My Perfect Little World---DW

My Perfect Little World
A Darkwing Duck Fanfic
by Mouselady
Inspired and adapted from a Twilight Zone episode "A Nice Place to Visit"
All Darkwing Duck characters © by Disney. The Twilight Zone © by CBS and Cayuga Productions.

This story and all other characters © by yours truly. Please don't use or link this story w/o my permission.

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"Eh, guys, will yas hurry up?" snapped the tall, well-dressed rooster. "Times a-wastin'---we gotta get all dem jewels outta 'ere b'fore dat Darkwing Duck shows up!"

The Eggmen sighed. They were moving as fast as they could to do their boss' bidding.

As usual, FOWL was demanding more money; since more money for FOWL meant a better standard of living for its Chief Agent, Steelbeak, he resorted to one of his usual devious solutions and made a midnight foray on St. Canard Museum. After knocking out the guards and tying them up, Steely and his Eggmen cheerfully helped themselves to the most rare and expensive gems on exhibit.

"Yeah, get dat big fat diamon' over dere!" Steelbeak ordered. "Dat t'ing's gotta be wort' zillions-a bucks!"

Then suddenly, a cloud of dark blue smoke appeared to gum up the works.

"I am the Terror That Flaps in the Night!" boomed a familiar voice. "I am the Thorn in the Foot of Crime! I am---"

"DORKwinnnnnng DUNCE!" mocked Steelbeak, as his henchmen laughed.

"Hey!" Darkwing snapped indignantly. "You just ruined my dramatic entrance, Metal Mouth---and that's one more crime you'll answer for!"

"Yeah, right," replied the FOWL agent, rolling his eyes. "Oh, boys? Time ta kick some butt!"

As Darkwing found himself fighting off a pack of Eggmen, Steelbeak scooped up as many jewels as he could and ran for it. "Catch me if yas can, Cape Boy!" he called back.


Darkwing managed to Quack Fu kick his way through the Eggmen and ran after him.

"You won't get away, you felonious FOWL fiend!" he swore. "The scales of Justice will soon weigh in my favor!"

The rooster's only comment was a razzberry and an obscene gesture as he continued to flee. Meanwhile, however, the Eggmen had dashed off in a different direction with their guns raised. It occurred to them that Steelbeak might possibly lead Darkwing right into their path and they could gun down the hero.

They stationed themselves outside the exit, weapons at the ready. Hearing the two
coming closer, the head Eggman told the others:

"Here they come. The minute you see Darkwing, start firin' at him!"

Trying not to be noticed, they didn't see exactly who was heading their way, nor that Darkwing had caught up to Steelbeak and the two men began to struggle. Steely finally backhanded Darkwing, then roughly shoved him against the doorway. Seeing a flash of purple, the Eggmen tensed and prepared to fire any moment...

"Ehehehehe! I'm just too freakin' smart fuh yas, Dipwing!" Steelbeak said gleefully as he began to make a mad dash for the exit; but Darkwing fell directly in his path and the FOWL agent tripped across him---just as the Eggmen began shooting.

Steelbeak let out a harsh cry of surprise and pain as the bullets struck him. Seeing their mistake too late, the Eggmen quickly stopped shooting and rushed over to their wounded leader.

"What'd ya go an' do dat fuh?" he groaned, as he clutched his bleeding chest and stared up at his men in disbelief.

"We're sorry, Boss!" the head Eggman blubbered. "We thought you was Darkwing!"

"T'anks a lot..." the agent grunted, "ya buncha morons..." With a last convulsed gasp and a rattling sigh, Steelbeak fell back and was still.

The Eggmen glanced at each other in fear and dismay. High Command would surely have their heads for this. "Let's get outta here, guys!" the head Eggman said to his fellows.

They nodded and scattered in various directions, just as Darkwing tottered out the exit and over to the dead FOWL agent. The caped hero sighed heavily as he glanced down at his fallen enemy.

"They always have to learn the hard way, don't they?" he muttered, shaking his head.

But it wasn't really over for Chief Agent Steelbeak. It was only the beginning...
___________________________

"Steelbeak? Mr. Steelbeak? Won't you come with me now, sir?"

Steelbeak had lain quite still on the cold pavement where he had fallen; but suddenly, at the sound of the voice, his eyelids fluttered and slowly began to open.

"What da..." he mumbled groggily. He could have sworn he'd heard someone talking to him. In fact, he had.

