The time: midday. The place: Desert, somewhere in the Middle East. The song on the radio: Back in Blackbird by...well, he didn't know the band's name. Fenton had always been more of an 80s music person.

Wait. Was Back in Blackbird 80s?

Doesn't matter. Point is, it was the last peaceful (or at least, semi-peaceful) moment Fenton would have in a long time.

He had been sitting in a high-security military-grade ATV, part of a convoy traveling through the desert to get back to the airport. There had been three guards with him, and more in the other four vehicles; and, since his ATV was in the very middle of the caravan, Fenton should've been the safest person there.

Emphasis on should've.

There had been a...drink in his hand. Yes. He had been offered bourbon, but refused - his stomach had been hurting, and he didn't want to risk puking all over the soldier next to him. They gave him iced water instead. There hadn't been any cup holders, so he had held the drink in his hands. He had been wearing his lucky shirt, too - the beige one with the purple tie. It was slightly damp now; he had been sweating all morning.

He had tried to start a conversation.

"So...you do this often?" he asked nervously. "I mean, escorting people like this? I honestly don't get why I need this many guards-" Fenton had looked over at the guard sitting next to him and, getting no response, blathered on. "Um, sorry, am I allowed to talk to you? I mean, I'd hate to interrupt your...soldier...business."

"We're allowed to talk, sir." said the man next to him stiffly.

Fenton had laughed, mainly out of surprise. "You don't need to call me - uh - sir. I'm not a general or scientist or anything. I'm just an…assistant."

"Still," said the soldier in the driver's seat (and Fenton had been surprised - she was a woman,) "It's not every day you get to meet the assistant for the most famous scientist in the world. What's he like? Gearloose? Is he as crazy as they say? Mad scientist and all that?"

"Well, he's not...that...crazy. Just, like - misunderstood. That's what he always says, at least. You kinda get used to it after a while."

The soldier turned around and raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Fenton shrugged. "Fine. You never get used to it. But at least the pay's good, right?"

They had laughed. Then the soldier to his right cleared his throat.

"Um, would it be okay if I got...a picture with you?" he asked.

Fenton smiled. "Sure! Again, don't know why you'd want it - I'm not famous or anything - but sure!"

The soldier in the passenger seat had been trying to take the photo.

"I'm not - these Waddle phones are so confusing," he muttered, squinting at the screen. Fenton rolled his eyes. Of course it was Waddle. If Waddle was consistent about one thing, it was terrible software.

"Don't try to change the setting," the soldier next to Fenton had snapped. "Just press the button. No, I don't want a video-"

And that was officially the last peaceful moment of Fenton's life. Because right after that, the ATV in front of them exploded.

They all screamed, Fenton's voice loudest and highest of all. Suddenly everything was a blur; he watched in horror as the two front-seat soldiers attempted to get out of the car and were on the ground before they could fire a shot. The man next to him - who a second ago had been holding up a peace sign for a souvenir photo - pulled a gun out of nowhere and moved to open the car door.

"Stay here!" he ordered.

"Wait - don't I get a gun?" Fenton had yelped, ducking down against the seat.

"No time! Just stay down!" The soldier yanked open the door, slamming it behind him. He hadn't even taken a step before he and the door were peppered with bullets.

Fenton screamed again. He had thought he was going to die. There had been this - this ringing in his ears, and he coughed on dust, and suddenly he knew had to get out of there, the walls were closing in, he was gonna die if he didn't-

He burst out of the car door and staggered through a battlefield of fire and blood - something may have hit him, he wasn't sure. He was just focused on trying to get away.

Finally it seemed like he was safe. He had hidden behind a rock, a few yards away from the battle. He pulled out his phone - Gearloose tech, of course - and began to type out a message.

Attacked in deser

Might bbe terrorists

Vehicles down heavy fire snd ba-

That was as far as he got. There was a whoosh behind him, and a dull thud. Fenton turned around.

It was a small rocket, pill-shaped with tails on the end, smoking and beeping red. Pretty ordinary for a missile; the only thing that made it stand out was the words printed on the side.

Beaks-Gearloose Industries

Oh, no.

Fenton stood up and started to run-

Too late. It exploded, throwing him back at least fifty feet. He hit the ground.

That ringing in his ears was back, louder than ever. Fenton looked down and groaned in pain and disgust. Something sharp and pointy and terrible had blasted through his shirt, feathers and ribcage to lodge very painfully in his chest. And he had a horrible feeling he knew what it was.

The next thing he knew something rough was being pulled off his head. Rough and scratchy - like a sack or something. A thump on the back and jab of pain, and he was awake.

His head hurt. And his chest. He tried to open his eyes; those hurt too. He couldn't move his hands, they were tied behind his back. Or handcuffed, maybe. He raised his head, and it was then that he realized someone - a woman, by the sound of it - was speaking. Almost shouting, in fact.

"You conveniently forgot to tell us that the truck we attacked was not the vehicle carryin' the famous inventor Gyro Gearloose, as you promised, but instead his worthless little coffee boy. You filthy - You know, I really oughta clobber you fer lyin' to me. In fact, the only reason I'm still workin' with you is because this kid might be useful as ransom - but be warned…"

Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera opened his eyes and looked around.

He was in a small, cramped...cave, by the looks of it, the only source of light a lantern hanging from the ceiling. The room was sparse, empty but for a single man directly ahead of him operating a large video camera, and two men by the door. He took a quick glance to his left and right, and held in a gasp.

On either side of him, armed to the teeth with guns and knives, were masked men in matching red shirts - members of the terrorist group Beagle Boys. And directly to his right, holding a revolver an inch to his head, an old woman in a cardigan sweater, laced skirt, and flower-topped hat.

Ma Beagle pressed the weapon to the intern's head and looked directly at the camera.

"The price for working with me has just gone up." she growled.

Gizmoduck

A/N: Hey there! smoreyofhyrule here, officially publishing my first Ducktales fanfiction! And also technicially my first Marvel fanfiction. And probably the first-ever MCU - Ducktales…crossover? Parody? What is this? A freak of nature? An anomaly in the universe? The next great Broadway musical? Maybe!*

(I just wanted to give a brief explanation of…what this is and stuff, so this note's gonna be kind of long.)

So if you haven't guessed already this is the Marvel movies…but with Ducktales charcters. Gyro Gearloose is Tony Stark, Mark Beaks is…you can probably figure it out, and Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera is the intern who gets stuck between the two. There's some original characters, and a few characters (like Fenton himself) that aren't really based off anyone - but mostly it'll be easy to match up. I have plans for future 'Marveltales' stories, and I have some surprises in store, so I won't say who's who just yet…but feel free to post ideas! (Louie's and Launchpad's roles are my favorite - can anyone guess who they are?)

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it so far - this chapter was a prolouge, so it was pretty short. The next ones will definitely be longer - it might be a while before that one shows up though. I'm still putting the finishing touches on this story…think of this prolouge as a trailer for the movie. Speaking of, has anyone seen the new Spider-Man trailer…?

One last note - most of the story sticks to the Iron Man script, especially in the beginning - but as you can see already, there are some significant plot changes, and there's gonna be more as the story goes on. That's all! Stay safe, and see you soon! Probably! Farewell!*

-smorey

(*no singing actually included)

(*Story will update most Thursdays/Fridays. Unless the author forgets which day it is, which happens a lot.)