hours, there's a phone in there. Call for help."
"Let's call for help now!" Louie insisted. "That guy is crazy. Too much crazy for one person."
"If we contact the police, they'll come with guns. Someone could get hurt." Mrs. Beakley said with a tight grimace.
"Let's hope it won't come to that. However, Darkwing and Gizmoduck are on their way. They'll be better backup than the police."
After giving Louie a few more reassuring words, they closed the door and moved the bookcase into place. Whatever may happen, at least he was safe.
Before they ventured back downstairs, Scrooge replaced his iconic cane with a rapier that hung on the wall, testing its sharpness with his finger. Mrs. Beakley didn't go for something so delicate. She took the only thing she felt would be useful in a gunfight: an iron shield large enough to cover up her vitals. In a pinch, a shield also could be used as an offensive weapon.
Slower than before, the two covered each other's back as they descended to the ground floor. Starling could be anywhere.
Communicating with nods and gestures, they both agreed to follow the blood which crossed the foyer and into the east wing of the mansion. It didn't take long for them to realize where it led.
"The basement," Scrooge growled. "That's why he turned off the electricity." There were only a few windows in the basement, most of them small, gritty and completely useless. Without lights, it would be darker than a bottomless pit.
"Flashlights," Mrs. Beakley suggested, and they backed away from the basement door.
Stealthily, they made their way to the kitchen where a pair of flashlights could be found. Forgetting about comfort or style, they used duct tape to secure the flashlights—one to Scrooge's top hat, the other to Mrs. Beakley's shoulder—to keep their hands free to fight. They returned to the basement door, opening it as slowly as possible. The door squeaked open, shrill and rusty. As Scrooge went down, Mrs. Beakley followed sideways, occasionally glancing behind them in case Starling had been on the ground floor all along. The stairs ended and a hallway began, the blood trail fainter. They hoped it was because the wound had started to clot and not because the heart belonging to the body no longer worked.
Doors lined the hallway all the way to the end, the blood trail leading past all into the murky darkness ahead. S.H.U.S.H. training had taught them in a situation like this that they should check every door. One-by-one, they tested each doorknob, most of them locked. The few that were unlocked had scratches around the locks, telling the story that someone had forced the mechanism to open with something sharp. These doors Scrooge and Mrs. Beakley did a quick check and always left disconcerted. The rooms in the basement were filled with antiquities, artifacts, furniture, boxes, and sometimes just junk from the many decades of the elderly duck's adventures. They couldn't very well check every nook and corner and often left the room with the uneasy feeling that Starling could still be hiding in one of them.
After the third door, they stopped checking. If Starling was hiding in a room, they would just have to handle the situation as best they could.
At the end of the wall, the blood trail turned, disappearing through a door that was open just a crack.
"The jail cell," Mrs. Beakley whispered.
From within came a moan.
"Della." Scrooge recognized the voice.
"Wait," Mrs. Beakley said, stopping her employer from bursting in. "It could be a trap. Or he could be waiting inside the door for us."
"I'll risk it," Scrooge said. "You stay outside. If something happens to me, you get out of here and wait for Gizmoduck and that other guy."
"And leave Webbigail and the boys. Not on your life," Mrs. Beakley said, raising her shield. She jiggled her flashlight around, looking closely at the door and frame. "I don't see any traps. Go in but slowly."
Scrooge eased the door open, moving his head slowly so that the light could pick up every detail. He tensed his muscles, waiting for something to happen or Starling to pop out. Nothing. After checking every inch of floor, wall and ceiling, he stepped inside, his light falling on the bars of the cell and beyond.
"Della. Boys. Webby," he called out, seeing all of them inside the jail cell, some on the floor, some on the cot. None of them moved. He could see a wet redness on the side of Della's head.
"Are they alright?" Mrs. Beakley asked.
"I don't know," Scrooge replied, deeply disturbed. He wanted to run to them, but the jail cell door was closed, and he knew that haste made waste. Running his flashlight all around the cell, he couldn't find any booby traps. The less he found, the more suspicious he was of the situation.
Della moaned again. At least she was alive.
"I'm going in," he told Mrs. Beakley, reaching for the cell door. It then occurred to him that it might be locked, but a quick pulled proved that wasn't the case.
What had Starling intended to do with his captives? If he wanted to use them as bait, he wasn't doing a good job of it. There were no traps, nothing to stop Scrooge and Mrs. Beakley. He hadn't locked them up. Was he counting on them not waking until he could find a permanent solution?
What was Starling up to?
He didn't have time to mull over the mind of a madman. Della was hurt and needed medical attention and maybe the kids would as well.
Scrooge rushed to his niece's side, looking at the wound on her head. It had stopped bleeding but looked pretty nasty. When Della looked up at Scrooge, one of her pupils was bigger than the other, a sign of a concussion.
