Author's note: Ok so this was supposed to be a short smut story involving redesigns I did for Bushroot and Liquidator but there were other ideas that decided to force themselves into my writing so I have decided to split it up into multiple chapters. So enjoy my crazy look into the metalverse of Darkwing Duck.

Disclaimer: I do not own Darkwing Duck or any of its characters. That honor belongs to the almighty Disney. I have made no money off of writing this, it just pleases me. The characters used in this story were inspired by a band poster I did for the fearsome five. If you wanna know what they're supposed to look like in this you can see the picture on DA.

Warning: Swearing, possibly violence, eventual gay sex and uh… metal? Does metal count? Well you've been warned.

These counterparts are of my own design and do not necessarily entirely reflect the personalities of the canon characters… reader discretion is advised.

Within a St. Canard of some distortion, metal rules. It is a domain of darkness where the stifling haze of pollution never seems to lift and only the veil of night offers any reprieve from the retched vision that is reality. The many inhabitants of this realm have long since shaped their actions to suit the ruthless world in which they live, taking comfort only in the shadows and lending their worship to the twisted world of a single band.

From the center of the many buildings rises a tribute to the might of these music gods: a monumental presence of metal and concrete masquerading as a home. The structure is imposing and lacks the warmth of any rightful household, a place normally devoid of the visitors more common to normal dwellings, but the vast manor stirred that day, feeding greedily off the blind adoration of a hundred hopeful followers. The silent chambers in the majority of the large home betrayed the normally heavy atmosphere of the grounds. Nothing but the muted screams filtering through the walls were resident echoes, and only the potential members packed within the massive front hall lent the manor any life.

Just beyond the long, crowded corridor massive doors concealed the metal messiahs. A red glow was all that was offered to combat the murk of the room's many dark fissures, bathing the characteristic carvings on the walls in bloodstained light. Even the large table in the center of the room was riddled with crimson patterns of malevolent scenes: dark designs, incredibly intricate in their twisted nature giving bold witness to the currency that went into them. It was the only well-lit area of the room, casting menacing shadows upon the resident musicians at its back. After an apparently endless influx of applicants the exhausted quartet could hardly claim enthusiasm at the thought of seeing anymore under qualified bassists to replace their recent mishap. They had never wasted so much time looking for a capable musician among the drooling droves as they had that day, but replacing bassists was just an inevitable and perpetual part of their reality.

Beneath the pale spotlight one of the many hopeful fans dug his own grave in blissful oblivion. The mediocre melody drifting from his strings had long since lost the attention of most of the band, and the only reason he had not been stopped already was the currently unconscious state of a certain lead singer. They had only been a few moments into the latest audition before the mallard's head had hit the table. His arms now hung lifelessly at his side, bright yellow coat slightly askew and back bent uncomfortably to allow his masked face to rest gently on the surface in front of him. Even in his sleep his scowl attested to his foul mood. The concoction of dog and water to his left was far more interested in the amber bottle in his hand than the trial going on in front of him. The long, flowing dreadlocks that were signature of the drummer slid back, dripping softly at the shift as he tipped the bottle up to look inside. A soft frown was the only response to the lack of alcohol. When the brief search proved futile, the disapproving canine lowered the empty container to stare at the annoyingly adorable vulpine still playing in front of them. In spite of his boredom, a glance down the table told him that he was definitely less out of it than his fellow performers. The red and black clad jester beside Negaduck was obviously having a far harder time than the rest of them. His leg shook furiously from the effort of being so uncharacteristically inert causing the small bells dangling above his exposed midsection to jingle softly in response to the vibrations. How could they expect him to sit still so long just to look at a bunch of losers?

Jack leaned forward over the table, resting his chin on its sleek surface as he frowned at the current dupe. "Boooo," he spat at the increasingly boring guitarist.

"Ugh, I agree. I can barely hear and I'm less tone deaf than this asshole. Can we just end this, or… whatever it is we do again?"

Jack shifted his gaze lazily towards the source of the comment. The slim rat was leaning back in his ornate, metal chair, feet propped on the table's surface and ever present guitar in his grip. Even though Jack couldn't see through his friend's dark glasses, years of familiarity with the voltage junkie told him that his gaze was unfocused: a sure signal that what little attention he had to give was waning.

"We end them Sparky. End them good," Jack replied, never lifting his chin from the table.

Bud stared down his drained bottle with disdain. Now he would have to track down someone to get him more booze. Bud grumbled slightly at the inconvenience, glancing over to the apparently oblivious bassist in front of them. "Hmm," he mumbled tossing the now useless whiskey bottle over his shoulder where it broke with a soft shatter. "Since Negs is apparently too out of it to offer an opinion at the moment, I think we can all agree to ditch this bitch."

After a quick glance at the passed out drake next to him Jack quickly straightened, bouncing slightly in his seat. "Oh, oh! I get ta press the button." He didn't wait for permission from his band mates before slamming his palm roughly against the large, red button just in front of the resting bird.