"Mr. Steelbeak?" the voice repeated. "Shall I help you up?"

"Eh?" Steelbeak raised his head and saw a short and slender gentleman in a crisp white suit standing close by him, smiling quite pleasantly as he bent over the rooster and took his hand.

"Let me help you, Mr. Steelbeak. They're always like this when they first arrive here."

"They...who...? Who are ya?" the FOWL agent said wearily as he allowed his visitor to
raise him to his feet.

"You can call me Max. I'm what you might call your guide."

Steelbeak gave an uneasy chuckle. "Yeah...well, I need a guide like I need a hole in da head, pal."

He wavered dizzily but caught himself. "Oh geezaloo, what's wrong wit' me?"

Max patted the agent's back. "There, there now, Mr. Steelbeak. You had some rather unpleasant business earlier today, but you'll be fine in no time."

"Hey---how do yas know who I am, anyway?" snapped the rooster.

"Why, it's my job to know everything about you!" replied Max. "For instance,
I know your family came from Italy, that you're the Chief Agent of the Fiendish Organization for World Larceny---more commonly known as FOWL---and, among
other things, that you're very fond of pretty women and extravagant food and wine."

Steelbeak narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Say, yas ain't no SHUSH agent, are ya?"

The gentleman laughed. "Why, certainly not! I told you, I'm your guide. Now, if you're feeling better, sir, follow me, please."

"Follow ya---where?"

"Why, to your new quarters! You'll have a hot shower, some nice clean clothes and a
fine meal. If you also wish, I can arrange some entertainment for you---even some company of the female persuasion, perhaps?"

"Uh...right." Steelbeak was still dubious and confused, but followed Max anyway, anxious as he was to leave the scene of his “accident”.
______________________

When they had walked through town for a short time, Max led him to an expensive and fabulous penthouse.

"Dis place is mine?" Steelbeak asked, flabbergasted.

"Certainly!" Max pointed to the front door, where Steely's name was inscribed in elaborate gold letters, then handed Steelbeak the key with a grin that was far too
cheesy for the rooster's peace of mind.

But Steelbeak's irritation quickly faded when he stepped inside. The penthouse made
the condo FOWL had last supplied him look like a shack. The agent walked around gaping and blinking at its rich interior and high-tech conveniences; it was far better
than any resort he had ever visited. Among other things, there was a well-stocked bar
and a gold-plated refrigerator filled with all of Steely's favorite treats---even French champagne and beluga caviar.

"Eh, am I dreamin' er what?" he exclaimed in delight as he followed his guide upstairs
to an equally decadent master bedroom. Its adjoining bathroom was lined with black
and gold marble and so was its large shower, with its massage-heads and various kinds
of scented soap.

"While you have your bath, I'll pick out a nice outfit for you, sir," Max offered,
opening  a huge walk-in closet filled with Armani suits.

"Wow---dis is gettin' bedder an' bedder!" Steelbeak said.  He quickly removed his bloodstained clothing and stepping into the shower. After a long and enjoyable
hot bath, he put on a purple velvet robe and stepped out---to find, to his mild
disgust, that Max had selected a navy pinstriped suit for him.

"I don't wear nuttin' like dat!" he complained. "What do I look like, a hood?"

"But sir," explained Max, looking confused, "I was told that this is your preferred
manner of dress."

"Told---by who?" Steely asked warily. "Yer boss, I take it?"

"Why, yes."

"An' who is dis guy? Ya workin' fuh High Command, too?"

"Oh, certainly not! This is someone much more important than your former employers---and, I might add, with considerably more influence," Max said, grinning proudly.

Steelbeak blinked. He hadn't thought there was anyone to top High Command, so this was interesting news indeed. "Okay, I ain't gonna argue right now. So, when do I get ta meet dis guy, yer boss?"

Max looked somewhat embarrassed. "I really couldn't say, Mr. Steelbeak. But do feel
free to pick out something more appropriate for yourself while I see about your dinner."

Selecting a black sharkskin suit, a black silk shirt and a blue silk tie, Steely put them on and admired himself in a brass-lined mirror. "Eh, I gotta say dis---dat guy got great taste in t'reads."

He walked downstairs and found Max setting up a splendid meal for him in the dining room. Now Steelbeak was sure he was dreaming as he gawked at the food.

"You look very handsome, sir!" Max beamed as he placed some crisp potatoes next to an immensely thick filet mignon and poured a glass of Chianti.

