Disclaimer: I do not own Darkwing Duck™ or any character, location or event from that said show.
Last time on The Duck Knight Returns
- The Fearsome Five are free.
- Director Grizzlikof is removed from the Negaduck case.
- Gosalyn escapes Morgana.
...
The Duck Knight Returns
Ch 6. The Night Belongs To Her
Tank worked nights as a bouncer for a local strip club. Pretty classy joint for the Old Haunt. His services in muscle were gaining a reputation thanks to Gosalyn's demonstrations of a few Darkwing trademark moves. He also had a reputation for respecting the ladies, another quality Gosalyn deserved credit for. Not to be a bonehead to woman was her original lesson, taught by means of first-hand demonstration of her combat skills. Years before they began running together.
This left Gosalyn on her own for half her waking day, unable to spend a quiet night in Tank's flat as long as Mr Edmund was keeping watch over his property. She found new pass times for the night hours. Climbing the exterior of buildings. Performing hairy rooftop jumps. Picking out a target on the streets below to play mouse to her bird of prey as she stalked unawares from above. Having fun! This was the lifestyle she choose and she refused to be alone and miserable.
So tonight she sat with her legs dangling over the edge of a relatively low tenth story apartment, swirling one of Tank's beer she was nursing and trying not to think of how she could really go for a Hippo-shake instead.
Coming to a decision she twisted the beer end over end and allowed it to pour out to the street below. The street was too far down to hear the splash over the din of multitudes of combustion engines. Only when her target, a boy playing kick-ball against his building in the early evening cool, dashed aside of the liquid and looked up into the night air was she satisfied she hit her target. Boys. They were fun to torture.
As they say, the night is young. Gos considered how she would spend hers. Funds were low. Sometime tonight a stop to shark the pool hall, poker tables or, if desperate, cage fights would ease her money woes. Else bum off Tank for the next week. She would have to ask her employment agency for more bar maid or waitressing gigs to come her way or finally accept the offer of Tank's boss for employment. Behind the drinks counter, not on it. Tank's boss, who had an eye for girls, knew Gos would rip customers to shreds if put on stage, knew those same qualities would be invaluable telling drunks they'd had enough and defending the cash register. He was a greedy old pervert but not malicious so Gos was flattered by his assessment. Gos was reluctant to become bogged down in any one place with so much temp work available due to all the fights and hangovers.
Time to look for adventure. St Canard buzzed with it. The city was overcrowded and subject to limited space on the island. The Old Haunt was located here, covering the north west of the island and tensions between the run down Old Haunt and the wealthier areas, where the decent and civilised folk lived, were always high. The council debated plan after plan of flattening the bad side of town to put an end to scum and villainy. Scum and villainy would make their opinion known jacking their TV sets.
The population was breed aggressive and never far from a rolling pin, frying pan, pitch fork, baseball bat or hockey stick. A looming fear of and cause of many lumps on the noggin of Darkwing Dark, terror who flaps. Any self-respecting St Canard resident confronted by the do-gooder would declare, "bring it on!" when he appeared flapping in blue smoke, innocent or no. In numbers they'd been known to assault Negaduck
Headquarters to S.H.U.S.H. Whether they choose to make a presence here due to the F.O.W.L. activity or their presence here, for whatever reason, attracted F.O.W.L had yet to be determined. It was a fiercely debated topic. And the super weirdoes', well - St Canard attracted more of them than Scrooge McDuck's money bin.
A fortnight before Gosalyn checked out the underground racing scene. The public gardens were rumoured to house a unique plant species able to uproot and walk to a sunnier spot at night. The Under St Canard, a rumoured city buried beneath the city, dug by Professor Moliarty. The less said about any run with psychotic and literally slime coated Dr Slug, the happier you will sleep at night.
This was St Canard. This was home.
