Brock looked at the strange device in front of him, seeing it through the haze of acrid cigarette smoke. It looked unassuming, a mirror which glimmered and did nothing more than offer his reflection back to him. Yet, he'd been here before, looking out upon this same surface as the folks with degrees tinkered around with it.
Looks could be deceiving, that was a lesson beaten into him repeatedly during his time with the OSI and even more so since he'd started acting as muscle for Venture.
Yet, it was still pretty hard to believe that magic existed even when you'd been touched by it so many times.
``I wish that I could help you folks with this meeting'' Hatred grumbled, slowly shaking his head. ``But I guess that someone has to man the fort.''
Brock nodded. ``Yep.''
He decided to pull his punches, not letting the man know that he'd been mentally axed from the roster the second that Doc mentioned that there might be children present. Hatred was already down and Brock saw no reason to boot him in the ribs even more than he already did.
``Plus, I was never much for business meetings anyways,'' Hatred added, chuckling to himself. ``Unless I was crashing them back during my villain days. Though I'm sure you know what that's like, right?''
``Did it a few times back in Latin America,'' Brock commented as he nodded along to Hatred's statement. ``But don't forget, it's not villain-like when Uncle Sams the one telling you to do it.''
Hatred scoffed and allowed himself a crooked smile.
Before their conversation could continue, an elevator at the back of the room beeped and the door opened with Doc and Billy stepping out.
``You're telling me that you're just content chalking this up to magic,'' Billy jeered, shaking his head. ``Come on, Rusty, that doesn't seem like you at all.''
Doc shrugged. ``Less I believe it's magic and more I'd rather put my resources elsewhere. After all, we both know that magic is just science that hasn't been explained yet.'' He shook his head and looked at Brock. ``Has the OSI figured out what this thing is, by any chance?''
``Chalking it up to magic for now,'' Brock replied as he took another drag from his cigarette.
``Well now I feel better, knowing that our benefactors haven't figured out what it is either,'' Rusty grumbled, gesturing towards it. ``I'll make a note to investigate it further once we've finished with this meeting. I'm sure dad must've left something lying around.''
Brock knew that this was hot air. Doc had made this promise at least a dozen times before already.
``Not like we have anything better to do,'' Billy quipped.
Brock let his gaze linger upon Doc, seeing the way that his posture was even more bent than usual. The man looked tired, there was no other way to really put it. And this wasn't just any kind of tired. This was the deep kind of tired that Brock was used to seeing in troops who decided to self-medicate with a 9mm.
Empty nest.
No other way to really describe it. The absence of the kids was noticeable, seeming to fill the whole tower with a shroud that sapped every ounce of life from this place. It must've been bad if Brock could feel it. After all, he wasn't exactly an empath when it came to this sort of stuff.
He flicked his cigarette into the trash before looking at the pack and deciding against another one.
``Well hopefully we'll have something better to do in the near future,'' Rusty quipped, sighing. ``I'm finally getting a chance to talk to the old man on the other side and I'm going to sell him one hell of a project.''
``Got more weapons to try and pawn off on him?'' Brock grumbled.
Doc shook his head. ``No but space tourism is back in the limelight now that Bezos and Musk have entered the scene. And I'm thinking that VenTech could use our prior dominance in the field to capitalize upon this new and exciting market.'' He motioned with his hand, arching it through the air as he spoke. ``I'm thinking that it's about time that I took another swing at the Gargantua title and show my father and brother how it's really done.''
``By doing it poorly?'' Billy asked.
Doc scoffed and glared daggers at him. ``You lack faith.''
``I prefer to think that I have an abundance of common sense,'' Billy replied, moving towards the portal. He touched a hand to the glass, seeming a little apprehensive at it still being solid. Still, it was, at least for now. ``But if you want to throw money into the same pit that the rest of your family did then I can't stop you. Just make sure to put in a good word in for me when I inevitably have to look for a new job.''
``And why would you need to do that?'' Doc asked.
Billy smirked. ``Because your company can't afford another money sink.''
``Well thankfully this will not be any mere money sink,'' Doc stated, puffing out his chest. ``There's a market, there's new technology, and best of all, we're not going to be using my money to finance it.''
``I'm sure the big guy on the other side is going to love hearing that,'' Brock chided.
Doc chuckled and walked past the portal. ``Have faith, Brock. I have that old duck curled around my little finger and he'll buy whatever I'm selling.''
``I'm sure that you do,'' Brock chided.
Doc made his way over to a bank of computers, hammering away at the keys. He focused on his work, humming to himself as he typed in a couple strings of code. Whatever he did seemed to work, however, as the portal started to crackle to life.
Billy yelped and jumped back, taking in the view as the surface altered. It shifted from reflective silver as streaks of electricity forcefully ripped it open, tearing gruesome wounds into spacetime. One by one they grew larger and larger until there was a swirling portal of blue in front of him.
``Look, just let me worry about winning over Scrooge, okay?'' Doc asked, flashing a coy little smile as he arched his hand towards the portal. ``Me and the old man have a working relationship and I'm sure he's going to love whatever I'm selling.
[hr]
Scrooge sighed, adjusting his coat. ``I hate that blasted ape.''
``Then why are we going to this stupid meeting?'' Della asked, rubbing her temples with two fingers. Yet, they did little to abate the rapidly approaching migraine. ``I say that we should've dumped this stupid thing into the ocean and saved ourselves the headache.''
She looked at the smooth silver surface in front of them, glancing to the side and seeing Fenton typing out a string of commands into a nearby bank of computers.
``Because as much as I dislike the man, his inventions do have a habit of making us money,'' Scrooge said, shaking his head. ``Only issue is that they're making us less and less money.''
``The portal should be up and running shortly,'' Fenton called, flashing a cheery smile and a thumbs up. ``Seems that they've already opened it on the other side too.'' He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, reading the computer screen. ``Currently no anomalies or energy surges to worry about either.''
``I say we find someone else on the other side,'' Della commented.
She worked her beak, not wanting to admit that a large part of her disdain was centred around how creepy Rusty was. He was somehow even slimier than those Lunarian freaks.
``Now, now,'' Scrooge stated, pulling a pocket watch out and looking at it. ``Unfortunately, Doctor Venture has proved himself to be a reliable business partner, and we at least have the right to hear him out. Though he'll find a tough audience if he plans to talk me out of any more of my money without results.''
Della sighed but nodded along regardless, pushing herself away from the crate and taking a step towards the portal. She practiced her best smile, trying to make it seem as sincere as possible. Yet, she knew that it was failing horrible, wavering with a faux pressure which almost made it look tormented.
Business wasn't her type of thing, it really wasn't. And it was even less her thing when it involved parties that she actively disliked.
``Going to establish a bridge, now,'' Fenton said, clacking away at the keys. ``We should have a connection in about ten seconds.''
The portal started to crackle with bolts of blue electricity rippling across the surface. They snapped out and hit the roof and floor, leaving scorch marks behind. Yet, slowly, the electricity started to become controlled, rippling and tearing at the silver material.
``Plus, I might need Venture's help,'' Scrooge whispered, murmuring this statement under his breath.
Della's anger faded, almost in an instant, as she focused on her uncle. She knew that she probably should've asked, pried, but he had never been the most forthcoming of individuals when it came to this sort of stuff.