"We need to get her out of here," Scrooge said, patting Della's hand. "Don't worry, darling. Just hang on a few moments." He then checked on Huey, Dewey and Webbigail, checking their pulses. They were alive but unconscious.
"Gas gun," Mrs. Beakley said, recalling the weapon she took from Starling.
"I just may spare Starling since he didn't hurt the kids," Scrooge growled, taking in all the bodies. "I'm not leaving anyone behind. I can carry Huey and Dewey, if you can take Della and Webby."
Mrs. Beakley looked around again, her flashlight running along the same lines as Scrooge's, not seeing anything. She, too, was just as uneasy as the male duck, but could not see any reason to be suspicious. "Okay, let's be quick." She moved into the cell, hoping she wouldn't have to abandon the shield to carry the two females.
Just as she bent down to pick up Della from the floor, many things happened almost simultaneously. First the lights turned on suddenly. Second there was a flash and a loud bang. Finally, the door to the jail cell slammed shut.
"What the—" Scrooge shouted, straightening up from where he was picking up Huey. "Starling, is he here?" He turned the rapier to the door of the room, but the entry remained empty.
"I don't think so."
"It was a trap. How did we miss it?" Scrooge asked, putting down his nephew and approached the bars.
"I don't know," Mrs. Beakley said. Just as Scrooge was about to grab the bars of the door, she heard a familiar hum. She jumped out and grabbed her friend just before he could touch the iron. "It's been electrified," she warned him. To prove her guess, she threw Scrooge's rapier at the bars and pops and sparks emitted from the contact.
"How?"
Mrs. Beakley shook her head, mentally berating herself for missing something. "We didn't check behind the door." Now with the lights on, she could see what she had missed before.
An electrical outlet cover had been removed, the naked wires stripped. A longer wire was attached and ran along the floor, connecting to the iron bars. And not just wrapped around the bars but it looked as if it had been melted to the iron.
"What about the door? How did he do that?"
Mrs. Beakley sniffed the air. "Gun powder. There must have been some in the gas gun containers. Look, scorch marks. And another, thinner wire." She caught sight of the ingenious trap. "When he turned the lights back on, the electricity ignited the gun powder, and the blast closed the door."
"Smart. But not smart enough to keep Scrooge McDuck a prisoner," the elderly duck growled. "He probably thought he could electrocute us so we couldn't escape. But since he didn't, all we have to do is open the door and we can step out."
"And how do we do that without getting shocked?" Mrs. Beakley asked.
Careful of his niece's injury, Scrooge took off Della's flight jacket. "Pure leather. It won't conduct electricity."
Mrs. Beakley smiled. "Smartest of the smarties," she said. "Just be careful you aren't touching the metal zipper or buttons.
Finding a grip that didn't have any metal, Scrooge tensed his body as he tentatively touched the bars. Nothing happened, which both relieved and aggravated the billionaire. "Move. Move!" he shouted at the door. He pushed harder. "I don't understand. He couldn't lock it without a key."
Mrs. Beakley's eyes widened. "Magnetized. Iron, when an electric current runs through it, can be magnetized." She released a tense breath, realizing that they were properly trapped.
"No! It can't be possible," Scrooge shouted. "He couldn't have trapped us this easily. The electrical box is in the garage. He couldn't have known the exact moment we were both in the jail to turn the electricity back on."
As if on cue, a deep, throaty laugh permeated the room, sounding distant but strong. The two ducks were confused at where it was coming from, following their ears to a cell phone propped in the corner outside of the bars. They hadn't noticed it before because the screen had been darkened, but it was on a call.
"Enjoy your stay in the guest quarters," Starling's voice cackled through the speakers. "I'll come visit you shortly. After I'm done with Darkwing Duck."
It had to be the right gas station. From his internet search, Darkwing had found an abandoned gas station that fit Charity's description: in farm country, ten miles away from the sea, middle of nowhere, belonged to the company with the green dinosaur. It had to be.
Even before Launchpad screeched to a halt, Darkwing had the door of the limousine thrown open and raced inside. The first indication that he was right was the glass door lying broken and twisted in the parking lot which could only have happened from someone strong. Someone like Gizmoduck.
"Charity," he called out, stepping into the building. He spotted the colossal mass of metal first, then found Fenton and Charity on the floor, backs to the glass doors of the refrigerator section. Both were asleep with Charity's head on the scientist's shoulder, Fenton's head on the lovebird's.
It was a sight that both relieved him and infuriated him, the former because Charity was safe and whole, less worse for wear than last he saw her. But seeing her with…him…with Gizmoduck, he felt something inside him start to boil.
"Awww, that's so cute," Launchpad said, walking up beside him. "I gotta get a picture." His phone flashed a few times.