Down onto a fire escape below, Gos jumped. Using it to reach street level. Emerging from an alley in a nicer section of town where she enjoyed clubbing. They were stricter about access to minors here. A hindrance when one only wanted to enjoy the music. Not an insurmountable hindrance if you were willing to climb in from the second story. Slip through windows with feline agility. Pick the lock to the supply door. Pick-pocket a similar looking girls I.D.
This place for example. Nice joint. Outdoor area where patrons could enjoy their drinks sitting in the cool St Canard air around a roaring gas fire. The sort burning fake logs. Chat without the thud of dance music. Over the stone slabs tables and chairs, order a bar meal between bouts of cheap shots and dancing.
You'd think they'd place bouncer to watch the high walls around the patio!
Maru, a bar maid Gos had worked with previously, placed her knuckles on her hips as Gosalyn walked in from the night air. It was a relatively early nine o'clock. The music was pumping but the young people were still finishing drinks at their own flats thinking to beat inflated prices in town. The number of club goers was still low and numbers on the dance floor less. In an hour/two it would be standing room only and would continue to be so until three.
"I'm going to have to ask you to leave. For the sake of my job. So when my boss asks what the hell is a minor doing sitting at my bar I can say, "I asked her to leave."
Maru was easy going and had a cheeky sense of humour. More likely to tease Gosalyn on her character flaws than give her a lecture and so was somewhat more successful in encouraging change in Gosalyn's attitude where other might find obstinate resistance. Somewhat.
"I will. Least you could do is whip me up a strawberry shake first though."
"Go to Hippo Burger! We don't make kiddy drinks here."
"I'm avoiding Hippo Burger."
"You're barred from Hippo Burger now, too?"
"Boy trouble."
"Ah. So this could not be the boy you never think about and never talk about and with whom you're perpetually angry with for always being your white knight. Hooter? Was that his name?"
Gosalyn set her jaw. "Honker." The music was too loud for Maru to hear. Nevertheless, she knew how Gosalyn had answered.
"Girl, you don't have boy trouble. You have you trouble."
"Just give me an energy drink. In the can is fine. No sense giving me something you'll want back if you're kicking me out."
Maru complied, grabbing Gos a caffeine loaded slap in the face from the fridge. Gos paid for the item but decided to hold it for later. It would survive her nightly escapades in the secure leg pocket of her cargo pants. "You are one fine bird, Gos. Maybe you wouldn't be having so much trouble with boys if you weren't dressed like a hillbilly person."
Tank's shirt. Baggy jeans. Sneakers. Usually when people came in here they did so dressed with an intent to impress. Not all of us were south pacific island girls with exotic green feathers, thank you Maru.
"I don't know if you've ever tried to climb buildings in a dress and high heels…."
"I don't know anyone has! Sweetie, normal people use the elevator."
"Bye Ralph," Gosalyn said to the bouncer as they crossed paths at the door. He cursed her making a fool of him once again but saw no point in making an issue of it while Gos was voluntarily leaving. Not unless he wanted to sport new bruises tomorrow.
…
The bar owner, a tough old raven goes by the name of Rex, whether this be identity or alias unknown, dragged the girl by the scruff of her shirt collar and threw her out on the street. The girl resisted his pull all the way, shooting off an inventive weaving of curses. Seemingly she was not prepared for his final toss and hit the tar seal. Hard.
Cheers erupted from inside the bar.
Gosalyn was left to pick herself off the street or become road kill. Stone pebbles and bits of glass lying in the gutter clung to her clothing. She brushed them off, screamed one final insult for Rex and walked away contemplating the two hundred thirty seven dollars she'd taken from the rotten souls at the pool table.
She never fought back when Rex chucked her out for a pair of reasons. First, Gosalyn actually liked Rex's establishment. She would like to have the option to return once tensions cool down. Second, Rex had saved her life. She knew it. He knew it. She had scammed downright murderous characters out of hard earned currency. During a recession no less! Skilled in the art of defending herself but taking on the whole bar was too much. Not playing the smart odds. Rex taught her this lesson the first time he'd thrown her out, suggesting a fifty delivered next morning would ensure her ass would be saved same time next week. Also kept his bar intact so it was all win for Rex.