Maybe, it was for the best that she never found out.
``What was that?'' Fenton called.
Or Fenton could just do that. That also worked.
Scrooge sighed. ``I let that demandable Bradford get a wing up on me and I never want to be caught in a situation like that again. And I think that might involve getting a few aces up my sleeve from the other side.''
``Like he did?'' Della asked.
Scrooge nodded, seeming so old after this confession. ``Aye.''
``Come one Scrooge, you know that...'' Della began.
Scrooge waved her off with his cane, instead stepping towards the portal. ``I've already made up my mind about this and we both know that there's no changing it once it's been made up. Our clan has a duty to protect its own and I aim to honour that no matter the consequences''
Della sighed. ``I know.''
She didn't fight him. He was right, there was no changing his mind once it was made up. And even she felt the scar left behind by Bradford. This was probably a wound shared between every soul in the family.
Fenton typed in a couple more commands, causing the lightning around the portal to fizzle and snap, forming a circle which soon glowed a bright blue. The whole silvery surface was now made of a fluid energy, looking so fragile, like it would cave in against even the barest amount of pressure.
``Link established!'' Fenton called. He hammered away at a couple more keys. ``And it seems that we're integrated with VenTech systems too. Just a little...'' He typed out a couple more strings of text and then hit the enter key. ``And we should be golden!''
The portal promptly turned green, warbling with the strangely beautiful notes borne from a breach in spacetime. It was an oddly chilling song, making the feathers on the back of Della's neck stand up.
``Or well more like green,'' Fenton teased, chuckling to himself. Before he left his station, he glanced at his armour. ``Think that we'll need the suit, Sir?''
``I wouldn't worry about it,'' Scrooge chided, waving his hand through the air. ``If there is anything that I can trust Venture with, it's his ability to have his property adequately protected.''
Della scoffed.
``What?'' Scrooge asked.
Della shook her head. ``Apparently we met two different slimeballs.''
``Well thankfully, I am an amazing judge of character!'' Scrooge chided, taping his cane down upon the ground. ``And even if something does slip through, I'm sure that Sampson fellow will be able to take care of it quickly enough.'' He scoffed. ``That man could maybe even best Beakley if push came to shove. Though don't tell her that I said that.''
He strutted ahead and threw caution to the wind, stepping towards the portal. His pace didn't slow as he pushed on through, causing the greenish fluid to ripple as he disappeared from this universe.
``I don't like this,'' Della grumbled.
Fenton shrugged. ``If Scrooge trusts the guy, then I trust the guy. Just as long as there isn't any...'' He shuddered. ``Accidental carnage this time around.''
``Oh, come on, you act like breaking a guy's nose is the worst thing that you've ever done,'' Della said, moving towards the portal.
Fenton laughed but the notes seemed hollow, strained by the reality of the situation. ``Well, that's because it uh... it was... it was probably the worst thing that I've ever done.'' He shuddered. ``There was so much blood.''
Della paused and nodded at that. ``You know what? Fair... fair enough.''
Instead of festering in the awkward silence, she stepped towards the portal. As she stood before it, she looked back at Fenton and snapped off a playful salute. He still seemed shell shocked but at the very least he snapped off a salute of his own in turn.
And with that Della took a hop, step, and a jump through the portal, bouncing through to the other side.
[hr]
``I still find this extremely unbelievable,'' Billy whispered.
Rusty scoffed. ``Come now, Billy, isn't this just the scientific method at work? You repeat an experiment to ensure that the results are consistent.'' He reached up and adjusted his tie before puffing out the jacket of his ancient suit. ``And the results of this experiment say that this portal leads to another dimension.''
``Where everyone is a sentient duck?'' Billy asked.
``Not everyone,'' Brock commented, toying with his lighter. ``There was that vulture freak who we ran into a little while back. Also, some weird like... dog thing. I don't know, it was hard to tell what exactly it was supposed to be under all of those mummy wrappings.''
``So, it's a furry universe then?'' Billy asked.
Brock shook his head, having absolutely no idea what a furry was supposed to be.
And it didn't seem like he would have time to find out as the ducks stepped through the portal. They looked pretty much the same as they had during their last meeting. There was the elderly bird who looked like a member of the old money aristocracy, the girl duck with a robot leg, and the awkward science duck who...
``Hey guys!'' Fenton called, waving.
Yep, he sure as shit still sounded like Lin-Manuel Miranda.
``Is he going to start rapping about the Adam's administration?'' Billy grumbled.
Brock scoffed. ``Why is that part of the play that comes to mind for you?''
Doc glared at them and didn't say anything. Instead, he forced a smile and looked towards his guests, spreading his hands and offering a small bow. ``Esteemed friends, I welcome you to VenTech, could I interest you in something to drink?''
As if on cue a pair of hoverbots erupted from the walls, flying over and settling into a holding position next to the ducks. One of them had a couple pitchers of liquid upon it while the other had glassware. In a rare instance of good engineering, they didn't spill a single thing.
Probably because the design was from the old man.
Della looked at one of them and grabbed the pitcher of iced tea, filling her glass with it. ``Neat party trick.''
``Gyro has something similar in the works back at his lab,'' Fenton commented, joining Della and filling a glass with cola. ``Maybe he could give you a few pointers on how to perfect the design before you start selling it.''
Doc's eye twitched. ``Pardon?''
``Oh, are these not... prototypes?'' Fenton asked, visibly wincing. He then forced a smile, chuckling nervously as he looked at Doc. ``They're a fine design, please ignore me.''
Doc worked his jaw and seemed like he was about to say something sharp but decided to keep it to himself. That fact alone made Brock internally wince. You knew things must've been tight financially if he wasn't butting heads with his investors.
``If you'll follow me, I'll escort you to our boardroom where we can discuss things further,'' he said, turning towards the elevator at the back of the room. ``It'll also give me a chance to show you what VenTech has been working on lately.''
The ducks collectively nodded and started to follow him. Their flippers echoed as they traversed the vast emptiness of the R&D facility.
``Seems like you've slimmed the staffing down by a fair margin,'' Scrooge stated, looking around at the few projects which were on display. These mostly included accessories for the newest line of Helper robots and a few vanity projects that were in early stages of development. Though overall, the space was empty, devoid of any substance. ``Are you experiencing some capital issues?''
Brock scoffed. Now wasn't that an understatement.
``The cash flow from the recently released Helper line has kept the company in the green by a healthy margin,'' Doc lied, managing to do so with a practiced smile. ``But we've decided to trim down on some of the needless fat in this company. There's never a reason to keep unnecessary labour around, right?''
``Aye, fair enough,'' Scrooge commented. ``Though in my own experience, firing the big brains never goes well.''
``The market is tight and I'm sure they'll come back at the drop of a hat,'' Doc replied. Another lie, so expertly told. It was almost unnerving how he could do it at this point. ``After all, our benefits package and stock options are unmatched in this industry.''
Brock couldn't have gotten a better performance out of a seasoned OSI agent.
``So how are you doing, big guy?'' a familiar voice asked, stirring Brock from his stupor.
Brock looked to the side and then down at Della, seeing that she was keeping pace with him. She smiled up at him, looking so nonchalant as she placed her hands behind her head. It was rare to meet someone not intimidated by him but she sincerely seemed not at all phased by his presence.