Swallowing down a growl, Darkwing swooped down and scooped Charity into his arms, not caring that Fenton was jerked awake as he fell to the floor.
"Wha—Oh, Launchpad. You're here," Fenton said, sleepy and confused. "Where is Charity?"
"I got her," Darkwing said from the entrance. "Get your piece of junk in the car." Then he marched out.
From the jostling and talking, Charity slowly woke, murmuring inaudibly from whatever dream she was having. "Darkwing?" she asked, her eyes falling onto him. "You found us."
"Yeah, I did," Darkwing said. He gently set her down in the front seat of the limousine. He knelt down in the dust "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"
Charity shook her head. "This was one adventure I walked away unscathed except for a few mental traumas." She quirked her mouth up jokingly.
Darkwing sighed, his muscles that hadn't stopped tensing since she was captured finally loosening. He took her hand. "Thank goodness. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. That scientist, if he didn't—"
"Fenton!" Charity shouted, not letting Darkwing finish his sentence. "Where's Fenton?"
"Oh, him," Darkwing grunted, his mood darkening as Charity's attention shifted. "He's back there with Launchpad."
Charity peered over Darkwing's shoulder, seeing the two dragging the broken shell of Gizmoduck through the doorway. With Launchpad's strength, they were able to move it more effectively than Charity and Fenton could have. She sat back down, looking relieved to have seen him.
Darkwing cleared his throat, bringing the lovebird's attention back to him. "As I was saying, I wanted to come save you. But that drug that Gizmoduck gave me, it didn't wear off quickly."
Thinking back to only a few hours ago, Darkwing hadn't had full control of his muscles as he watched Fenton don the Gizmoduck suit and blast off after Charity and the robot. After that, he had to be carried around by Manny all through the bin, shouting for Launchpad and earning several strange looks from Scrooge McDuck's employees who seemed more perturbed by Darkwing's predicament than concerned.
"His name is Fenton," Charity said. "He's not Gizmoduck unless he's in the suit."
"Whatever. It's Fenton's fault that this happened. That guy who built the robot, he has it out for Gizmoduck, which is why you were in danger," Darkwing blamed.
"No, it's not," Charity defended. "They were after me. They wanted to use me for my curse so they wouldn't feel pain anymore." She looked disgusted at the thought.
This threw Darkwing through a loop. He hadn't expected this twist, which had completely shredded his next words which he had practiced over and over in his head to feed his anger. But Charity's words threw water on the coals, and his ire sizzled out.
Before Darkwing could say anything else, Charity scooted out of the limousine and rushed to Fenton and Launchpad, grabbing Gizmoduck's arm and pulling.
"Charity, you should sit down," Darkwing said with concern.
"I will once we get Gizmoduck inside," Charity insisted, straining at the armor with all her strength.
With the four of them working together, they somehow managed to fit the massive robotic armor in the back seat, the rear wheels sitting low on its axles. The hardest part was getting the shoulders through the door, which they had to keep rotating Gizmoduck to fit it exactly in with Fenton on the inside pulling.
"Whew, thanks guys," Fenton said, wiping his brow. He was smooshed against the Gizmoduck suit in the back with barely room to move.
"Yeah, yeah," Darkwing said, shutting the door quickly. "Let's get back. You look exhausted, Charity." He guided her with his hand on the small of her back to the front seat, letting her in before him.
With Launchpad driving, the front seat was just as packed as the back. As the limousine started up and rolled away, there were a few groans and disconcerting noises from the vehicle.
"I hope we don't break something before we get back to the lab," Fenton said, sticking his head through the window divider.
Darkwing argued, "We're going to McDuck's mansion. Launchpad can drop us off before taking you and your dented can back."
Charity rolled her shoulder, feeling a bit stifled. She had reason to believe Darkwing was making this decision for her own good without consulting her first. But instead of arguing, she said, "Okay. We'll drop of Darkwing at the mansion then go to the lab. Is that okay, Launchpad?"
"Sounds good," Launchpad said, ready for anything.
"What?" Darkwing shook his head. "No. You need to rest, Charity."
"I'm fine," Charity said. "I want to see Fenton fix Gizmoduck. Is that alright, Fenton?"
"Uh…" Fenton had an uncanny feeling he was in the middle of something but wasn't quite sure what was going on. "Yeah, that's fine. Although I just need to get him plugged in and put him back into the restore chamber. The computer does most of the mundane fixing. I won't need to fine tune anything until tomorrow."
"Great." Charity smiled and refused to look Darkwing in the face even though she badly wanted to.
"After everything you've been through on top of being captured, you're not fine. You need rest," Darkwing insisted.
"All of my injuries are minor," Charity said, feeling her anger surface. "I'm not dying."