"T'anks. An' dat grub yer dishin' out dere don't look half bad either!" replied Steely, eagerly sitting down and tucking a napkin down his collar. He sliced off a good-sized chunk of beef and started to raise it to his beak, but stopped with a suspicious frown.
This was just too good to be true.There had to be a catch...maybe even a fatal one.

"Is everything all right, sir?"

Glaring at Max, Steelbeak held out the piece of meat. "Ah, nope, babe. You eat it."

Max looked quite bewildered. "But I can't, sir---I don't think I've eaten in over 500 years."

"Ah-hah. Sometin' wrong wit' it?" Steelbeak suggested with a half-smirk---deciding to ignore the “500 years” remark but guessing now that Max was crazy.

"Why no, sir. That's a very choice cut of beef, in fact---"

"Den eat it, Shorty!"

"But I can't eat, I've forgotten how!" Max protested mildly.

"Right!" Steely retorted. He jumped up from the table and tore off his napkin, then whipped out his .44 Magnum and aimed it straight for the gentleman's heart.

"So dat's da game yer boss is playin' wit' me, hah? A swell pad, a hot bath , fancy
suits---an' den poison? Well, dat's real smart o' youse, Shorty---but it ain't
smart enough!"

He fired several rounds at Max---surely enough to kill any man. But to his astonishment, his intended victim stood calmly before him, quite untouched by the bullets.

"Oh, yeah---gotta bullet-proof vest on ya, huh, Maxie?" Steelbeak snarled. "Well, let's
see if yas gotta bullet-proof head ta match!"

"Now, Mr. Steelbeak, enough of this nonsense," Max declared pleasantly as a volley of bullets passed harmlessly through his head. Steelbeak's metal jaw dropped.

"I couldn'ta missed---I don't nevah miss at dat range!" He aimed at his wineglass and fired; instantly it shattered. Obviously, the gun hadn't been filled with blanks. So what was the deal here?

"Dis is weird. Just weird, babe..." Trembling, Steely sank down in an easy chair, and grabbed a cold martini from a small table beside it. But wait---that hadn't been there a minute ago.

"What's goin' on?" blurted Steelbeak. "What kinda place is dis?"

Max laughed lightly. "Don't you remember what you said earlier, Mr. Steelbeak---that you needed me like a hole in the head? Well, the truth is: you had a hole in your head. In fact, you had holes all over you. Bullet holes."

Oh yeah...my own dumb Eggmen shot da crap outta me, Steelbeak remembered dully. "Ya mean...I'm dead?"

Max nodded. "As any doornail, my friend."

The rooster looked around, finally beginning to understand. "Den...dis place has gotta
be Heaven, right? An' you, Shorty---yer me guardian angel, er somet'in' like dat?"

"Oh, something like that," replied the guide with another laugh. "And you can have anything you want here, Mr. Steelbeak---anything at all!"

So that was it---the penthouse, the clothes, the food---it was just one perfect little
world. Of course! It had to be Heaven. He never thought he'd actually make it there, but what the hey...relieved and over-joyed, the metal-mouthed FOWL agent whooped and jumped in the air.

"Anyt'ing I want, hah, Shorty?" he suggested. "Okay, lessee---I wanna a whole buncha
big diamonds, see? An' a really hot-lookin' babe. I mean, got nice lookin' gams an' all
dat, ya know what I'm talkin' 'bout?" He stared expectantly at his guide. "So...how 'bout
it, hah?"

"Well, as for the diamonds," answered Max, pointing to a drawer on the inn table,
"look in there."

Needing no further prompting, Steelbeak yanked out the drawer to find it filled to bursting with large, sparkling diamonds. "Oh, man! But, ah...what about...ya know...?"

With a knowing smile, Max nodded toward a huge entertainment center in the corner. Instantly, a stereo turned on and joyful merengue music filled the room. Steelbeak listened, entranced, then felt a soft and fragrant hand touch his shoulder. He turned to
find a dazzlingly beautiful she-duck with long blonde hair and a slinky black dress
gazing into his eyes. Smiling sweetly, she locked her soft arms around the FOWL
agent and kissed him.

"Now I know I'm in Heaven!" Steelbeak yelped deliriously, as he grabbed the girl and danced around with her.

"Will there be anything else, sir?" Max called above the music.

