Disclaimer: I do not own Darkwing Duck™ or any character, location or event from that said show.
...
The Duck Knight Returns
2. Negaduck Rising
Seven years ago.
Mallard residence.
Drake's lungs begged for oxygen. He punched and kicked at the robotic arm closed around his throat uselessly. Soon he would pass out.
Taurus Bulba, genius mobster turned unstoppable cyborg, was in his house.
The mighty Bulba roared and it shook the window panes. "I thought to use the child to get to you, Dorkwing Duck, but you were even more careless than I could have imagined!"
The claws around Drakes throat loosened, allowing Drake to take a much needed gulp of air. This respite was all too short. As soon as he was no longer blue Bulba placed a solid punch with his natural born hand into Drake's gut. He exhaled from the force of the blow, again losing badly needed oxygen as his insides deflated like a shrunken balloon. Drakes legs gave way beneath him.
"Don't pass out. I want you to feel this," Bulba muttered offhand. Strandling his prone enemey he once agained used his natural hand strike his enemy repeatedly.
Forehand.
Backhand. "I came here to kidnap the Waddlemeyer girl! Imagine the raft of my emotions I felt once I studied the family portrait above the mantlepeace. Hatred for your happiness. Glee to have found you. Thrill I will murder you. I must have overheated and gone into lockdown for a full ten minutes despite the redundant strengthening I've added to my circuits," the unhinged villain remarked, referencing the weakness he had been reborn with and which Darkwing had used against him during thier last encounter.
"You beleived your family was camoflaged in a suburban jungle? You had a brass statue of your herioc alter-ego in your living room you self-absorbed, narcissistic, dimwitted, imbecile..."
Bulba's roar was matched by another. The family station wagon with the world's most distinguished crash test dummy (living) at the wheel. Lunchpad McQuack could crash a jumbo jet on a dime. Ramming a family sized vehicle into a cyborg of equal size was child's play. He impailed Bulba to his grill and did not let up on the gas. Not until his new hood ordament crashed through the exterior wall of thier home and presumably into the living room. The car was half-way submerged by a collapsing section of the roof.
"Lunchpad!" Drake exclaimed. Or attmepted to. It was an effort to breathe, never mind forming words. Expressing alarm for his comrade in crimefighting only produced a whispered grunt and a coughing fit.
The station wagon's boot opened and Lunchpad crawlled out. "I don't want to ask if he might be dead in case I jinx it," ace pilot and loyal sidekick remarked, helping Drake to his feet. "I say we borrow Herb's car, take the kids and get out of here."
No need to ask twice. "I like that plan," Drake coughed.
However, shifting rubble around the station wagon made Drake wonder if they could realistically escape. Bulba had demonstrated the ability to alter his form into something like a fighter jet during their last engagement.
"One alteration," he suggested.
Rubble shifted and the tail end of the station wagon lodged in the house began to reverse as if the house were regurgitating a meal it did not agree with. Then the vehicle defied gavity, lifted off the ground and flew clear across the street, again lodging itself this time in the second floor roof of the opposing neighbours.
A hulking cyborg "Steerminator" stepped out through the newly created hole.
He spotted a fast moving vehicle race for the end of the street and guessed Darkwing had ideas of escape. Furious at the thought of losing his quarry, Bulba let his disire to see Darkwing suffer slide and selected his missile armament. Wings unfolded from his back. Rocket boosters built into his combat frame ignited. A high pitched monotone signalled target lock.
After the missile struck and the target was mere wreckage, Bulba landed to inspect to the kill.
The vehicle was empty. A brick held its accerator down and the steering wheel was locked in place with the seatbelt. The sleuthy hero had undoubtably used this disraction to escape. An aerial survey of the neighbourhood confirmed his suspicion. No hero, no dimwitted sidekick, no children.
Bulba screamed at the heavens in unmatched fury.
...
Today.
S.H.U.S.H. High Security Prison Facility, Codename: Alice's Wonderland.
1347 hrs
It would be understandable to think Wonderland was hell and you'd be close if you did. Wonderland was the last stop on the way.
Men dressed in black body armour and holding riot shields and batton gathered todays transportees from the prison wing. Behind the men with battons stood the men with the guns. Support in case of a violent outburst. Cells were opened one at a time and each prisoner was fitted with a stun collar in case of disobiedence, also chained by wrists and ankles before being led out of thier cell. The ankle chain so short they had to shuffle or waddle as opposed to walk. Patted down, told to open thier mouths for inspection and checked off from the list. Only once the previous prisoner was chained and in line would the cell for the next prisoner be allowed to open. The guards repeated this procedure twelve times until they had every prisoner checked off this months list.