The action not only sent the pathetic hopeful screaming down a deep crevice to the fearsome bowels of the house but woke the sleeping mallard with the aggravation of the resulting noise. Negaduck lifted his head with a growl, rubbing at the large crack in his bill as Jack quickly slipped his hand behind his back as if the action would be sufficient to mask his guilt. The now fuming duck glanced around him, the furious red of his eyes scanning for the annoyance that would dare wake him. An innocent smile lit up Jack's face as the burning eyes of the other man fixed upon him.

"Did you press my button fuck face?" The question was cold and harsh with a knowing tone beneath it. Negaduck knew damn well who had touched his button; the cackling jester always managed to push his buttons.

"Uhh… no?"

Negaduck stared daggers at him, his pupil-less crimson eyes eliciting the proper response of dread as Jack stared into their endless depths. He reached forward slowly to grip the back collar around the clown's neck yanking the other man forward harshly so that their beaks were mere centimeters apart. "Don't ever touch my button asswhipe," Negaduck hissed.

"Got it boss," Jack choked, his voice slightly harsh from the pressure on his throat. "I don't get to play with the button."

Negaduck gave him one last snarl before releasing his grip. "Don't you forget it bitch." As the perturbed rhythmist caught his breath and rubbed his fingers gently along his tender neck, the singer turned his attention to the massive list of names in front of him. He pulled a small knife from his boot, slashing off the latest failure. "Well, at least that's one more asshole down," he mumbled.

Elmo cocked his head to the side at the statement— struck by a rare moment of contemplation. He let himself fall forward so that the chair was no longer tipped, the resulting clank of the steel legs hitting the marble floor earning him the attention of the others. "Do ya ever feel bad for 'em?" he questioned randomly.

"Fuck no! They knew what they were in for," Jack replied, pausing to pull out one of the wavers he had conveniently stored in his pants. "It states clearly in this release form that shitty performance may, and probably will, result in disembowelment."

"Yeah, well still sucks for any dumb ass who tries to be our bassist," Bud decided to contribute now that he had received another bottle of whiskey from a nameless underling.

"Pfft, who gives a shit about the bassist anyway? How many have we gone through in the past month? Ten or some shit?" Jack said, scratching absently at the thick plumage above his shirt.

"Heh, gotta admit though, some of them were pretty fun to get rid of," Elmo snickered.

"Heehehee, like that Damien douchebag?"

It only took a knowing glance from the grinning clown to set the two off in a fit of bizarrely synchronized laughter. Negaduck rubbed at his temples as he fumed. He was really starting to regret drinking as much as he had the night before. As the two continued to laugh, he calmly reached behind Jack's head before slamming it furiously onto the table. Elmo bit his lip to stifle the laughs as his friend rubbed at his now sore head.

"Oooh, man," Jack groaned, "That was slightly worse than usual."

A gurgling snort sounded from the opposite end of the table in response.

Jack flipped his head abruptly to glare at the smirking puddle. "Go fuck yourself Bud," he grumbled.

The still smiling drummer smooched his moist lips at his perturbed band mate and gained a certain vulgar finger in return. Negaduck shot a burning scowl at Bud just to warn him to choose his actions carefully. The watery canine simply leaned his head on his hand and sat back to watch the show.

Convinced the other wouldn't be an issue, Negaduck returned his attention to the two guitarists at his right. "You wanna know who cares about the bassist, faggot? I DO! I'm fuckin' sick of being here and if we don't FINISH this soon I swear to all that is evil that I will tear your balls out through your throat. SO SHUT YOUR OVERSIZED FACE!"

Jack slouched down in his chair at the none-too-subtle demand, crossing his arms over his chest dramatically as a pouting expression settled on his face.

Negaduck turned to the list he had just been using as a pillow, satisfied for the moment that Jack would shut his hole for at least a little while. He made a mental note to make him suffer later as his red eyes struggled to focus through the irritating haze that had impaired his vision. He growled at the paper he was attempting to read, tossing the clipboard to the side when his efforts proved unsuccessful. "Just send the next asshole in!" he spat at the nearest lackey as he leaned his elbows on the table so he could rub at his burning eyes.

The servant's mumbled obedience went ignored as the employee rushed over to produce the next applicant. The towering doors groaned in protest as they were forced open to admit the newest victim. Negaduck slid his hands off his eyes, forcing them to make out the newcomer despite their exhaustion. He'd better be fucking good, he thought to himself.

Each member of the group took in the new arrival, all sizing him up in their own way. Only Elmo seemed not to care much; he was far too interested in plucking at his guitar to even really notice the lanky bird as he approached. The messy black mop of hair and dim lighting in the room shielded much of the slender duck's face and transformed him into something of a walking enigma. Bud fiddled with the leather collar encircling his neck as he watched the figure trudge closer, suddenly struck by the other man's peculiar lack of pigment. The black and white trench coat against his pale plumage made him look as though he was ripped from an old movie and forced into a technicolor dimension. His slightly tattered pants and boots did little to lend any contrast with their dark hues leaving only the orange shine of his bill to prove he existed in a colored world at all. The long coat trailed behind him as he walked towards the group held down only by the guitar that was slung over his back. He came to a stop some five feet in front of the scrutinizing band, finally lifting his head to observe the others. His long, shaggy bangs cast shadows along his static face in a slightly irregular display of light and darkness making his brilliant blue eyes stand out that much more and making it very difficult for Bud not to stare. So there was some color after all.