"I'm okay f' now, Shorty, but stan' by anyway!" the rooster replied, his eyes not leaving the girl for a second. He thought he had never been so happy in all his life. He continued to dance around and whoop, delighted as a child with a roomful of expensive toys...
_________________

And so it went for many days and nights, with every pleasure available to Steelbeak. Everything he'd ever wanted, that he'd had to fight for, was his merely for the asking. Even before he asked. This, he was sure, was what Heaven was all about.

There was entertainment of all sorts; there was every type of gambling: slots, roulette, blackjack---games where he always, always won. There was all manner of fine food and drink, and for once no hangovers or tummy aches to worry about. Unlimited luxury was everywhere. Most of all, there were the women...the unspeakably beautiful women who seemed to live only to please Steelbeak. That alone had been his idea of Heaven...

But in the middle of all this rapture something had been bothering him: why
was he here? He couldn't remember anything he'd done to make it to Heaven. Don' look a gif' horse in da mout' , he tried to tell himself; yet he couldn't shake off
that irritating little question in his mind.

One night, after the usual gambling and carousing, Steelbeak wondered about some
of his old departed cronies from his former criminal days.

"A few of them are here, I believe," Max replied with a grin.

"Eh! Round 'em all up, we'll really 'ave a ball here!" Steelbeak said happily.

"I'm afraid that can't be done, sir," was the apologetic answer.

"But...dey made it here, din't dey?" the rooster asked in disappointment.

"Oh, that's not it, sir," Max told him. "You see, this particular place is your own
private domain. Everything here is for you alone."

Steelbeak gaped around him. "You mean...da girls an' everyt'ing, dey're like props er
somet'in?"

The guide nodded.

Steely shook his head. But now was the time to bring up the same question that had
nagged him constantly ever since he'd arrived.

"What did I do ta get up here?" he asked. "I always t'ought dis place was fer, like, schoolteachahs an' lil' ol' ladies an' like dat 'ere...even some'a dem SHUSH agents."

Max laughed heartily. "Oh, but we have people from all walks of life here."

"Kay. But where d' I go ta fin' out dis stuff?"

"Well, there is a Hall of Records up the way," the guide suggested. "Would you like me to take you there?"

"Yeah. I just gotta know, dat's all," answered Steelbeak.

They went to a huge white building not far from the penthouse; inside were rows upon rows of filing cabinets. Max explained that they held the records of every soul that had arrived there from the dawn of Time.

"Here's your file, Mr. Steelbeak!" he said with his usual smile as he pulled out a gold-trimmed folder with the rooster's name.

"Okay, lessee..." Steelbeak's gaped curiously at his file, anxious to see what good works he might possibly have done. He hadn't recalled any---and what he read so far didn't
seem to help.

" ‘Steelbeak. Age'a ten: killed neighbor's cat.’ Well hey, dat t'ing scratched me!" he insisted, then continued reading. " ‘Age 'a twelve: started street gang, Da Holy Terrors.’" He laughed. "Oh, yeah, I r'membah dem guys...we had a lotta fun stealin' purses an' stuff! Ah-hah…‘Age'a fifteen: broke inta coin shop an' gunned down da ownah...Age 'a mid-twenties, joined da Fiendish Org'nization Fa Worl' Lahceny, a.k.a. FOWL…’ " His eyes narrowed as he read further on. Nothing in his life history seemed to indicate that he'd earned a trip to Heaven, and it wasn't looking any prettier.

"Geez, what is all dis?" he demanded at last.

"It's your record, Mr. Steelbeak," Max explained calmly.

"But dis can't be right!" Steelbeak said, shaking his head as he threw the file into the cabinet. "I mean, it don't say I done ennyt'ing good ta get up here. So what gives?"

Max only shrugged.

"Well...if it don't bodder Da Guy Upstairs, it ain't gonna bodder me," the rooster said pleasantly as he began to walk away.

"And what will you be doing now, Mr. Steelbeak?" questioned his guide.

Steelbeak frowned---for the first time in days, he was getting uncomfortable with his
new surroundings.

"I dunno...play da slots, watch TV an' eat caviar...hang out wit' da girls...? I...I just dunno..."

"Well if you need me for anything, Mr. Steelbeak, just pick up the phone and dial
M-A-X. All right, sir?"

The rooster nodded, and as he walked out he glanced back to see Max vanish into thin air.

"Geez...I keep f'gettin' he's a angel," Steely muttered.

_____________________

But after that day, things in Steelbeak's world began to change. Everything he had so thoroughly enjoyed before became slowly dull and even depressing. He simply couldn't understand why; his religious beliefs were slim to none, but what little he understood about Heaven was that people up there were supposed to be happy. Like, forever. But he was quickly getting weary of it all.