He was right, even egomaniac Darkwing harboured reservations about starting something on the streets of the Old Haunt. The majority of the residents held a score to settle with the Duck Knight. You could be safe enough if you kept your own business, traveled with friends, mind where your feet took you and held yourself the way a local would. GizmoDuck/the cops were the enemy and outsiders were looked on with suspicion. Otherwise this was a family neighbourhood too. No one wanted to start something where their families lived.
It was half past eleven. Enough time for Mr Edmund to have left the shop and gone home. Tank's duties, though, would keep him out for the rest of the night and an empty flat held no appeal. Better to be roaming the street in the city that never sleeps. Or experience the thrill of running above the streets. Launchpad mentioned GizmoDuck was making use of dad's tower. She could sneak a peek at his operation. Bet it wasn't as sharp as how dad kept the place. Also, once Launchpad had the Ratcatcher serviced it would be an epic thrill to test drive. Keep the ungrateful citizens from denying a hero once watched over them. Remind the criminals that no body was ever found. Believe in ghosts and remember terror….
A scream! Short and sharp.
Gosalyn's daydreams ended. Her focus snapped back to the world around her. Her heart pumped faster and adrenaline enhanced her senses to what felt like extra-sensory levels. She broke into a run. Heading in the least logical of directions. Toward trouble.
Another scream. Of distress. Also a call for help. And yelling. At least she could be confident she wasn't charging into an embarrassing scene like a marriage proposal or - other. The victim had a high voice. A woman or a child. Close. No sign of the disturbance. The next round of furious yelling seemed to come from above. Must be one of the buildings. Muffled, yes. Behind a closed window. Check which apartments still had lights. And movement.
Third floor of a ten story building. Fortunate she didn't have to run up ten flights of stairs. The building was sure to be locked though. Strong doors in this neighbourhood. Kick the door in she would bounce off.
'That's why I learned to lock pick.' Commentary from her brain.
The urgency of she felt worked against her in this task. Precious seconds slipped by. It felt like it was taking longer than usual. It was taking longer than usual, she was sure of it. Not for the first time, Gos determined to build herself a grapple to zoom up and down building exteriors.
Door open. She was in. Up the stairs two each bound. Entering the third floor corridor she halted to get her bearings. The apartment with the lights – this way. Must be the one with the door open.
The screaming had stopped. Never a good sign but the commotion had not stopped. Gos got the idea someone was breaking plates. There was also cruel laughter of more than one man.
Gosalyn slide to a halt at the open doorway. Gripping the door frame and creating a barrier for four patched assholes thinking of leaving. The four halted in the corridor before Gosalyn, marginally perplexed by her arrival. The youngest thug looked like a minor playing dress up in his leather.
"What do you want, chicken legs?" the apparent leader queried Gos. "This is Bloodied Vulture business. Get the fuck out of here."
In the rooms off the corridor Gos observed overturned dressers, The state of the flat behind the men looked trashed. A boy, he looked uninjured, watched them leave.
Local punk gang. Hoodlums and petty drug merchants. Thought they owned the block. Not smart enough to be concerned about a witness. Why should they be? No one ratted to the cops in the Old Haunt.
Gos did not present such an intimidating figure. Shorter than three of the punks. Baggy trainers stained from being thrown in the gutter. Dad had taught how perception, how the criminal element perceives you, can determine a bloodless surrender or a fight for your life in advance of physical confrontation. Of course, dad dressed in a purple suit and wore a cheap fedora. He always had to fight for his life.
Gos decided she was pleased the thugs weren't intimidated enough to back down. 'I'm going to enjoy this,' she thought and stepped forward to meet them in the corridor.
…
At least one of the hoodlums had been a street brawler. The others relied on the gang mentality of numbers and intimidation to take what they wanted. None were a match. Once Gos put two of them on the floor, including the experienced fighter, the remaining two backed away.
