Chapter Text
The camera zooms in on a blond man with a gun, as you get closer you can make out a rubber duck being held in his right hand.
“This, is a story that has never been told before,” the man’s deep voice rumbles out, speaking to someone apparently out of view.
“It’s a story of life and death, pain and perseverance, hate and maybe if we’re lucky, just a little, bit, of, love-”
SQUEAK
“Ah, it seems I must correct myself as the author is a coward who won’t-”
SQUEAK!!
The man pauses on the dirt trail, “What’s that Mister Ducky? No badmouthing the author?” Two quieter squeaks rings out, and he clears his throat. “Ahem, my apologies it appears I’ve gone a bit off track.”
“This, is a story of friendship, of thriving against all odds, and if you want it, YOU can be a part of this, yes that’s right You!” The man smiles at you, before continuing.
“So I’ve brought you here to invite you on a quest, a quest that I, your humble Narrator-”
“Well that’s a crock of shit mate, you’ve done nothing but boast these past few minutes.” A British voice cuts him off.
“Well, ehem, would you excuse us for a moment?” The man, now dubbed Narrator, asks you.
“Thank you,” He turns away from you, seemingly arguing with himself. After a few moments he turns back.
“I am so sorry,” he says sincerely “That was Sam by the way and don’t you worry, you shouldn’t be seeing any more of him, ahem, anyways where-”
He stops suddenly, now looking at his right hand, “was-”
He looks a bit panicked now, glancing over his left shoulder “I?”
The blond looks back up at you, offering a nervous smile. “I am really so sorry, but if you could give me a second it seems I’ve misplaced something.” He adds, starting to empty out his pockets. “Mister Ducky?”
“Oh no this can’t be happening, this really can’t be-” He mumbles out, genuinely panicked now.
“If you could just give me a sec- MISTER DUCKY!” He hollers, cupping his hands around his mouth.
“Haha, well, this is a tad embarrassing.” He turns back to you now, cool and composed as if nothing has happened, chuckling as he holsters his pistol.
“It would seem that I-” He peers back up at you for a moment, with his signature charming grin. “Have gone and picked myself, a whole field of whoopsie daisies!” He trills out the last bit, taking the machine gun he had had strapped to his back.
“You see the issue is-” He pauses again to fix a pair of Hello Kitty earmuffs around his ears, “That I-” He stops again, now to feed the ammunition belt into his gun.
“Went and lost myself an international fugitive!” He remarks, as if this is just one of those normal things that happen, like accidentally dropping a bagel on the the floor, - though you imagine he’d be more upset if that happened - and brings the dark blue, bloodstained bandana that had been previously tied around his neck up to cover his nose.
“Now,” He winks at you, “This will only take a second.”
And with a war cry worthy of a Viking he screams “MISTER DUCKY!” at the top of his lungs as he races of into the sunset, guns - literally - ablazin’.