After his cursory inspection of the figures in front of him, the blank-faced man dropped his gaze once again as he fished through the inner pocket of his coat. Slim fingers produced a crinkled pack of cigarettes from which he shook one of the sticks loose, pulling it out with his beak and lighting it quickly. The entire action was fluid with familiarity giving evidence of his chain-smoking nature. There was something oddly enthralling to Bud about the abnormal presence of the so-called fan in front of them: something in the unusually indifferent attitude that seemed to draw him in. Or maybe it was just the stunning eyes.

"So," Negaduck growled, "I'm fuckin' pissed off and hung over as hell. So tell us whatever lame name your filthy parents saddled you with and play your shit guitar before I kill something."

The potential bassist was silent for a moment as though there was something in the simple question that necessitated additional thought. "Reginald Bushroot," he stated starkly.

"Pfft, gay name," Jack mumbled softly. The quite statement received a strong punch to the jaw. "Ooow!" he griped, rubbing at the place where he had been hit.

Negaduck didn't even bother to acknowledge him this time.

Reggie cocked an eyebrow at the display; he wasn't quite sure how such a short man commanded so much respect, but it was obvious that the other bird wanted to get this over with as quickly as he did. "So can I play now or what?" Reggie questioned as he exhaled his latest lung-full of smoke.

"You'd better before I maim you," Negaduck snarled.

Reggie swallowed harshly, trying his best to keep the telltale symbol of his growing nerves discrete as he prepared to play. He pulled the bass from his back, flipping it around and connecting the provided amp shakily to the sleek blue guitar. He blew a puff of smoke at his bangs to remove some from his face as his fingers began to move along the strings. The tune was oddly thick as though the cords were resisting the rapid pace of his well-trained appendages; it was an unusual tone but hardly an unpleasant one. Negaduck had to admit that the other man was actually a lot better than he had anticipated, and just a glance at the slender, slightly malnourished duck told him that he might just be exactly what he needed. He wasn't nearly interesting enough but that was easily remedied. A glance to the discarded list of failed interviews combined with another throb of his migraine convinced him to take what he could get. He would know soon enough if he was wasting his time or not.

"Alright loser, I'm gonna stop you right there," Negaduck interrupted, putting up a hand in a signal to stop as he waited for the bassist's eyes to focus on him again.

Reggie nestled his cigarette between his now free fingers and tried not to cringe as the perturbed mallard stared him down.

Negaduck sat back in his chair, regarding the other duck's blank look with squinted eyes as he pondered his course of action. "Why do you want this gig?" he finally asked.

"Money." Was the simple reply.

"That's it?" Elmo interjected, "None of that 'I want my name in lights' bullshit?"

"No."

"Mmm…" Negaduck muttered, "Well here's the deal Reginald, I have seen literally hundreds of talentless assholes, and since you are the only loser so far that has not made me want to devour my own soul... I'm gonna give you the job."

"Heeey, don't we get an opinion on this?" Jack complained.

In his defense he only flinched slightly when Negaduck turned back towards him.

"He does kinda have a point," Elmo said on the jester's behalf, leaning over the table to stare through his heavily tinted glasses at the singer.

Negaduck narrowed his eyes at Elmo before turning over his shoulder to question the dripping dog beside him. "I suppose you have an opinion too, eh drip-face?"

Bud shrugged in response. "Don't bring me into this. He's good enough for me."

"Well, I think he's a douche," Jack huffed, not hesitating to voice his opinion.

Reggie glared slightly at the comment, but he remained silent as he waited for the band to determine his fate.

"I've got something that will fix him. Besides I don't really give a fuck what you think," Negaduck retorted.

"Well what about Mo?" Jack said, turning to the rodent at his right in search of some form of support.

Elmo was plucking at his guitar once again, absently playing out one of their newest songs. The metal strings rattled without the amp but the tune was still recognizable. "Wha?" he questioned when he finally noticed he was suddenly the attention of the entire room.

"You have no fucking idea what we're talking about anymore do you?" Jack asked dolefully.

"We were talking about something?" Elmo questioned, laughing slightly as he returned to his strumming.

Negaduck blinked irately at the pair. Why am I CONSTANTLY surrounded by idiots? "Looks like you're hired douchebag," he said as he returned his attention to the man in front of them. "But only on one condition."

Reggie shifted his head slightly to the side, raising a distrusting brow at the group. "Like what?" he questioned suspiciously.

The menacing mallard grinned for the first time since the interviews had started. "We gotta metal you up some boy."

Oh gee, I wonder what they will do to him.

Well there you have it, chapter 1! Just to reiterate, these are not supposed to be the canon characters. They are counterparts of my own design so if they seem out of character at all I don't give a crap :P they're supposed to be. Also this will be slash eventually, so if you don't like get out now.

Now honk if you liked my story.