Regardless of whether she was attacking Magica or not, FOWL set up its battle stations on Magica's home turf. This was sure to bring the sorceress out, if only in indignation over having people camped out on her volcano. Webby didn't worry about that so much. As they had said, Magica was no longer her concern. No, what worried her was coming up against Agent 22 and defeating her. On the one hand, her grandmother had many more years experience fighting than she did. On the other, her grandmother was older, her reflexes slower. Also, a small part of her was screaming that she didn't want to kill her.

But if she failed in her mission, Black Heron would see her dead. And if Steelbeak intervened, she'd still have an enemy for life, one who would try to murder her whenever the opportunity presented itself. Webby would have to look over her shoulder for the rest of her life. It wasn't an unfamiliar experience, but being on guard until Black Heron or she died was not a pleasant thought. Then again, what was FOWL if not a bunch of opportunists looking to off each other whenever the circumstances permitted it?

FOWL agents kept Webby appraised of the situation, all the while keeping at arm's length while they went after Magica. Webby's current task was to wait for Agent 22 and be ready. Since she'd had a three-hour lead, assuming that Dewey had told Agent 22 as soon as Webby had told him, Webby had little to do but wait and stretch, checking her weapons and acquiring new ones. Steelbeak was in favor of overkill; he'd talked to her via telephone, not bothering to materialize in person. While she understood his not being present, she wished he could have been to produce a buffer between her and Black Heron.

Like Heron, he disapproved of her actions in Duckburg. Unlike Heron, he hadn't talked her ear off berating her. Instead, he'd issued cutting remarks designed to reduce whatever slim confidence Webby might have regained in the interim. Dewey's words repeated in her mind, but it was too late to back down now. FOWL was, for better or worse, her family. Her grandmother was not. Her grandmother hadn't raised her, after all. As for the Duck boys, they had no reason to be here.

Webby settled at a rocky campsite to wait. She hated waiting. After preparing, she had nothing to do but sit around and stare about her. She wasn't sure what direction Beakley might be coming from and therefore, had to be alert for any and all approaching people. Whatever FOWL had done had at least reduced tourists, because they took one look at their arsenal and fled the way they'd come.

Lena had said she had a choice. Did she? She never felt like she did. No matter what Webby did, she always felt hemmed in. FOWL always wanted a piece of her. They owned her, body and soul. She wanted to belong, didn't she? After all, Steelbeak was her father and that meant FOWL was the family business. But her grandmother was a SHUSH operative or had been. Her mother, too, had worked for SHUSH.

Steelbeak claimed that meant her mother was a traitor to SHUSH and that Webby's true allegiance belonged to FOWL. He said that her mother had made a grave mistake keeping her pregnancy secret from him and that he'd rectified it as soon as he could. If Agent 22 wasn't strong enough to protect Webby, she didn't deserve her. And if she wasn't strong enough for that, then she wasn't fit for anything else.

Stretching out on the bench, she hugged her knees. Her long hair fell on either side of her face and brushed her arms. Love and compassion versus duty and obligation. She didn't need love, did she? She'd lived without it for so long that it was an afterthought. Yet if that was the case, then why did it linger in her mind? Why were Lena and Dewey so effective at getting under her skin?

By all accounts, they shouldn't be. She ought to be stronger than that. She ought to hone her villainous instincts and disregard the rest. Dewey had said she was good, deep down, and she'd cherished it. She'd cherished it because no one had ever said that to her after her abduction. No one had ever looked at her and seen anything more than a tool before she'd met Dewey.

She stared at the ground. He wouldn't come with Agent 22. He had better not come with Agent 22. Webby would lose her mind if he showed up. Killing her grandmother would take courage and conviction, but if Dewey was there, she'd have to kill him too. The thought of doing both was utterly anguishing. She checked her phone, reviewing what she knew about the Duck family and then Agent 22. No new information surfaced. If she did her job right, the only new information would be an obituary.

She could do this. She had trained all her life to take down enemy operatives. Black Heron had wanted Agent 22 dead since before Webby had been hatched. As a matter of fact, Webby had been training for this eventuality almost all her life.

Then why did she feel sick to her stomach? Agent 22 had to die. She had long outlived her usefulness-Heron had acquired the formula from her and Agent 22 had barely escaped with her life courtesy of Scrooge McDuck. There was nothing else Agent 22 was required for. The facts were there, black and white, but she couldn't argue with how ill she felt. She kept envisioning ways she could kill her grandmother and every time, bile burned her throat.

It was more than fear. It was a weakness, the worst yet. Agent 22 would try to talk to her and convince her to leave FOWL. It was impossible. Webby wouldn't be free until either she or Agent 22 died. Or Black Heron and Steelbeak. Despair swept over her and she choked back a sob that thankfully no one was there to hear.