Among the identically dressed orange garbed prisoners were a few who could not help but standout. Oddities and celebraties. S.H.U.S.H. held jurisdiction over a specialised form of crime for lack of better term typically dubbed 'supervillainy'.
Dr Fossil. Mentally deranged. Spliced his genes with those of a prehistoric pterodactyl before attempting to cause an extinction level global warming catastrophe so a superior dino-gene spliced master race could inherit the earth.
Neptunia. Sentient mutated radioactive fish and self-appointed guardian of the seas. Once a hero of the waters around St Canard and a founding member of the Justice Ducks, she resigned to protest increasing enviromental damage by the surface dwellers. Trading in heroics for activism/eco-terrorism, Neptunia became an anti-establishment hero to the greenies across the planet. International business and governments cast her activities as piracy incurring millions of dollars of property damage and demanded law enforcement action.
Ammonia Pine. Squandering her best years as a lowly janitor, Pine awakened to her true calling in life in her middle years. Pine made the switch from cleaning lady to criminal mastermind despite no previous criminal history. Her intelligence, ingenuity, self-taught chemical and engineering expertise, an unhoned aptitute for street brawling and, above all, loyalty put her on the fast track within global crime organisation the Fiendish Organisation for World Larceny (F.O.W.L.). Her swift addition to the S.H.U.S.H. most wanted list, astounding considering her only previous employment experience was moping floors, is all the more impressive due to her crippling phobia of dirt, or untidyness in general. She developed a compulsive need to take her mop everywhere she went.
"Prisoners assembled," comms reported.
In the fortress styled control room from which the enitre facility could be controlled and monitored the duty officer oversaw progress and followed procedure.
"All cells closed. Open security door. Proceed to scaning room."
Single file the prisoners were marched into a cylinder room designed with more sophisticated x-ray and metal detection equipment. Any prisoner who dragged there feet felt the end of a batton run up their neck and over their ear as a warning.
"Scan complete. No prohibited items."
"Open security door to gate room."
The gate room was spacious as a Wallmart yet largely empty. It's sole purpose seemed to be to house a ring device large enough to walk through in the centre of the room. It looked like a patchwork job with exposed coils and cables snaking from it. Armed guards strode about every corner on the lookout for trouble and heavy weapon emplacements bizzairely aimed at the device, not the prisoners.
The Warden was conspicous as the only staff memeber in a suit instead of riot gear. He was eagar to explain their fate. Fossil, Neptunia and Pine remembered his disgusting speech on their initial arrival at this - whatever this place was. Dramatic and bold statements of about this facility did not exist and therefore they no longer existed. Rights and flags did not exist. Right to trial, suspended. Right to legal council, suspended and on and on. It did not amount to an agreeable stay.
It was about to get become worse.
"By degree of Director James Gander Hooter, S.H.U.S.H., under the emergency powers given to him under the Parrot Counter-Supervilliany Act, you have been convicted by military tribunal of supervillainly, illegal mutation, supernatural activity or being a member of a global organisation perpetuating corruption, infultration and/or terrorism."
"Sentence...," the warden paused to create maximum anxiety. He enjoyed toying with the mutants and freaks under his charge. "Life. Exile to the Negaverse."
Most of the prisoners were blank. They had no idea what or where a negaverse was supposed to be. It sounded like a joke. Neptunia had no God damn idea what the warden was talking about but he seemed too pleased with himself to be anything good.
"The Parrot Act doesn't give Hooter the power to do this," Pine challenged the warden.
"You can write a letter of complaint to congress once you reach your destination, dear."
Control room patched updates on progress through the gate room speakers.
"Prisoners are secure and ready for transport."
"All gate systems check."
"Negagate activation sequence inititiated. Stand by away team."
"Negagate at 40% power and rising."
A green an eerie glow rose from the gate like mist. A vortex began to form in the centre of the gate. Red with purple spirels and spinning. It seemed to Dr Fossil like a black hole forming, threatning to devour all. If they stepped in there it would never give them up.
A guard having an unknown conversation on his radio approached the warden. He seemed concerned. "Warden," he relayed the information he had just been told. "We have incoming at the outer perimeter."
"Who?"
...
The Director's motorcade roared along the simple dirt road at high speed. Five SUVs with escorting choppers to provide air support. This deep in the badlands of America, only the buzzards, rattlesnakes and tumbleweed were disturbed by their passing.
But they did not pass unobserved. Wonderland command was operating at high alert due to the impendening activation of the negagate and carrying out of the convicted parties sentences. The warden ordered a halt and the negagate powered down. He was in the command centre now intent on learning the purpose of his unexpected guests. He was hovering in the security booth, eyeing the security monitors when the motorcade pulled up to the outer perimeter checks. The guards at the first checkpoint asked for and received the relevant paperwork proving the motorcade had authority to enter. Declaring their purpose was an inspection of Wonderland by none other than Deputy Director Vladimir Grizzlikof.