That was impressive, commendable even.
``Keeping my head above water,'' Brock said, shrugging. ``The Guild has recently approved the Monarch to come back around and resume arching us so I've had a steady stream of goons to fight and kick out. How about you, anything exciting come up since Bradford kicked the bucket?''
``Nah, things have mostly died down on our side of the portal,'' Della admitted. ``Though I don't mind it too much. It gives me a chance to learn how to be an actual mother. Little strange to have triplets after being alone for so long.''
``Yeah, I remember when I heard about my first group of triplets,'' Brock said.
Della smirked. ``Oh, you have triplets too, can I see a picture of them?''
``Don't got any,'' Brock replied, scoffing as he continued ahead. ``Last I heard they were in high school.''
Della blinked, taking a moment to pick up on what exactly Brock was laying down. Though once she had, her face transitioned from shock to disgust then confusion and then back to disgust in short order.
``You've never visited them?'' she asked.
``Too dangerous,'' Brock explained. ``There are about a dozen different state sponsored spy agencies who have a bounty on my head and probably twice as many private actors who feel the same way. The best thing I can do for my kids is leave them be and let the government help them get through life.''
``Walt Disney,'' Della whispered, shaking her head. ``That's grim.''
``It's the world you get used to when you work for the OSI,'' Brock said, shrugging. Though he made sure to offer her the warmest smile that he could manage. She seemed to be doing right and deserved to know that. ``But it's nice to hear that you're trying to do right with your kids. The blue one seems...'' He searched for the word, not knowing the best way to talk about something like this. ``Like a good trooper.''
``Dewey is my favourite,'' Della said before pausing and promptly cringing, smacking a hand to her face. ``Shi... I mean... fu... I mean horse apples! I'm not supposed to pick favourites.''
``You can swear over here,'' Brock chided, allowing himself a sly smile. ``No ones going to come after you for it.''
Della chuckled nervously, rubbing at her temple. ``Sorry, sorry, I'm just used to being back home where a red dot appears on my forehead if I don't keep my language in check. I'm honestly a little jealous of Donald. He gets away with some of the worst language that I've ever heard. It seems that the angels manning the editing room in the sky kind of let him slip through the cracks because of his speech impediment.''
``And we're here!'' Doc beamed.
He pressed a button on the elevator, opening its door before ushering everyone inside.
``So, what exactly are you looking for that requires our help?'' Scrooge asked, looking around the elevator as the doors closed. He stumbled as it started to shoot upwards, moving at an impressive clip. ``Because if you're looking for an eager investor, I can promise you there are probably easier venues to explore than myself.''
Doc nodded and gestured towards a pane of glass off to the side of the elevator. As they left the deepest depths of the basement, they started to make their way to the basement above it, a far taller room in its design. This was a hangar of sorts where dozens of robots were currently busy at work, spot welding what appeared to be a sizeable rocket.
Della went pale as she saw it. ``Is that?''
``It's a rocket designed from some of the specs provided to me from our last exchange of information,'' Doc explained. ``I believe you called it the Spear of Selene?''
Scrooge also went pale as he looked at Fenton, staring mutely at him.
``What?'' Fenton asked. ``You asked me to transfer over some of the least classified projects for an exchange of information with VenTech and...''
``Not that project,'' Scrooge whispered, shaking his head. ``Never that project.''
Della reached for the buttons on the elevator, hammering the one that led down to the lowest level. However, her attempts proved futile as it didn't seem that the elevator would be deterred from its intended path.
``Not doing this,'' she hissed. ``Not...''
``Whoa, whoa, whoa,'' Doc said, holding up his hands. ``I'm sorry if I'm infringing upon a sensitive trade secret but I can assure you that we've augmented the designs and have fixed all of the faults in it.''
``Faults?'' Fenton asked, now looking just as concerned as his companions.
``It seemed that there was a piece of faulty engineering put into the navigation system which might cause issues if the craft were to leave low earth orbit,'' Doc explained, letting out a sigh of relief as the ship faded from view and they instead transitioned into yet another basement of the tower. ``I was able to isolate and then repair it.'' He scoffed. ``It almost seemed like someone was trying to sabotage the design considering how transparent the flaws were.''
Scrooge looked grim as he stared out the window. Slowly, he took in a breath, settling himself and allowing a little colour to return to his cheeks. ``Rusty, my boy, I think it would be best to let that design go. It's cursed from the start and no amount of tinkering will ever make it right. Do you understand me?''
Brock approached Della, placing a hand upon her shoulder. He'd been to enough battlefields and hospital ships to know PTSD when he saw it. It had a way of ravaging even the hardiest of soldiers and few soldiers were as hardy as Della.
Yet, she flinched away from his touch, leaning against the glass and looking at the floor. She seemed angry, tense, like a firecracker just waiting to explode.
``Space is a dangerous environment,'' Doc said, nodding sagely. ``I lost both my brother and father to it.''
``Then why do you want the same fate?'' Scrooge asked.
The elevator continued higher and higher, transitioning from basements to a vast lobby. It then continued higher still and didn't stop until they were only two stories short of the top.
``Because it's the future, Scrooge,'' Rusty stated, thumping his chest. ``Our planet is taxed to a capacity that will soon strip it bare and I wish to make myself a leader in the race towards the stars.'' He scoffed. ``And I intend to do it without resorting to cheap tactics like owning a mildly successful online bookstore or an Emerald mine that has an abnormal amount of labour violations.''
The doors to the elevator opened, revealing a small reception room where a blue robot was currently manning the table. On the other side, was another door, made of the most expensive wood that Brock had ever seen.
Doc stepped out and headed across, nodding to the robot which beeped some sort of greeting in response. He then held the door open, ushering everyone inside.
The boardroom of Venture Tower was a gorgeous room with a few comfortable leather chairs, a pristine polished oak table, a fine red rug, sterile walls, and a portrait of Doc himself painted to look like a lanky version of Napoleon with a bony hand shoved into his breast pocket. There were also a few snack bowls laid out though Brock knew that the brands contained within them were all the dollar store versions of half-decent snacks. The signs of thrifty rot had even extended to this room.
``I don't think we're going to get very far,'' Scrooge commented, strutting over and plopping down into one of the chairs. ``That design was a blight upon my kin and I will not have my money doom others to the same fate.'' He scoffed. ``Even if you are human.''
The ducks reluctantly took their seats and the humans joined them, each party occupying a separate side of the table.
``If it's a concern about safety, I can assure you that I've dealt with it myself,'' Billy said, reaching out and grabbing a granola bar. ``And we've ensured that we augmented the design with existing VenTech products that have reduced the failure rate to an acceptable threshold within this industry.''
He started to unwrap the granola bar, taking a bite of it. Whatever flavour it was clearly didn't please him as he winced, slowing his chewing.
``The rocket design is solid,'' Doc tried. ``It just needs a little 21st century love to make it truly great.''
Scrooge didn't look impressed. Della, for her part, looked like she was apt to bite someone's head off.
Fenton was the lone party who seemed at all capable of engaging with this. ``And why exactly are you so interested in the design for Dr. Venture?''