Gos decided not to involve the police. Get the wrong sort and it could be Gos charged with unnecessary force in apprehension of these low lives. Technically true. It may also involve a day presenting evidence in court and a ride back to her guardians, Launchpad and Morgana. Embarrassing for her to be sure. The primary reason for not calling the cops though, this was not the sort of neighbourhood were police involvement was appreciated. Even by victims. It wouldn't gain the woman and her son any allies among the neighbours whom were doubtless awake and pretending there was no commotion next door. It wouldn't earn the forgiveness of the Vultures if three patched members, the younger she could see now was an initiate, went down over this incident.
Smarting from a good shot to her ear, Gos grabbed the patch still standing. "You want to tell me what this was about?"
"They broke in and started yelling about their money and throwing things," was the boys answer. His mother was less enthused to talk.
"You can talk to me or you can talk to the cops."
"They said I owed them money."
"That's better," Gos let the patch go, for now, and refocused her attention. "You want to tell me the truth this time?"
No. She didn't want to . "I carry things for them. Deliver packages. But today one of the men took the package and wouldn't pay. The Vultures trashed my place looking for money they say I owe them. Saying I have to work off my debt."
Gosalyn shoved the patch. "The type of scum you boys do business with and you're surprised you got ripped off? What are you doing here? Are you going to let some dope head take your product and not pay? Why come here?"
The patch had no answer.
"Do you want people to think you're weak? Do want your customers to think they can take what they want and it's your women who have to pay? Everyone on the street will be walking over you inside of a week!
"Not get out of here. And count yourselves lucky Darkwing didn't see this. This is still his town."
Usually such a comment would have caused the evil-doers to laugh out loud. Darkwing Duck was dead. He was before the new generations time. Tonight, even should doubts return with their confidence in the morning, they took Gosalyn at her word.
"I tried to tell them I wouldn't do it anymore," the woman voiced when Gosalyn was gone.
"If you're serious about that, I have the connections to make the vultures go away. You got a pen?"
"Private number of GizmoDuck, of the Justice Ducks. Tell him Gosalyn gave you the number. Said he could help you."
GizmoDuck! This was a superhero the new generation understood. Her son glowed with excitement.
Exiting, Gosalyn caught a whiff of alcohol from the coat rack. The boys coat looked soaked and she recalled her earlier prank tipping beer over some poor kid. Gos pulled out a Grant and tucked it in the coat pocket.
"For the dry cleaning. Sorry."
…
It was late. After midnight. To remain sharp in his studies Honker typically tried to catch a good night's sleep every night and continue his readings in the morning. He would have crashed hours ago as his mother suggested only he had received a new assignment in class today and he was so engrossed in the research it was hard to put the text books down. Or, currently, the latest published articles provided by several on line scientific journals. His parents purchased the subscriptions for him when he began college. It was hard to fight the logic, "five minutes more couldn't hurt." Not when in the latest published findings from the Cern particle collider. Their team was confident they'd finally recorded the first evidence of the Higgs-Bison particle, actually a wave, a key component in the current theoretical model of mass. Long believed to be a key component of gravity but also completely elusive.
Honk bookmarked any passage he found relevant to his paper and compiled a list of the sources he would like to reference in his paper, the course lecturers preferring to pee-approve first and second year student's use of on-line material. There being so many so many unreliable blogs and opinion pieces on the web which could not validate their findings. Now he decided he could hit the hay, although….
He simply wasn't tired. His mind too active for sleep. And not due to his studies. It was his encounter with Gosalyn today which plagued his thoughts. It kept playing on a loop on the inside of his skull and he could not quieten his self-reprimands. What should he have said? What should he do? Will he have another opportunity? He'd really thought he might find an opening if he just steered clear of any comment of her leaving school or living with his deadbeat brother and simply offer to hang out. Instead she ran.
Maybe he should have opened with casual conversation? "You see that cool U.F.O. on the news?"