He frowned. The warden was unaware the deputy director had been read in on Wonderland or was aware of its existance. On orders of Director Hooter himself to compartmentalise the location of dangerous technology or individuals. Hooter would never tolerate an inspection of Wonderland by the uninitiated. Not by anyone, not by any agency. Certainly not without informing the warden.
The first security checkpoint was designed to appear innocent, warning of a military firing range beyond. Interior checkpoints would be increasingly strenuous.
…
The motorcade was allowed to continue. Director Grizzlikof glared at the duck opposite him. Tucking forged pass document into his suit jacket pocket. When the tinted bulletproof window closed, Grizzlikof asked snidely, "So. What I call you?"
The duck, smartly dressed in the grey suit, black neck tie and black shoes of an agent of S.H.U.S.H., smirked and exchanged knowing glances with the similarly dressed young woman across from him. Sitting next to Vladimir. Cosying up close to him. Straightening his neck tie. Subtly sticking a gun in his side. Jabbing him with the barrel.
"Oh, I'm generally fine with bastard, son of a bitch, monster, please don't hurt me, various forms of screaming," the duck answered slyly. "Negaduck will do fine. In private." He held a finger to his lips. Indicating a shush.
Grizzlikof snuffed at the assertion, turning away in a huff.
"Ah. Neegaduck, eh?" He managed to utter the title with all the venom and bile the term deserved. "We never meet, though I hear you as almost annoying than Daarkwing Duck. His eevil doppelganger from neega-dimension. I read you file."
The duck wished he had read Grizzlikof's file. His rise to chief S.H.U.S.H. agent during the final years of Cold War, despite his heavy Russian accent, suggested there was quite a tale to tell.
"I almost take that as a complement, fur ball."
"You should not, pathetic copy. How you hope to get away with thiss? No politissian or bank manager you have taken hostage. I am Deputy Direcktor of SHUUSH!"
"We already have gotten away with it," the young women remarked. She flicked her long mane of fiery red hair in a flirtatious manner. But her green eyes, possibly quite beautiful under different circumstances, were marked only with contempt. "In our world. The Negaverse. Only, you were more inclined to rash acts of violence. And you were smellier."
"That was a different world…. "
"Which works in my favour. Grrr-izz-likof," the duck imitated the director's accent. He pulled a radio out from his suit jacket. "We're through the outer perimeter, Steelbeak. Go phase two."
Grizzlikof, the old spy, made a mental note of Steelbeak's involvement. Negaduck was infamous for, besides the carnage and terror he sowed, being highly anti-social. Not a team player. Not a joiner. These were Steelbeak's men.
Negaduck smirked. "Pay attention Grizz, you may learn something. We are currently inside a restricted area housing a top secret S.H.U.S.H. prison and research facility you have never heard of. You thought Hooter told you everything."
The russian bear had wondered why Negaduck would abduct him then drive all the way out to nowhere, however, currently he was infuriated by any slight of Director Hooter. Grizzlikof always did have a temper, despite his absolute commitment to discipline. "When this over, I will mobilise all of SHUUSH against you. We see how long you have to laugh with my claws around throat."
…
"Warden," a technician signalled from across the command room. He held a landline against his shoulder. "Two unidentified light aircraft are inbound at high speed. They are not responding to our hails and are ignoring all calls to evacuate the area."
Two unscheduled, exciting events in one day. It was enough to make a jailor nervous. In this business a good day was a nice, quiet, boring one where all procedures were followed to the letter. Nice, calming procedures like, "Launch the alert gunship. Call for military air support. Prepare the AA battery."
A battery of patriot missiles were not standard issue for prisons, clearly. S.H.U.S.H. had resourceful enemies and secrets Hooter wanted hidden.
"Hang on sir," the same technician interrupted. "Profile now suggests unmanned aerial vehicles."
"Damn it, if this is those numb-nuts at Creech having a go I'll…."
"No warden. We have confirmation. They did not originate from Creech Air force Base."
"Targets are on an intercept course for the deputy directors motorcade."
That gave the warden pause for thought. Could Hooter have ordered the airstrike to eliminate a thorn?
Would Hooter forewarn him if he had?
Would there be a career opportunity in the near future if he held off ordering the drones shot from the sky?
Sirens sounded. The lighting flashed red. Every man and in the room tensed.
"We are detecting weapons tracking. Weapons targeting the deputy director's motorcade."
"Bandits launched."
"Oh my Lord, it's an assassination," some technician or another cursed over to the warden's right.
Yes, the warden agreed. It made him feel giddy inside. Now the drones had fired upon S.H.U.S.H. leadership, of course, it was expected he respond.
"Target those drones and fire."
...