Doc smirked. Brock knew he had been waiting for that question, eagerly baiting the discussion in that direction. It was a classic tactic of his. Instead of answering immediately, he carefully reached under the table and pressed a button, causing a protector to emerge from the centre of the table.
It flickered to life and filled the room with a bright blue hologram. In the middle was a familiar space station, one which Brock had been too and remembered not so fondly.
Gargantua-2
``A few years ago, my brother developed a space station that hung in mid-earth orbit and acted as a hub of science, commerce, and tourism,'' Doc explained. ``However, on the eve of its grand opening, it was struck by a terrorist attack that caused its reactor to go critical, killing my brother and sending his project into the ocean.''
Scrooge looked off to the side. ``I am sorry to hear that.''
``Don't be, my brother was a pompous idiot,'' Doc grumbled, waving him off. ``He was an idealist who didn't pay off the right organizations and decided to build a gaudy palace in the sky to flaunt his brilliance. Thankfully, I am smarter than that.''
Della sucked in a breath, going wide-eyed. Clearly, family wasn't as loose of a concept on the other side of the portal. Or maybe Brock was just used to working with sociopaths. Who could honestly tell anymore?
``My goal is to augment your universe's technology with existing VenTech designs to...'' He pressed a button, causing the hologram to fade. ``Construct Gargantua-3!''
A new hologram sprung to life, being larger and gaudier than the last. It was a station that had twice as much real estate with a towering copper structure in the middle which totally did not look like Doc was trying to make up for something in terms of his anatomy.
``Wait, did you say three?'' Scrooge asked, cocking a brow. ``What happened to the first?''
Doc sighed. ``My father's space station which...'' He worked his jaw. ``Went out in a blaze of glory, killing him with it. Or well... putting him in stasis for fifty years and then killing him when he tried to take over someone else's body.'' He motioned with his hand, scoffing at them. ``Look, let's not get into my family drama, right now. I'm not my brother or father and I have no intention of going out in a blaze of glory.''
``I mean, it kind of seems like you're falling for the same trap,'' Fenton said, pointing towards the structure. ``Like I get not wanting to miss your shot...''
``Oh my god,'' Billy beamed. ``I hear it now.''
``Hear what?'' Fenton asked as he paused to look at him.
Billy sighed and smiled sheepishly. ``Never mind.''
Fenton cocked a brow but contented himself with shaking his head before looking directly at Doc. ``I'm just saying that I don't really see how this investment is going to help you; let alone Scrooge.''
``Of course, of course, you want to know how this is going to benefit your side of the arrangement,'' Doc said, holding out his hands. He threw on his most award-winning smile and motioned towards the group. Yet, even Brock had to admit that it looked especially flimsy. ``We need a little capital to get our project off of the ground, quite literally. However, we're willing to share all of our rocket designs and advances in space technology with your side of the portal. All we're asking for is an initial investment. If everything goes according to plan VenTech will colonize this solar system and your enterprise will colonize your solar system. How does that exchange sound?''
``Like a pipe dream,'' Fenton grumbled.
Della shook her head. ``I don't think that we're particularly interested in what you're selling, Rusty.'' She abruptly pushed herself away from the table and got to her feet. ``In fact, I think that we're just about...''
``Now hold on,'' Scrooge said, banging his cane down upon the floor.
Fenton and Della both went silent and looked towards him. He seemed stoic, even more so than usual, staring at the floating hologram in front of him. His eyes were misty and it was obvious that his demeanour caught the two of them off guard.
``I don't give a flipper about space, Venture,'' Scrooge said. ``Everything I need is planet side.''
``Oh, come now,'' Billy tried. ``You can't be that short-sighted.''
Scrooge held up a wing, silencing the boy genius. ``However, many decades ago, your father provided a snake in my organization with a weapon that very likely could've killed me and my kin.''
Doc cocked a brow and didn't say anything, merely motioning for him to go on.
``And I want the means to protect me and my own going forward,'' Scrooge continued, nodding sagely. ``I'll gladly help with your little space adventure. However, in exchange I want something to ensure that the McDuck family stays safe, happy, and healthy for the foreseeable future. If you can provide me with something like that then I'll gladly spare a few million for your...''
``Billion,'' Billy interjected.
Scrooge paused, taking that figure in. He shook his head upon hearing it. ``Walt Disney...'' In the end, he reluctantly sighed. ``But if that is the cost of security then I might be willing to negotiate some sort of agreement with you. Do those terms seem appropriate?''
Della huffed. ``Uncle Scrooge, you can't just...''
``We don't need some weird human invention to...'' Fenton added at the same time.
Scrooge lifted his cane and thwacked it down upon the floor, sending a sharp noise echoing throughout the room. It was enough to silence both of them.
``I've done my thinking, darn it, and I am not going to let another Bradford nearly ruin our clan.'' He looked at Della, swallowing a lump in his throat. ``Nor will I let them tear my family apart.''
Della winced and looked away, speechless.
The display nearly broke Brock's heart. Yet, he had seen worse. Hell, he'd probably done worse to people. The pang he felt was relatively minor, easily suppressed and shoved aside.
``Doc, do you honestly think we should be selling weapons to...'' he began.
Doc held up a hand, silencing him as he focused his attention on the party across from him. With a snap of his fingers, the space station faded away, replaced with a missile of some sort. ``If you're looking for weapons...'' Another snap, shifting it to a tank. ``I can provide...'' Yet, another snap and a mecha appeared, looking more than capable of protecting whoever was piloting it. ``Weapons.''
And that's when the power went out.
[hr]
The pain in Scrooge's face, that image was burned into Della's brain. It was enough to give fuel to a whole maelstrom of negativity as both pain and sadness came to the forefront. One part of her wanted to embrace the old duck and another wanted to shout at him to stop blaming himself for something that wasn't even his fault.
Yet, neither voice won out before the lights went out.
For a moment, there was only darkness, a reaper sinking its claws into the moment.
``Did you forget to pay the electric bill?'' Brock grumbled.
Rusty sighed. ``No Brock, I didn't forget to pay the electric bill. In fact, our back-up reactor should've kicked in by now.''
``You have a reactor!'' Fenton yelped.
``Yeah, about that doc,'' Billy murmured. ``We uh... we sold all of our fuel to the Persians.''
``What do you mean we sold all our fuel to the Persians?'' Rusty grumbled.
Billy sighed. ``Remember when you asked me to come up with a couple million dollars as soon as possible.''
``Wait...'' Brock sighed. ``Please don't tell me that you...''
His comment was cut off by the shrill shout of a klaxon, the noise echoing loudly as a red light strobed throughout the room. The brief bursts of light gave Della a chance to assess the situation, seeing the way that fear seemed to settle upon everyone's faces.
Well, everyone except for Brock.
The giant got to his feet and touched a finger to his ear. ``Hatred, what's going on in the lobby?'' Each strobing of the lights reflected a different emotion from him. At first, he seemed confused, then worried, then extremely pissed about what was going on. ``Hatred isn't responding.'' He instead reached for his belt and grabbed a handgun, pulling it out and aiming it towards the door. ``Come on, everyone, let's get you to the safe room before these assholes start to show up.''
Rusty sighed and got to his feet. ``They really pick such inopportune times to show up, don't they?''
``You're preaching to the choir, laddie,'' Scrooge said, getting to his feet and loudly cracking his fingers. ``I guess our little meeting can be put on hold until we're somewhere safe.''