He knew of his brother's hobby, Tank TV. An amateur film/blog channel he'd created on U-tube. As if submitting the video for millions of people to see somehow legitimised Tank making a fool of himself. Still, maybe Gosalyn will make an appearance. In fact, if Tank had any sense he would follow her around with the camera. A plucky, kung-fu master redhead causing havoc. Overweight Tank in a singlet sitting in his bedroom. Which was the greater draw card?
'What is Tank T.V.?' 293 hits. There were clips of stain removal products with greater hit counts!
Honk hit play. His brother's ugly mug captured the screen. Projecting his conception of cool with his goatee and mutton chops extending down the sides of his face. Wearing a black singlet and aviator sunglasses.
"What is Tank TV?"
Segments were edited in between his lines. Pranks and general silliness highlighting Tanks childish sensibilities.
Tank leaning over a counter at Walrus-Mart, wresting with check-out staff for control of the microphone. "Calling all Ducks! Calling all Ducks!"
"Don't really know."
Messing around with a drive through voice box. Not even original. "Why do you put on all your advertising its health conscious to eat a diet of nothing but Hippo-burger?"
"We Don't!"
"I mean, I came up with it."
One of Tank's deadbeat buddies donned an Optimus Prime helmet. Began butting a tin shed like a spazing ram.
"I should know."
Unfortunately, the next clip was of Tank. Humping an over sized fish statue on the side of the road.
"But I don't. It could be anything."
"I'm coming Timmy!" another of Tank's buddies yelled, placing his head down a gutter drain. Trying to fit his shoulder past the small hole and failing. "Ah, guys? Little help? I'm stuck."
"What is Tank TV?"
Break dancing wearing a goat mask. Tank blowing up a child's balloon with his nose
"Could be anything. No one knows what to expect."
Finally a clip of Gosalyn. She was working as a waitress. Taking the order's at Tank's table. "Is that thing on or are you two just jerking me around?"
"No one will ever know what to expect."
Gosalyn's second clip. "Give me that!" annoyed to have a camera in her face. The picture blurred with Tank pumping his arms as he ran. The sound remained unaffected. Gos must have given chase because he was cursing.
The ending credits were listed against a slide-show of still images. Gos must have come around at some point because she featured in a few. Snowboarding. Attaching Tank T.V. bumper stickers on unsuspecting shopper's cars. Showcasing her daring by climbing a four story building from the outside.
She looked happy. Living the life of a street hooligan. No wonder she had dumped his sorry butt and given up of their friendship. The best he could offer was sympathy for her loss and assistance with her falling grades as Gosalyn sunk lower and lower. He failed to appreciate Gosalyn did not care about the grades. Or school as she invented new methods of being exiled from sports and finally expelled from half the schools in St Canard. She wanted freedom. She wanted to cut all the restricting responsibilities from her life. She wanted something Honker could not offer. And Tank could.
They were always an odd couple. A pair of outcasts. Honk a brain. Gos never getting along with other girls and still immature enough to think most boys were stupid and gross. Thrown together from a combination of Gos being incensed by bullies picking on him, being neighbours and Honker correctly determining Mr Mallard and Darkwing Duck were one in the same. Honk was the only one Gosalyn could share this amazing secret with. In defiance of all factors working against them Honk believed they would be a team forever. Honker believed even as they said goodbye and the Mallard's drove away because their home was not safe anymore. But Mr Mallard never came back. Gosalyn spent years after drifting away from him. Until one day he lost her.
Some method of blowing off steam. Honk blew out a long breath and clicked on links until he found something fun. Funny cats. Prank war. Scenes from Warpgate. The news headlines...
The news headlines were insane.
'U.F.O. Crashes off West Coast.'
'U.F.O Secret S.H.U.S.H. Detention Facility?'
'Remains Continue to Plumit from Sky.'
'President Reaffirms Support for Director Hooter.'
'Negaduck Claims Responsibilty.'
'Negaduck Returns!'
"Negaduck?"
…
Enough adventure for one night. Gos left the streets for the comfort of a bar. Underage was not too young in the Old Haunt as long as you could pay. Cold hard cash bought you maturity. Gosalyn had no fears about being thrown out as a minor in this part of town.