Darkwing was about to argue back, but Fenton broke in.
"After being in the heat, it might be a good idea to get some water," Fenton suggested lightly. "But besides that, I agree that her injuries are minor except for that burn. And I treated that wound myself."
"Which feels so much better, thank you Fenton," Charity said, feeling smug that the scientist was on her side.
At that point, Darkwing reached over both Charity and Launchpad to the buttons on the driver's door, rolling the dividing window up. Fenton was barely able to retract his head before his beak was clamped shut by the window.
Charity glared at Darkwing and opened her mouth to protest his childish behavior. Before she could, Darkwing spoke.
"Please, Charity, just take it easy for a day. In the past twenty-four hours, you have been captured twice. I held you as you suffered a burn so intense that you passed out. And then that machine took you away," Darkwing explained, looking more imploring than demanding. "I didn't know if I would ever see you again."
Charity immediately softened at this plea, seeing the situation through Darkwing's eyes. "I guess I am a little tired," she admitted. "And Mr. McDuck did want to tell us what he found out about my curse, so I guess we should take a short break at the mansion."
Darkwing smiled.
"Let's ask Fenton if he can wait a while before taking Gizmoduck back to his lab," Charity added, reaching over Launchpad and lowering the window again.
Darkwing Duck folded his arms and slumped in his seat as Charity asked the question and Fenton amiably replied that he could as long as he contacted Gyro first.
With the destination set, Launchpad made his way back to the mansion and only hit one mailbox. Just as they rolled into the driveway, there was the familiar sound of a phone vibrating.
"It's Dewey. He's sent a text," Launchpad said, taking his eyes off the road for a minute and running into the fountain in front of the mansion. It was a good thing they were only going ten MPH.
After checking for whiplash, Darkwing and Charity exited the vehicle, the latter opening the rear door and helping Fenton squish his way past the Gizmoduck suit, the former standing idly by with his arms folded.
"Perhaps Mr. McDuck has found a way to break the curse," Fenton said optimistically. "He does seem to be an expert at this magic stuff."
Charity smiled, but not because she believed it. She had come to Mr. McDuck with low expectations. Even if she were to go home tomorrow just as she was, she would be happy. Already she was satisfied with the results of going to Scrooge for help. With Gizmoduck on one side of her and Darkwing on the other, this already surpassed her hopes.
"Wait up, guys," Launchpad shouted, stopping the trio before they got too far. "I think you need to hear this." He had a worried expression on his face that was unlike him. He raised his cell phone and read, "Can Darkwing come over and play? Olly olly oxen free."
"Launchpad, we don't have time for the kid's jokes," Darkwing said irritated. "Let's go."
But the taller duck didn't listen but kept reading. "Ring around the ivy. Things were kind of lively. Ashes. Ashes. The Duck family falls down."
Fear wrapped around several hearts as the childish words turned dark.
Launchpad's phone vibrated again. "Don't worry, they're safe. For now. They're not who I want."
Darkwing quickly made the connection. "Starling. He got out."
"Wait. Who is Starling?" Fenton asked, looking at each of their faces.
"Jim," Charity whispered.
Another text alert sounded. "Enter or she'll be sorry." Launchpad frowned at that, then looked at his friends. "What does that mean?"
With a gasp, Charity fell to one knee. A dark red stain spread over her lower pant leg.
Another text sounded. Launchpad didn't react to it since he had rushed to Charity's side, rolling up her jeans to show a small gash.
Darkwing snatched away the phone and looked at the text. "The next one will mar that pretty face," he read before he smashed the phone against the ground.
"Oh, yeah. This is so much more restful than the lab," Charity added with grim humor.
(Author notes: Sorry, I have a lot of notes.
First, I finally saw all three seasons of Ducktales. I had intended to make minor changes to Twisted Strings of Fate so it would go with season three, but as awesome as it was, I don't think it meshes well. I hope to perhaps write a sequel to TSoF that also include season three with minor changes (I really want to write Gosalyn into a story. I think she and Charity would get along.).
Second, considering that there was very little screen time with Darkwing Duck/Drake Mallard and Jim Starling/Negaduck, their personalities are heavily influenced by the '91 series, especially Negaduck. I really love writing them both, and I'm super excited to get the next chapter out next week. It's a good one.
Third, that amazing trap (yes, I'm going to call it amazing) while I stretched reality a bit, most of my science is correct. I had to research a lot for this chapter. I also consulted my husband since he is a jack-of-all-trades handy man who has done everything from replacing electrical wiring in our house to rebuilding a classic car. He agrees with most of my research, although he isn't quite certain about using a leather jacket to touch electrified metal bars. The Internet says it's safe, but he says he's been shocked with leather gloves. So, kids, don't try it at home.)