Dewey had seen the tears in her eyes before she'd knocked him out. She hugged her knees tighter to her chest. Working at steadying her breathing, she almost missed spying the newcomers. She lifted her head and spied, in the distance, a large group that was assuredly not tourists.

She scanned the group. Now she really thought she'd be sick. She saw Dewey's trademark blue outfit and prayed she was mistaken. Hoping they hadn't noticed her yet, she ducked behind a bush and threw up in her mouth. She spat it out and trembled, swallowing back a sob. No, she was stronger than this. And if FOWL needed her to kill the extraneous baggage, then she would.

She ought to be proud. SHUSH had sent far more people than she had expected. Of course, the other FOWL agents had noticed their approach by now and started targeting them. Gunshots rang out and bombs flew. Webby straightened and saw the SHUSH agents disperse, providing smaller targets. Agent 22 was dragging Dewey along and no, Webby hadn't been mistaken. It was definitely him.

Fuck. Fuck. She didn't want him here. She would have to kill him and Agent 22. She'd also spied Darkwing Duck in the mix; how many SHUSH agents would she have to kill today? Dewey and Agent 22 were her loose ends. Darkwing Duck and his daughter Quiverwing were another story. She held her ground and then, ignoring how her stomach roiled, advanced toward the group. FOWL agents didn't target her, but they didn't bother to change their weapons' trajectories, either. Bullets and bombs flew over her head and around her.

Agent 22 was advancing too, with Dewey, and Webby closed her eyes for a few seconds as if when she reopened them, the scene might change. It didn't. She reached for the handgun she'd grabbed and strapped to her hip. Her hands shook as she turned the safety off.

"That's far enough," she said and winced. Her voice was trembling too. Dewey halted and she fumbled, nearly dropping the gun. No loose ends. She had to kill him.

"Webbigail!" Agent 22 said and Webby sneered, injecting her voice with confidence she didn't feel.

"Agent 22," she said coldly. "Granny."

"Put the gun down, Webby," her grandmother said softly. It was just the two of them versus her. The odds were laughable. It was the first time she'd come face to face with her grandmother in ten years and she looked and sounded the same. Webby's stomach jerked so hard that it felt like someone had socked her in the gut or someone had shoved shrapnel in there.

"You can't shoot us," Dewey said, sounding incredulous. Behind her, she heard the gunfire and then saw green bolts light up the sky. They must've engaged Magica by now.

Her eyes met Dewey's and what she saw there stabbed her in the heart. He was so earnest, so honest, so good. He would be her undoing. She had to...she couldn't...if she had meant to kill him, he would've been dead by now. Her hesitation was going to kill her.

But if she disabled him, Agent 22 would have to either pursue her or treat Dewey. She knew her grandmother had come here for her and Dewey was incidental. Perhaps he'd bleed out and then she wouldn't have directly killed him. She coughed, swallowing back more bile. She was scared, she was sick to her stomach, and her hands shook so badly it was amazing she could hold the gun.

"Webbigail," Agent 22 said. "Put the gun down."

Webby shook her head and pulled the trigger. It was deafening; she'd aimed for Dewey's right leg to prevent him from running after her. It was the lower half of his leg, though, not the femoral artery. She didn't really want him to bleed to death. Then, throwing the gun aside, she bolted, heading into the fray and daring her grandmother to follow her.

"Do you want to tell her that the gun wasn't loaded or should I?" Dewey said, watching Webby flee into the chaos. When the gun had gone off, he'd flinched instinctively, but nothing had happened. Webby must've convinced herself that she'd shot him and then ran. It wasn't her fault-she seemed to be running on pure nerves right now.

"She's petrified," Mrs. Beakley said, sighing. "FOWL must have changed the mission. She's here to kill us, not Magica.

"She has to come back for us," she said. "But she doesn't want to. I don't know what the penalty is for failing her mission, but the consequences can't be good."

Without another word, she bolted after her granddaughter with Dewey behind her. His longer legs meant he gained a few feet on her and they could just barely see Webby whip around the corner of the gift shop. Dewey collided hard with Webby and tackled her to the ground. Webby pushed herself away and her eyes were wide, her breathing shallow.

"Why won't you leave me alone?" she screamed. "I shot you, damn it!"

"There weren't any bullets in the gun," he said. "You didn't notice?"

She cursed.

"You know, I'm starting to think you couldn't kill me even if you really wanted to," he teased and she growled, punching him in the face.

"Ow, but okay, you can hit me," he said, holding his sore jaw. He was straddling her and her gaze flicked from where he was on top of her to his face. She probably didn't have a lot of people that close to her. Her breathing was shallow.

"Aren't you supposed to kill me, though?" he said.