Besides, Gos never drunk to get plastered. She abhorred intoxication. Even low others believed she had fallen she knew not to sacrifice her wits. A sharp mind was critical for a young lady rubbing shoulders with scum. So she asked for a bottled cola drink and let the barman keep the change.
'Negaduck Returns! Fearsome Five on the loose.'
She caught a flash of the TV above the bar. Stock images of the Fearsome Five, she thought for a moment Canard Copy was running an expose of terrors from the past. Not immediately did it spark within her brain that the report banner explicitly stated Returns.
"Turn that up!"
"… edition of Canard Copy: Nightline. I'm Spike Angle.
"Continuing our top story. After nearly decade long absence, criminal mastermind Negaduck has returned in a big way. Staging a daredevil breakout of the Fearsome Five partners in crime; Megavolt, Bushroot, Liquidator and Quackerjack. Sparking the largest manhunt since Taurus Bulba centred right here in St Canard.
"The drama kicked off yesterday evening with law enforcement and news agencies flooded with calls describing a rainbow coloured U.F.O. over California on a heading for the Pacific as social media was flooded with video footage. Debate raged whether it was a sign of higher intelligence, religious significance or an elaborate hoax."
'I know that glow,' Gosalyn reacted to the images on screen and she dreaded the implications. The behemoth rockbathed in the colours of the rainbow. The full visual spectrum. It floated above the Earth as if by the hand of God. It soared.
...
"This mornings shock claim of responsibility by the nefarious master criminal known as Negaduck put all theories to rest as he asserted he had devastated a previously publicly undisclosed S.H.U.S.H. facility by use of a top secret device, known as the Waddlemeyer Ram-Rad, to crash at least a part of the structure into the pacific ocean. Forcing the secretive agency to confirm Negaduck had staged a raid on a detention facility and set loose several powered criminal individuals."
Honker knew the effects of the Waddlemeyer Ram-rod. Gravity turned on its head. He did not make best friends with the granddaughter of mythic Professor Waddlemeyer without fishing for details.
...
"Further allegations these so called, super-villains,' were denied all legal rights and experimented upon were rubbished by Director James Hooter, reminding reporters, under the Parrot Act, S.H.U.S.H. has legal authority to incarcerate powered persons under extraordinary circumstances. Typically when normal correctional facilities are unable to house such powerful beings. Director Hooter also stated, "S.H.U.S.H. brings the greatest scientific and medical minds to bear in caring for and curing powered individuals in their care. The majority are sick both in body and mind and deserve our sympathy."
…
Grandpa's Ram-Rod! Negaduck dared use grandpa's fabulous invention to his destructive ends.
The debris field – chunks were breaking off from the primary portion/object/asteroid? It was leaving a floating debris field in its wake. An asteroid belt of rainbow glow, spinning and crashing and spreading.
The next video clip was taken at night. The time stamp indicated roughly twelve hours had passed. The glow around the rock seemed brighter in the night sky but in truth it was weakening. Gravity was reasserting control. How far it travelled could not be determined, there were no landmarks to indicate where it was. It was over open ocean. Actually, now more of the Earth had fallen away it was becoming clear something metallic existed buried deep into the rock.
The Waddlemeyer effect failed with the object hanging twenty to thirty meters above the water line. It crashed into the ocean. Whatever its eventual fate, float or sink, was obscured by the wave it caused.
"While Police Commissioner Barken and Director Hooter, recently arrived from Washington, have pledged to hunt down this mad-man, it has been noted the only individual with a track record for thwarting Negaduck remains the cities often unwanted protector, Darkwing Duck. With his disappearance seven years ago it seems terror is free to walk St Canard streets again and the night belongs to the depraved."
"No Spike," Gosalyn removed herself from the bar stool from which she had been wrapped in the report. She left the bar, the hint of a plan forming on her minds horizon. "The night belongs to Darkwing."
…