Della sprung up and took position next to Brock, adopting a karate stance as she stared down the door. The first freak who pushed through was bound to get a metal flipper applied directly to the face.
Brock looked at her and scoffed. ``Leave this to me.''
``And miss out on the fun?'' Della asked, shaking her head. She couldn't help but smile as this meeting became extremely her speed. ``That's not my style.''
Fenton groaned, looking anxiously around the room. ``I knew that I should've brought my armour.''
Suddenly, the door burst open and a figure pushed through. He was a big and burly human with a tattoo on his face. It seemed that he was about to say something but Della didn't give him the chance as she sprung forward and smashed him in the face with a hard kick from her metallic flipper.
The figure fell backwards, going limp, unconscious. His nose was flattened, spewing blood.
Oh right, those were the rules on this side.
Brock sighed. ``Appreciate the eagerness but...''
Della looked down at the guy and then up at Brock before glancing towards Rusty and Billy who both looked at her in horror.
``Was he... not a bad guy?'' she asked.
Rusty sighed. ``I mean bad is relative but...''
``He was one of ours,'' Brock finished.
Della winced. ``Shit.''
``Nothing we can do about that now,'' Brock said, bending down and picking up the man's gun before handing it over to Della. ``Do you know how to use this?''
Della felt the iron in her hands, appreciating the weight of it. She had a vague idea of how it worked and had seen it first hand when she'd last encountered the humans. Yet, the sheer damage that it could inflict was kind of intimidating.
Yet, she had kin to protect and maybe intimidating was for the best.
``I think so,'' she whispered.
``Point it at a guy you want dead and then pull the trigger,'' Brock instructed as he stepped into the hall, fanning his own gun from left to right. ``Only use it if we're up against something that I can't handle by myself.''
Della nodded. ``Use it to protect my people.''
``Bingo,'' Brock said, nodding to the others before gesturing down the corridor. ``Come on, let's get out of here.''
The others all looked at each other but nodded, coming to terms with the fact they were going to follow Brock's lead. As such, they headed through the red strobing hallway and towards the stairs. It wasn't a very far journey and it seemed like they would be able to reach them without delay.
Yet, things were never quite that simple, as the elevator dinged at the end of the hall.
Brock paused and levelled his gun upon it, slipping his finger into position right against the trigger.
Della drew in a breath and did the same, feeling how clammy her grip was. A nervous energy crawled up her throat, coating her being in a shroud of anxious fear. Any second now, any second, and shit was going to hit the fan in a spectacular fashion.
The elevator dinged a second time and the door slid open with a being rushing forth.
Della screamed and squeezed the trigger. The gun exploded in her hands, rocking backwards and nearly tearing itself from her grip. Her round flew true, however, smacking through the chest of the robot who wheeled towards her.
The robot stopped dead in its tracks, almost looking betrayed with the limited range of emotion that its artificial complexion managed to convey. It took a few seconds for reality to dawn upon it before it looked down at the hole in its chest with its expression shifting from confusion and into shocked horror. It tried to touch this hole but a rupture of black fuel belched forth, gushing from the wound.
As it bled out, the robot let out a pathetic, betrayed, beeping sound before collapsing to the floor, now motionless.
``Okay!'' Brock huffed, reaching out and snatching the gun right out of Della's hands. ``This was a bad decision on my part and I apologize for it. You just... you stay behind me with the others. I can handle protecting us from whatever is out there.''
Della looked at the ground but nodded. That plan was probably for the best and there was no denying that.
Brock gestured towards the assembled crew, motioning forwards as he stepped ahead. The others lingered behind, clearly trusting his authority in this matter. He walked towards the elevator though instead of going into it, he detoured and went for the stairs off to the left, starting to push into them.
There was something amiss and even Della could tell as much. She could hear the pounding of many feet as they were making their way up the stairs. For now, they were distant, several stories down. Yet, it was still easy to tell that there were so many of them, just waiting for a chance to catch-up and nab them.
``Why did the boss make us start all the way down in the lobby?'' one of the goons groaned. ``We had the ability to enter higher up.''
Another goon scoffed. ``Probably wants to give us a workout. You know how these guys can be. They ascend to the highest levels of the Guild and suddenly they think they're hot shit who only deserves the best.''
``Stop complaining,'' a third goon shouted. ``We stick to the plan.''
``And if we run into Sampson?'' the first goon asked.
The second chuckled. ``Then I sacrifice you and run for it.''
``There isn't any safety when Sampson has your scent,'' the third goon grumbled. ``I heard that a henchman took a shot at him and managed to get away. Thought he was safe, until three days later, when a bullet went through his skull back at home.''
``If that happened then how did we hear about it,'' the second good jeered.
Brock scoffed, allowing himself a thin smile. He looked proud of the conversation, revelling in his folklore.
Yet, he didn't bask in the glory for too long, as he started on his way further up the stairs. He was promptly followed by the others as they started on a brisk powerwalk higher. Thankfully, as Della glanced up, she could see that they weren't too far away, only a couple stories below the penthouse suite.
All she had to do was trust Brock.
[hr]
Another day, another dollar.
Brock had expected something like this would happen. Sure, he didn't know what day or in what form it would take, but the Monarch had gotten his license back. Which meant it would only be a matter of time before those stupid yellow henchmen returned to the killing field.
He looked behind himself and saw Della right behind him. She seemed fit enough, probably matching him in terms of cardio. The others were lagging behind, however, with Scrooge and Billy both looking tired and Fenton and Doc huffing as they tried to slog their way upstairs.
It was only a couple of stories, how are they already winded?
Brock scoffed.
God, he hated working with the science community.
``Come on, we're nearly there,'' Brock chastised, jogging up the final flight and reaching the door to the penthouse suite. ``I thought you'd been working out, Doc?''
``I have been,'' Doc wheezed. ``But I'm more focused on trying to better my physical strength. After all, no woman has ever gone out with a guy who was good at cardio.''
``Cardio is important,'' Scrooge growled, clapping his cane down as he ascended the final stair. ``I do apologize, Sampson, but I am not the spry chicken that I once was.'' He let out a winded note of laughter as he finally conquered the last of the stairs. ``Though I suppose I was never a chicken at any point in my life.''
Brock nodded. ``Do you run into the kind of stuff on the other side?''
``More or less,'' Scrooge said, offering a crooked smile. It seemed that his breathing was quick to settle. ``I can see that villains are the same on both sides, however, attacking where you're strongest.'' He chuckled, shaking his head. ``Did you know that my money bin has over thirty traps installed to stop a thief? I publicly state as much and every week some new outlaw, with his eye on my gold, gets caught.''
``Death traps?'' Billy asked.
Scrooge waved him off. ``Not quite, we don't really do that on our side.''
``Which part don't you do?'' Billy added.
``Oh, you know...'' Scrooge motioned with his hand, trying to figure out the right way to describe it. ``Dying.''
The voices from downstairs were starting to grow louder. Worse, one of the goons had apparently heard their conversation, using this fact to spur on his comrades. Soon, there was a rapturous cheer as the footsteps grew more numerous and emboldened, getting closer and closer as they stomped higher up.