"Dewey, don't bait her," Mrs. Beakley said and Webby shifted, pulling herself out from under him and pulling out a dagger. The older female duck materialized behind them and Webby watched her carefully.

"Webbigail, I don't know what they've said to you, though I can guess," she said. "None of it was true. I swear it."

"Don't act like you know me," Webby retorted. "I'm a FOWL agent, not a weak SHUSH operative."

"I know enough from what Dewey has told me and what I've seen around Duckburg," Mrs. Beakley answered. "You're not a FOWL agent, not truly. You're confused. I understand."

Webby's eyes narrowed and she threw the dagger at Mrs. Beakley's chest. The older duck batted it away, but Webby had thrown the blade as a diversion. She flung herself at her grandmother and Mrs. Beakley was on the defensive, fending off her granddaughter's blows. Webby growled, frustrated that her grandmother wouldn't attack her, only defend herself.

"I won't hurt you," Mrs. Beakley said. "I refuse to fight."

"FOWL wants me to kill you," Webby answered. "You're going to lay down and take it? Steelbeak is right. You are weak."

"I refuse to fight my granddaughter, whom I love despite not having seen her for ten years," she answered and continued parrying her blows. Webby hissed, ducking below her guards and feinting right only to punch Mrs. Beakley in the stomach. Mrs. Beakley responded by twisting Webby around and holding an arm around her throat.

Webby froze and then stepped down hard on her grandmother's webbed foot. Mrs. Beakley released her and Webby countered by punching her in the bill.

"Webby," Dewey said, running up behind her and trying to grab her.

"Dewey, don't interfere!" Mrs. Beakley scolded and Webby spun about, delivering another roundhouse kick that knocked him off his feet. Satisfied he wasn't going to jump back in, she swept her grandmother's feet out from under her too and Mrs. Beakley rolled, springing back up.

"I was sent to kill you," Webby snapped to her grandmother. "And you walked right into the trap."

"I knew it was a trap," she answered. "I went willingly."

"Because you were a fool."

"Because I love you and I want to bring you home."

"Stop saying that!" Webby growled. "Stop trying to manipulate me!"

"How sad is it that you can't tell the difference between affection and manipulation?" Mrs. Beakley said softly. "Or do you think they're one and the same?"

Webby faltered again and Dewey saw how badly she was shaking. He could tell that, with every fiber of her being, she didn't want to do this. She had somehow convinced herself that it was necessary, maybe her conscious mind, but her body language told another story. Her beak quivered like she was suppressing a sob.

"You let them take me," Webby accused.

"I know," she said softly. "I never forgave myself for it. I let you get ahead of me and they abducted you. It was my fault."

Webby stepped back and reached for the other dagger. Mrs. Beakley assumed a defensive position and Webby launched herself at her again. This time, Mrs. Beakley could easily parry Webby's strokes. One of her blows sliced a neat line along her grandmother's arm. Webby was crying, her vision blurred by tears, and she swallowed hard, scrubbing at her face.

"I have to kill you," she said at last. "If I don't kill you, they'll kill me."

"You have another option. You can come back with us. We'll protect you."

"It's too late for that," Webby said and smiled humorlessly. "You let the blade nick you. It's a different poison than the one I had for Lena. That was just a paralytic.

"I'm sorry, Granny. But you can't protect me."

She sprang to her feet and ran away. This time, Dewey let her. Mrs. Beakley looked like she wanted to pursue her again, but her legs gave out from under her. Dewey's heart lurched into his throat.

"She didn't seriously poison you, did he?" he asked, aghast.

Mrs. Beakley's eyes rolled up in her head and she collapsed.

"She seriously poisoned you…" he said and grabbed his phone. They needed help as soon as possible. He didn't know what Webby had given her, but he was willing to bet she wasn't playing around anymore.

Why hadn't they been enough to convince her? Was her brainwashing that deep? He'd thought they'd reached her.

And she kept running away as if by running, she could outdistance her doubts and worries. That didn't work. He knew from experience.

"Webs…" he breathed. He waited for Scrooge to answer and, once he had, he filled him in. To his consternation, tears filled his eyes too. He had wanted so badly for Webby to be convinced, to come back with them.

Why weren't they enough?

Webby found an isolated cavern and fell to her knees. Sobbing, she rocked back and forth. Had she proved herself to FOWL yet? Did the monster they wanted finally match her insides?

Maybe her grandmother wouldn't die. There was hope for that, albeit slim. Webby hadn't been messing around with poisons this time. She breathed hard, balling her fists.

She hated herself. She had probably sabotaged her one chance at happiness and for what? Brownie points? She pressed her face into her knees.

What would her mother think of her now? Steelbeak and Black Heron would be pleased. Webby curled into a ball and stared out without seeing. She let the sounds surrounding her to envelop her so she wouldn't have to think about what she'd just done.