A slot machine would spill out hundreds of gold coins and he would walk
away from them as if they were cockroaches. The champagne and caviar
might as well have been  flat ginger-ale and fish eyeballs. To his dismay,
even the girls were getting on his nerves...

"You win again, Steely baby!" squealed one of his dates after a card game
ended in a royal flush---as usual, for Steelbeak.

"Yeah," he replied sourly. "That's all I ever do in dis place is win---an'
I'm gettin' fed up wit' it!"

"Oh, poor baby. Is there...anything else I can do for you, Steel darling?" purred the blonde, fluttering her long eyelashes and smiling invitingly at him. To his own surprise, the rooster glared at her in disgust.

"Yeah---ya girls c'n get outta here!" he snapped, chasing her and the others out of his room. "Come on', I'm sick ta deat' o' lookin' at yas, ya stupid broads!" He slammed the door behind them. "Who needs ya?"

Sighing heavily, he paced around his living room until he spotted his gold French phone. He picked it up and dialed M-A-X.

"Yes, Mr. Steelbeak?" said the guide's voice right behind him. Steelbeak nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Don't do dat!" he barked.

"Anything you say, Mr. Steelbeak---"

" 'Ennyt'ing ya say, Mistah Steelbeak' !" mimicked the FOWL agent angrily.

"Is there anything wrong, sir?" Max asked in concern.

"Ah, naw...nuttin's wrong, everyt'ing's just hunky-dorey!" Steely spat in a nasty voice. "I'm bored,Shorty---bored, bored, bored!"

"But---everything you loved on Earth is here, Mr. Steelbeak!" Max insisted, looking quite disappointed. "The gambling, the women...I thought you always enjoyed all that..."

"I do---or I did," Steelbeak replied, equally surprised at his situation. "But I like ta take a chance once in awhile, ya know? Gamblin' ain't no fun if ya win all da time. An' even da girls---I nevah t'ought I'd get tired a' beaut'ful girls! Ya see, Maxie---" he sat his guide down and leaned close. "I don't expect no angel ta unnerstan' dis, see...but makin' it wit' da ladies, it don't mean dat much if it's all planned fuh yas ahead o' time, see?"

Max nodded, chuckling. "I think I know what's wrong, sir: you miss your old activities
on Earth, don't you? Your former 'career' and all..."

Steelbeak grinned at the suggestion. "Yeah, I do! Knockin' off banks, blowin' up
chem'cal plants, givin' SHUSH an' Darkwing Duck a bad time...y'know, all dat fun
stuff."

"Well, then," Max said amiably, "I think we can arrange something. Perhaps a bank
heist, or a hostage standoff?"

"A bank heist'll woik, t'anks. But now, Maxie," Steelbeak asked excitedly, "is dere
enny chance---enny at all---dat I could get nabbed by da cops?"

"Why yes---if you like..."

The rooster sighed and rolled his eyes. "You just don't get it, do yas, Shorty? It wouldn't be da same---I'd know about it, see? Where's da risk in dat? Just fuggedaboudit, okay?" With a disgusted glance around his penthouse, he went on: "I t'ink dere's been a mistake, see? I just don't t'ink I belong 'ere."

Max laughed. "Oh, nonsense! Of course you belong here, Mr. Steelbeak---there is no mistake."

Steely shook his head. "Dere's gotta be, Maxie. If I stay in dis place one more day, I'm just gonna go postal, see?" He stood up and sighed in resignation. "I don' b'long here
in Heaven, Maxie. Tell Da Boss up dere 'e might as well sen' me ta Hell."

To Steelbeak's surprise, the normally gentle and pleasant Max smirked and burst out with scornful and indignant laughter.

"What??" asked the FOWL agent, blinking.

"Heaven??!" the guide sneered. "Just what made you think you were in Heaven, Mr. Steelbeak? This IS Hell!!!"

Steelbeak stared unbelievingly into Max's contemptful glare; then he rushed to his door---
only to find it locked tight.

"Lemme out!!" he screamed, pounding on it desperately. "Please, sumbuddy, lemme outta here!!!"

And as he continued screaming and beating the door to no avail, he could hear Max's demonic laughter behind him...
_________

He had been given everything he had ever wanted--his own perfect little world. And
now he would have to live with it…forever.

THE END