Fenton was the last up, reaching into his pocket and pulling something out. ``Might've left my suit behind but I'm not completely useless.'' It was an aerosol can which he proceeded to spray upon the top few stairs, coating them in some sort of fluid. ``There! That should hopefully keep them busy.''
``What is that?'' Brock asked.
Fenton turned to him and looked so proud, placing his hands upon his hips. ``It's a lubricant that I use to keep the joints on my suit in working order. Should cause any unwanted baddies to slip while they're coming after us.''
Doc scoffed. ``And fall to their death?''
``Wait... death?'' Fenton asked. ``No, they'll just kinda pinwheel and then take a tumble, bouncing all the way back down to the first floor. You know, get a whirlwind over their head for a couple seconds and then try again.''
``Not how it works on this side, kid,'' Brock said.
Billy snorted. ``They'll likely hit their head on the way down, gashing their brains out.''
``Should keep them busy though,'' Brock added, finally pushing open the door. ``Good thinking.''
Fenton looked horrified at the stairs. Yet, it was too late. They couldn't be degreased even if he wanted to.
Brock stepped into the penthouse's reception room, fanning his gun across the space. It looked mostly the same as it had before. The only difference was that omnipresent red-light flashing.
There was a helper model at the table which was currently powered down, lifeless at its post. An oddity but not one that Brock could investigate.
He moved towards the door on the other side of the room, looking in upon the darkened atrium. There was nothing within view, no hint that anything was amiss. Yet, there was something in Brock's stomach which told him that there was something wrong
And the thing that separated a seasoned agent from the fodder, was trusting their gut.
He could spot the door to the panic room on the other side of the chamber, a mere sprint away from his current position. It was so close. Yet, as he looked at the huffing and puffing scientists that he was with, he could tell that even this small distance was going to be a bridge too far.
``Della,'' Brock said.
Della looked apprehensive at being picked out, nervously looking at his gun. ``What's up?''
``See that door with a keypad?'' Brock asked, pointing towards it. He waited to see Della follow his gaze, nodding along. ``The code is one-nine-two-three. Once you're inside, close the door and hit the big red button. That will keep the door sealed and send out an SOS to every group who might be able to help.''
``Wait, what are you going to do?'' Della asked.
Brock pulled the magazine out of his gun and inspected it, confirming that it was fully loaded. He then slotted it back in, priming his gun and even flicking off the safety. It was now hot and ready to fire.
``I'm the distraction,'' he said.
Della frowned and looked like she was about to shoot down the idea. She would've made a good OSI agent, if maybe a little too idealistic. It was only natural that she didn't like the idea of leaving a soldier behind.
``I need to cut loose,'' Brock said, winking at her. ``Been awhile since I had a proper fight and I want to make sure that I'm not distracted with keeping everyone safe. Think of it as doing me a favour, okay?''
Della sighed. ``Okay.''
Brock hammered his fist into a button next to the glass doors, causing them to shoot open. He then rushed in, not looking behind himself as he arched his gun throughout the room. His only choice was to trust Della.
``Well, well, well!'' a voice called, followed by some slow clapping.
Out from amongst the red strobes, a figure came forth.
The Monarch
He looked... well the same... but his outfit seemed nicer than usual, pristine and crisp. It was made of shiny materials, hugging his body and leaving him glistening in yellow and black. He looked so confident and cocky, in this moment, clearly enjoying the perks of his new rank immensely.
And from the darkness, a whole army of henchmen emerged from the shadows. Each of them levelled their guns upon Sampson, looking like they were ready to shoot him down. That was their mistake, however.
``Did you leave the Doctor behind, Sampson?'' the monarch asked, scoffing. ``I guess I can't blame you for abandoning dead weight. No bother, I'm sure my men will be able to find him easily enough.'' He chuckled and looked so proud of himself as he gestured to the cocoon hovering in the sky above. ``As you can see, my hive is fully replenished with manpower and munitions. Do you...''
Sampson wasn't much for theatrics, despising the concept of a monologue.
So, he took aim and fired, snapping off a quick shot. It sounded like a crack, so loud as the room was sent into a stunned silence. Gunfire was noisy, even more so when the acoustics were so good, echoing over and over again.
One of the guards near the Monarch collapsed, dead.
The Monarch looked at him and then at Sampson, wincing as he covered his ears. ``Jesus, dude, are you trying to rupture my fucking...''
Brock fired again, taking advantage of the stunned state of the henchmen. Yet, those would be the only freebies that he'd get. Soon, shit really started to hit the fan, as a whole cascade of gunfire filled the room.
It seemed like every henchman had him in their sights. Yet, he was quick, seasoned, ducking and diving for cover. Munitions hit all around him, sending up little geysers of debris which almost gave the environment a smoky quality.
This was pure chaos with guns firing and voices shouting to one another.
The Monarch had ducked behind cover. Yet, there were plenty of henchmen who weren't nearly as smart. They stood out in the open, happy to accept the oncoming torrent of gunfire.
Come on Della, it's now or never.
``Wait you're the shithead who broke my fucking nose!'' the Monarch roared.
[hr]
Della dove forward, trying to keep low while moving fast. It was terrifying as bullets zipped through the air. The others followed her, looking just as terrified as bullets flew every which way, seeming to not care if they hit friend, foe, or the abundant marble architecture of the atrium.
``Wait, you?re the shithead who broke my nose!'' a nasally human cried out.
Fenton yelped and waved towards the voice. ``My bad, I didn't mean too...''
``Eyes on the prize, laddie,'' Scrooge shouted, smacking him firmly in the back with his cane and getting him to continue ahead. ``He's trying to kill us.''
Della reached the keypad, trying to steady her breathing as gunfire surrounded her. She almost managed to calm herself when a sudden heat snapped past her left ear, hitting the wall before ricocheting past her right ear on the way back. That had been close, far too close.
``Come on, Walt, I need you to get me through this,'' she murmured.
Yet, it would seem that the creator had very much tabbed out of this situation, leaving her to solve it on her own.
With a shaky hand she managed to hit the number one then nine then two then...
Four.
The command panel flashed red.
``Horseapples,'' Della hissed.
Another round hit the screen above, fragmenting it and sending splinters flying. It was a miracle that she wasn't hit by any of them. The blow was heavy, causing the interface to glitch out like a broken TV.
``Hurry up!'' Rusty shouted.
Scrooge scoffed and thwacked him with his cane, making him cry out and cover his head. ``Do not rush my niece, she has been through worse situations than this.''
Della didn't know about that. This felt pretty bad. Like really really bad, like the kind of bad that would've been utterly foreign in her world. Or well, at least foreign to her.
She managed to steady her hand, reaching out and once more attempting the password.
One... nine... two... three!
The screen was dead but some sort of lock disengaged within the door, causing it to slowly open.
``Della!'' Brock shouted.
Della spun around and saw that one of the yellow goons was rushing towards her with some sort of sword in his hand. She sprung into action without even thinking about it, running towards him. Yet, instead of lunging right at him, she instead jumped towards a nearby pillar, kicking off of it and redirecting herself towards him from a heightened elevation.
Her flipper struck him right across the face, hitting like a baseball might hit a bat. His head snapped to the side with blood and something white erupting from his mouth. He was clearly out cold, starting to sway back and forth before falling forwards.
Oh no, he was going to...
