An Original Mighty Ducks Mini-fic by Mona
Disclaimer: All characters belonging to the show are © Disney. I can only claim Acacia Kennequack, Uncle Pato, and Canard's unnamed parents.
Maybe I'm dead. Maybe I'm a ghost, doomed to relive my memories until the end of time.
Except I know that's nonsense. I never believed in ghosts, and I don't intend to start now. I'm very much alive.
It's the world around me that's dead.
They call it Dimensional Limbo, a void that fills the space between two adjacent universes. Void that fills a space – what a paradox. But then my life's full of paradoxes. There's little geography here, just flashing silver and white. I'm standing on a plane, but I can walk. I walk and walk until I feel I'll collapse from exhaustion. But the scene never changes. It's as if I've stayed in the same spot and walked in place. Everything is static. I could have spent a millenium here, but who knows if any time passed in the real world at all?
Want the ultimate proof? I don't age. There are surfaces that stick out of the planes like cubic crystals. I've caught my reflection in the facets and I haven't changed. I expect my feathers to be flaking off, my face wrinkled – but I look as youthful as the day I fell here. I fear if I ever escape from this place and find my way back to Puckworld, everyone I knew would be a fossil or else dead.
Wildwing and the others think I'm dead. They must. I do know they survived and stalemated Dragaunus. Because Lucretia DeCoy showed up one day and told me so. As much as I hate her, the company was better than nothing.
She appeared all of a sudden, clutching a red device that I knew was a Saurian teleporter. We recognized each other instantly.
"Canard Thunderbeak," she said. "One of the ringleaders of the Resistance."
"Lucretia DeCoy," I snarled. "Puckworld's own Mata Hari."
She glared, then smirked. "Dragaunus finally got you. You always were the one he wanted the most."
"Seems we're in the same boat. What did you do? Outlive your usefulness in the eyes of your boss?"
"Thanks to your friends!"
I gasped. "My friends?"
"All six of them were alive when Dragaunus brought me to Earth. It seemed he was in gridlock. But they might be dead now. For all I know, the Saurians could have succeeded in creating that cannon and own the galaxy now."
"No! You don't know. It can't be true!"
Her voice turned syrupy. "I do know one thing, Thunderbeak. Acacia is dead. An appetizer for one of the Saurian officers. I witnessed her going through the one-way door. Except she never revealed her contacts. Believed in love and loyalty, the sap. Dragaunus was happy when I reported the execution, because I told him she was your girlfriend."
Acacia Kennequack? My girlfriend for almost three years? Sweet, strong Acacia who found the silver lining in everything – even when it looked hopeless? Lucretia might as well have told me the Twin Beaks were flat. "No!" I screamed. "She was too smart for the Saurian scumbags to catch her! She's alive somewhere and you're a liar!" I desperately wanted to believe she was lying. I knew she could lie through a smile but she could also be telling the truth. Acacia had stopped communicating with me shortly before the attack on Lizard Lips' headquarters. I had assumed she was going into hiding, but there was that horrible possibility. I swallowed. "And the rest of Puckworld?"
This time Lucretia didn't look as thrilled. "Once the Big Cheese left the planet, the labor camps mutinied one by one. What was left of the military began to attack the bases. The Saurians had to cut their losses after a few months and leave Puckworld entirely."
That was partially a relief. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why did you do it? Betray your home? What could the Saurians have possibly offered you to make you throw aside everything? Kill your fellow ducks?"
The horrible duckette looked slightly caught off-guard by that. During our interview, she had fiddled with her teleporter. "Some fallen angels have their reasons." She pressed a button. I reached out to knock the device away, but she was gone.
Where is Lucretia now? I have no idea. She might just be in another 'region' of Limbo, or maybe some distant world. It feels like years since that encounter, but you lose all track of time in the void.
The thing is, my life is finite. Even if I don't age, even if time speeds up or slows down or just stands still, I'm going to die. I spend my waking hours trying to figure out some way of escape or just sift through my memories.
The good memories are what keep me alive. I wonder about my poor mother. My dad died in the initial attack when his office building collapsed. Teams of ducks were commissioned to search the ruins and dig out the dead, then publish lists of the confirmed casualties. It was a way for the Saurians to keep tabs on who was dead and who was alive. I guess the published lists also scared the laborers into submission. I was in one of the squads. (Occasionally we found someone alive. We were instructed to deliver anyone still breathing to makeshift hospitals. They were treated, only to be worked to death in the labor camps.) I found my own father, crushed in the rubble. My father's brother was in the same building. We turned the remains of the building upside-down but we never found him. Uncle Pato had vanished. When I think of him, I can't help but smile recalling the countless weekends he spent playing hockey with Wildwing and me. Or helping us with homework. The thought he might still be alive kept me going when I felt like giving up. The 'coroner' teams were less strictly supervised than the labor groups, so I managed to escape. For six months, I worked with the Resistance, whose goal was to overthrow Dragaunus. When I found Drake DuCaine's mask buried in the mountains, I knew the time to shake off that tyrant was near.
I wish I hadn't put Wildwing through so much grief. Though he's probably a better leader than I was. I always knew he had the potential to be great. The only thing standing in his path was his own low-esteem. I mean, I'm quick to temper and quick to forget. Wing on the other is slow to anger, but if it builds up…it's explosive. And I always admired Wildwing's loyalty. He always stuck by me. And he always protected his little brother.
Nosedive. I had convinced myself I hated him, but I didn't really. Well, except for the times he put grease in my water bottle or got me with the joy buzzer. That kid had guts. I guess I was just jealous of him. Wildwing had spent most of his time with me before the little featherball was born. And the blonde popinjay tagged along ever since he could walk. But he had this energy and exuberance that was only rivaled by his brother.
I think about the others too. I didn't get to know them as well as I would have liked. Mallory was graceful, and let's face it. She kicked butt. Tanya was exceptionally intelligent, and she wasn't stuck-up about it. She was very modest. Grin was unflappable. And Duke had style. Even if I barely knew them, I couldn't bear the thought of them dying. Especially because of me. That's why I jumped.
I know I'm not going mad. Being crazy would be merciful. If I had known my fate, would I have sacrificed myself? I wanted to save my friends, but I'm not selfless. This was the fate of the Saurian Overlords when Drake DuCaine overthrew them. It didn't kill them. In fact, they multiplied dormantly and then erupted all of a sudden like a virus going into the lytic cycle. I ask myself, why didn't Drake DuCaine just kill them all? Or if they had to re-emerge, why did they have to do it during my lifetime? I had a great life before everything changed? Why was there no warning whatsoever? Why did innocents like my father have to die but that slime Dragaunus live? Why must I suffer the same punishment the tyrant's ancestors did? Why do I seem doomed to be here the rest of my natural life? Is there any justice in this world?
I don't want to die, but I don't want to live like this. It's not even living. I just want to see them again: Mother, Wildwing, Uncle Pato, all of them. Even just a glance. Thinking about it brings tears to my eyes. I cry sometimes. I'm not ashamed to admit it.
Here I am, torn between life and death, existence and nonexistence, precipice and abyss.
Despair and hope.
The End?