The two drones had released a missile each. Both were now streaking across the sky toward their defenceless targets. Forewarned of the danger, the drivers of the motorcade made the decision to break formation. They took their SUVs off road in three split directions while the escorting helicopters divided. Two missiles, seven targets and a guessing game of which carried the assassination target.
No one had to die for the deputy director this day, however. Negaduck only arranged for a drama show and presided over preperation personally. The particular vehicle the missiles targeted and detonated was a decoy. A mere self driving 'google car' programmed to follow the vehicle ahead of it. Steelbeak and his eggmen designed this simple hoax to allow the small motorcade through the perimeter of Wonderland.
Now the sacrificed SUV drone would forever remain an impressive crater in the middle of nowhere.
The crew working Wonderland command released their collectively held breath.
"I want the deputy director in this bunker surrounded by a crack security team now. Permission to bypass inner security checkpoints."
The Warden's orders were relayed immediately. "Status of hostile aircraft?" he asked.
The weaponry officer monitoring the AA systems spoke up, "impact in 14 seconds," and began a countdown.
"Both targets destroyed."
"Inform S.H.U.S.H. headquarters of the attack and request a team of air crash investigators. Organise a squad to secure every piece of wreckage. Director Hooter is going to want to know the origin of every bolt recovered from the downed drones."
A technician supervising the security monitors informed the warden, "The deputy director's motorcade just passed through the inner checkpoint."
"Good, good. I'm going to down to greet him. Captain Doberman, take over." He added to his aide, "Well, hey. We keep telling people it's a firing range. A few craters here and there aren't going to hurt that perception."
"Yes warden."
That's it. Smile. Act relieved. Tell a corny joke. Hide your dissapointment behind a mask.
I need to talk to Hooter.
…
The motorcade skidded to a halt inside the bunkers underground parking garage. A duck, agent judging by his standard of dress, called for a medic. "The director needs medical attention!"
"Sir," an anonymous black garbed warrior waved forward a second anonymous black garbed warrior. The only difference being the second's medical kit was bigger than his weapon.
"What do we have?" No time for bedside manner.
"Suspected heart attack," the red-headed female agent informed them. "His heart and breathing both stopped. We managed to revive him using a deliberator pack but he's still unconscious."
"We need to get the director to the medical wing immediately," the medic declared. "Bring in a gurney!"
The duck agent addressed his junior partner. "Stay with Grizzlikof," he ordered her. "Have eyes on him one hundred percent of the time. Don't let anyone push you away."
"Sir."
The warden entered the garage, privy to the last statements.
"Who's injured?"
"The director. Suspected heart attack," the junior agent repeated.
To his aide the warden ordered, "Clear the way. Conduct the director and Agent…?"
"Muddlefoot," she introduced herself.
"Agent Muddlefoot to the medical wing post haste."
His aide complied immediately, whisking the medic, the director and the junior agent through the garage security entrance.
"If you wouldn't mind warden," the senior duck agent said, "I would like assistance sweeping these vehicles for any sort of tracking device or devices suspicious in nature. I don't feel comfortable when our enemies are aware of a snap inspection of Wonderland.
"We'll also need to investigate, maybe even quarantine everyone who knew or might have known about this inspection tour."
"No one knew of the inspection," the warden protested.
"No half measures," the duck continued, quickly establishing authority. "Consider this facility under lockdown. I would also appreciate it you showed me just what the hell hit us. They've been dealt to, I take it?"
The duck appeared relieved when the warden informed him that they had.
"Two drone aircraft, both shot down. Air force jets will be over our heads shortly in case they return. I'm sorry about your loses."
"They were brave men."
The duck agent, identifying himself as Fenton Crackshell, was conducted to the command and control room by the warden to view all data on the attack.
"You know, I think it's appropriate they coined this place Wonderland. I feel like Alice right about now."
An agreeable, "hmm," was his answer.
They were both stopped outside the sealed command room by two more black garbed warriors armed to the teeth.
"Weapons check gentlemen."
They were surprised and impressed when Agent Crackshell removed a cut down grenade launcher the size of an smaller sub-machine gun from his chest holster and a weapons belt loaded with colour coded canisters and disk shaped charges. The weapon itself was painted black with customised sights and purple recoil absorbers ringing the mid barrel. He also laid out a collapsible grapple attachment and an unidentifiable blue cube.
The warden was shocked by the arsenal. "Not exactly standard issue!"
"Not that you know of."
Holding a hand to a communication device in his ear, one of the guards said, "Agent Crackshell, our facial and voice recognition software is not recognising you. I need you to show me your I.D. and repeat your badge number."
Agent Crackshell gladly handed over the standard black identification jacket. Inside there was no badge. There was no picture. Merely a message.
It read,
"I am the most fiendish terror
that flaps in the darkest night."
…