It was a freak accident, it had to be a freak accident with the angels above working in the worst way imaginable. Somehow, his sword had been propped up and he fell right onto it, impaling himself through the chest.
``Oh no, no, no...'' Della yelped.
The figure belched red and then went still, eerily still. This wasn't the sleeping kind of still. This was the kind of still that didn't exist back home. The faceless thug was dead, there was no other way about it.
``She killed Berry!'' one of the henchmen shouted. He turned his gun towards her and fired off a shot.
One moment, Della was upon her flippers. The next, something heavy hit her right shoulder and she spun, falling in a heap. The air was driven right out of her as she wheezed desperately for breath.
It didn't hurt. Yet, she also couldn't move.
``Della's hit!'' Fenton shouted.
``Leave her!'' Rusty yelled. ``We're all dead if...''
``Tell me to leave my niece and I'll shoot you myself!'' Scrooge shouted in response.
Della was out of it, trying to piece together what exactly had just happened to her. Her mind was running frantic, terrified, grasping desperately at straws in some effort to figure out what exactly she could do.
She couldn't move, stunned into paralysis. Her arm ached but not too bad. Yet, she could feel something warm belching from it. This was bad. Even though this was an utterly foreign experience, she knew that this was bad.
``Come on lassie, you aren't going down on me just yet,'' Scrooge said.
Della looked over and saw that Scrooge was to her left and Fenton to her right with both of them dragging her back towards the door. She noticed that there was a flood of red following her as she departed.
That probably wasn't good.
``What happened?'' she slurred.
``You've been shot,'' Billy said, quickly filling her view as he grabbed her feet and helped the others haul her inside. ``Thankfully, it looks like it isn't a very serious wound.''
``Not the first time that I've been grievously wounded,'' Della teased, laughing darkly at the remark. It felt like a very appropriate laugh. ``And it's probably not going to be the last time either.''
As she was dragged into the safe room, she saw Brock flinging his pistol at a goon's face and then punching another, smashing them against the ground. He then narrowly avoided getting hit as he dove to the side and scooped up one of the rifles, using it to blow a gory hole into yet another.
He... seemed to have things under control.
The door then slammed shut and sealed with a pressurized hiss. As she looked around, she saw that she was in a cluttered room that looked crammed full of boxes.
``You still use this as storage?'' Billy hissed.
Rusty shrugged. ``I mean this room is generally unoccupied, so I might as well put it to some good use, right?''
``Do you have a first aid kit!'' Fenton yelped, hovering in front of Della and looking at her shoulder. ``She's leaking... red.''
``What is this stuff?'' Della asked, touching a hand to it. ``It's... warm... and sticky.''
``Blood?'' Billy asked, cocking a brow.
At the very least, he was quick to react, going over to a white box on the wall and pulling it off. It seemed to be a first aid kit of some sort.
``Oh,'' Della murmured. ``We don't have that back home.''
``How do you not have blood,'' Billy huffed, reaching inside the box and grabbing a white roll of gauze from inside. ``You're literally an amputee.''
Della blinked and looked at her leg. ``Oh that... that just popped off when the crash happened.''
``That just popped off?'' Billy asked.
Fenton nodded. ``Yeah, limbs just do that from time to time. It's kind of weird but I guess it just happened to Della while she was on the moon.''
Billy looked like he was about to say something. Yet, he shut up and simply shook his head, clearly not seeing it as worthwhile to do so. Instead, he grabbed some medical supplies, taking position before Della and placing them upon her belly.
``Can you help her?'' Scrooge asked.
Billy sighed. ``I'm more of a human doctor than a veterinarian but I'll see what I can do.'' He started by grabbing a splint and shoving it into Della's beak. ``Bite down, please.''
Della cocked a brow but obeyed. Why exactly was this necessary? Probably some weird aspect of human medicine that she wasn't entirely privy too.
She watched as he then grabbed a bottle of fluid and approached her wounded shoulder with it.
``I'm sorry but this is going to sting,'' Billy said, sounding sombre about this fact.
Della cocked her brow even further, wondering what...
He splashed some of the liquid onto her shoulder and Della instantly knew what he had meant by that. Her eyes shot open and an intense burning pain erupted from her wound.
Della cried out, yelping with fire and fury/ It was so sharp that she even injected the split from her beak. ``What the ffff-FLIPPER?''
At the very least, she wouldn't forsake Walt by swearing.
``Can she even swear?'' Rusty asked.
Scrooge lifted a brow. ``What do you mean by swear?''
The pain faded though it didn't seem that Billy was done just yet as he grabbed a pair of tweezers which he doused in the exact same fluid. He approached the wound with them, looking sorry about what he had to do.
Fenton, for his part, put the stick back in her beak before looking away. He seemed visibly uncomfortable about all of this as well.
``So, I don't suppose that now would be a good time to discuss bus-'' Rusty began.
Scrooge scoffed. ``I would highly suggest that you pick your next words carefully, Venture. You wounded my kin and I have no patience for your begging.''
``Well, you can't blame...'' Rusty began.
Scrooge glared at him. ``I can blame a man who is a supposed security expert for having holes in his blasted security. My faith in whatever you could sell me went out the window when my niece was harmed.''
``Oh, it's not that bad,'' Rusty tried
Billy finally inserted the tweezers and Della screamed, balling her hands into tightly clenched fists. This was so much more intense, a thunderclap that snapped against her being.
``I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,'' Billy chanted, looking genuinely upset by what he had to do. Even through the pain Della could appreciate that.
He fished around for a moment, sending white-hot pain through her being. It took a bit before he finally pulled something metallic out, dropping it onto the floor with a small clinking sound. His attention then went towards the thick cotton bandage as he started to wind it around her wound, applying a good amount of pressure to it.
The pain came in waves though was slowly subsiding, retreating inch by lethargic inch as it released its vice-like grip upon her brain. Slowly, her vision started to clear with her focus being on the numbness that lingered within her right shoulder.
``So now what?'' Fenton asked.
Rusty motioned towards the door before folding his hands in front of his chest, looking like a dejected little child. ``Now we hope that Brock can get us out of here or that someone else saves our sorry asses.''
``Don't got any fun gadgets to get us out of here?'' Scrooge grumbled. ``I thought that was what you did?''
``This is going to be a very long couple of hours isn't it,'' Rusty muttered, looking around the space. Though his gaze travelled towards a monitor. A smile formed upon his lips as assessed it. Yet, before he moved towards it, he looked directly at Scrooge. ``If I can get us out of here, would you consider investing in my rocket development?''
``Are you extorting me?'' Scrooge growled.
Rusty shrugged. ``I prefer to think of it as conducting business under duress.''
``That's literally the definition of extortion,'' Scrooge shot back.
``Tomato, potato, and whatnot,'' Rusty replied, gesturing vaguely. ``I'm going to need a yes or no out of you, Scrooge.''
Scrooge thought about it for a good long moment before letting out a haggard sigh of defeat. ``I suppose if you can manage to get us out of here, I might be convinced to buy some of your products at an above asking price.''
Rusty nodded and went over to the screen, pulling out a keyboard and tapping away at the keys.
``What are you doing?'' Billy asked.
Rusty chuckled. ``Seeing what other utilities the helper line has.'' He smirked. ``I might be pushing VenTech into a whole new industry with this field test.''
He then focused his attention on the screen as he loudly cracked his knuckles.
[hr]
Brock dipped behind cover, feeling gunfire nip at his back as a cascade rattled against the marble he was using for protection. He was glad that the Monarch's men still didn't understand the concept of tracking a target but when there were this many it was only a matter of time before one of these national guard rejects got lucky and put one through him.
He pulled out the exhausted magazine from his pistol and shoved it into his belt, exchanging it for one that still had bullets. As he did so, he couldn't help but notice that this was the last one he had.
Nine rounds, better make them count...
Where was his backup?
The OSI, or those jackass heroes, or hell even the civies in blue should've been here by now.
The din of gunfire faded, being replaced with an awkward silence that was only occasionally broken up by a goon coughing or the groaning of one of their wounded comrades. Brock knew this as the eye of the storm, recognizing it as the Monarch getting ready for his big speech.
``Sampson,'' a nasally voice called. ``I am not here for you.''
Brock scoffed. ``Sure thing.''
A pause.
``You know Sampson, I believe it was Hegel who said that a man should have a duty to himself and not his nation,'' the Monarch continued. ``As such, I believe that you should probably walk away and live another day.''
``Hegal never said that,'' Brock shot back.
One of the Monarch's goons laughed. ``Yeah boss, that's not a Hegel...''
A gunshot rang out and a body loudly hit the floor. The room was silent except for the echo of gunfire ringing out.
``Anyone else want to speak over my philosophy knowledge,'' the Monarch asked, humming increasingly loudly. ``Come on, don't be shy, I have eight more bullets in this clip for any more smartassess out there.''
``It's a magazine,'' another goon quipped. ``Not a clip.''
A second gunshot rang out.
No one seemed obliged to debate him after that.
``I am here for two reasons, Sampson. One I wish to speak with Doctor Venture,'' the Monarch said. ``He is developing some technology that I wish to borrow from him. And second, I want that fucking Lin Manual bird who broke my nose.''
``I can give you the bird,'' Sampson said, shrugging. ``Not my dimension, not my problem.''
The monarch laughed. ``Oh man, your situation must be bleak if you've resorted to bargaining. I didn't know you could stoop so low.''
``Not stooping low,'' Brock replied, smirking. ``But every second that you talk is another second that the OSI sends reinforcements.''
The monarch chuckled, clearly shaking his head. Yet, he didn't speak.
``What's so funny?'' Brock asked.
There was movement as a row of the monarch's henchmen all lined up, taking aim at the pillar. Brock watched as their red dots started to flicker around it, taking aim and just waiting for the chance to fire.
He wouldn't lie. It was a little intimidating, making his grip tighten upon his pistol. At the very least, he'd take nine of them out with him.
``I'm back in the big leagues, Sampson,'' the Monarch continued. ``I get to play with all of the Guild's fun little toys, including their state-of-the-art jamming equipment. Do you know that shit that the NYPD uses to fuck up cell phone coverage during protests? Because I am using that exact same tech. No signals are getting in or out of here.''
Brock scoffed. ``Well played.''
``Thank you,'' the Monarch chided. ``I appreciate you saying that. It means a lot.''
Brock drew in a breath and started to rock on his feet. There was no point in stalling any longer. On the count of three he'd end this.
One...
Two...
Suddenly a door exploded inwards, making the goons around him gasp. The sound was followed by several other doors to the room crashing open. Yet, instead of the heavy thud of footsteps, from a team of highly trained government agents, there was a gaggle of wheels zipping across the floor.
Brock poked his head out and watched as a whole platoon of blue robots poured inside, armed with whatever cleaning supplies, tools, or kitchen utensils they could find.
``What the...'' the Monarch huffed.
Gunfire erupted and Brock took that as his chance, springing out from behind cover and taking aim. His accuracy held true as he pulled the trigger, putting one through a goon currently grappling with a robot. His second round crashed through the head of another who was fleeing from a bot wielding a blowtorch.
The room had descended into utter chaos with the two forces violently clashing. A few of the bots were hit with gunfire and some did go down. But the nice thing about robots is that putting a round through the wrong spot kept them in the fight.
Brock fired away and watched as the Monarch surveyed the situation, looking more and more uncomfortable as his men were toppled, wounded, and killed. It turned out that a cleaning robot could stab a motherfucker with a kitchen knife just as effectively as any human could.
``Thanks, Doc,'' he said as he shot off a salute to a nearby camera.
He had three shots left and he took aim at the Monarch with one of them, levelling his crosshair upon the man. It would be an easy kill, enough to end this stupid squabble for good. Yet, there were rules to this game and one of them was that he couldn't shoot to kill when it came to an archnemesis.
The Monarch turned and tried to go through the door. Yet, Brock pulled the trigger and snapped off a round. Soon, a gush of red erupted from the Monarch's leg as he toppled forwards, howling in pain. Not a kill shot but still extremely satisfying, watching him topple forwards in a useless heap.
A pair of his men came forward and picked him up, dragging him towards the balcony door. And with that, any survivors followed suit, leaving their comrades behind. It wasn't long before the room was filled with groaning wounded and the acrid smell of blood.
It was a woefully familiar scent.
``Just like old times,'' he murmured.
He glanced over as he heard the panic room depressurize, seeing the door swing open.
Doc and Scrooge were the first to exit, looking out upon the carnage.
``Like I told you,'' Doc said, looking so proud of himself. ``With the latest line of Helpers, you can keep your home well-manicured and also assure self-defence if push ever comes to shove.'' He shrugged. ``Plus, you could probably save a whole lot on the cost of staffing if you were to transition to a fully robotic workforce.''
Scrooge worked his jaw. ``We do struggle with robotics on our side of the portal.'' He sighed and looked over his shoulder. ``Fenton's colleague has blasted luck with them.''
Fenton was the next to leave, propping Della up as he exited. He seemed concerned and that made sense, considering how pained Della looked with every step that she took, jostling her wounded shoulder.
Brock came over and smirked at her. ``Got yourself a war wound?''
``Yeah,'' Della hissed but managed a sheep smile in return. ``And I hate it. Why can't your world just do the arm popping off thing that my world does.''
``Arms just pop off on your side?'' Brock asked, cocking a brow.
Della nodded. ``Yeah...''
Before Brock could ask how exactly that worked, his attention was drawn over to Scrooge and Doc as they examined one of the Helper models. The blue metal was caked in red blood but still the trooper stood there, holding a proud salute.
``So, could I still interest you in that collaboration we discussed?'' Doc asked.
Scrooge worked his jaw, seeming on the fence about it. Yet, in the end, he reluctantly nodded, letting out a heavy sigh as he did so. ``Aye, I suppose that you could.''
``Lovely, then I'll forward you an itemized bill for all the assets that I need help financing,'' Doc beamed as he gestured towards the skylight and the canvas of stars above. ``We need to develop a rocket facility, a manufacturing centre, a fuel processing plant, and...''
Scrooge scoffed. ``Do you have anything developed so far?''
``Oh Scrooge!'' Doc laughed, shaking his head. Though he promptly paused, having the decency to look a little sheepish about what he said next. ``Uh no... no we do not. But I can assure you that I can do this quickly and efficiently if given the chance.''
