Disclaimer:  I do not own any characters mentioned henceforth.  Never did, never will.  All characters mentioned in this chapter are copyright to Disney.  This fic is for non-profit reasons.

Just a few ground rules:  This is my first fic, reviews are *greatly appreciated* (nudge nudge wink wink hint hint).  The only thing I will not tolerate is complaints that this story is a cop off of someone else's.  I wrote this story, and made an effort not to steal anyone's ideas.  Any complaints of this nature will be put in whiner's box *thinks fondly of trash can* Well, if I have not scared you away, read on sports fans!

A terrified bird crept frantically in the shadows.

Clank.  Clank.

The last remaining leader of F.O.W.L found himself trapped in a corner of his own lavish office, terrified beyond rational thought.

Clank.  Clank.

His heart pounded as the large figure drew closer, bringing with him the foul bird's imminent death.

Clank.  Clank.

The bird trembled in the shadows, the only thing visible of him were his very frightened white eyes.

Clank.  Clank.

The hulking form stepped forward into a patch of moonlight.  The light reflected eerily off his metal helmet and illuminated the evil smile that formed on what was left of his face.  It caused ghostly shadows to play across his features, making the shape look more frightening than ever.  His eyes narrowed into wicked slits as he spoke in a low, dangerous voice.

"What irony.  You're little creation of greed has come back to haunt you."

The bird sputtered, pleading for his life, "Listen, no – no, you don't need to do this – we saved you, made you better than, than –"

The figure uttered a cold, cruel laugh that made the bird's black heart freeze.

"Don't try to guilt me, you worthless fool.  You saw an opportunity to gain more power for yourself.  And oh, how the tables have turned…who knew you would be groveling before that creation of yours as it takes over your fun little club…or should I say, fiendish organization?"


"Say goodnight," the terrifying creature hissed viciously as it aimed its blaster arm at directly at the bird's head, and fired.


Slam!  Crash!

Drake Mallard's eyes snapped open at the sudden noise.  Still dazed with sleep he looked around wildly for the culprit.  His eyes narrowed as they landed on his inconspicuous alarm clock. 

"3:18 pm!  That's way too early!" he cried indignantly, his voice muffled by his pillow.

The duck raised his fist above the clock, stealthy as a cobra, poised to strike.


The sound of glass shattering stopped Drake in mid swing.  A look of confusion appeared on his face.

"If that wasn't the clock, then it must have been…" he paused, then his face contorted with anger, "GOSALYN!"

Mumbling to himself, a disgruntled Drake Mallard pushed himself out bed.  Scratching his back and yawning, he threw on a maroon robe before heading out his bedroom door.

Downstairs in the kitchen, a small boy with thick red glasses stood with a hackey-sack in his trembling hands.  Looming over him was a brown-haired boy nearly twice his size in red shirt.

"You're goin' down, twerp," the larger boy said, grinning in a threatening manner.

"Not if I can help it!"

A spunky redheaded duckling leapt from the top of the refrigerator and landed next to the two boys in a crouched position.  She looked up at them, her green eyes agleam with competitive spirit. 

"Over here, Honk!" she cried.

The smaller boy grinned and tossed her the hackey-sack.  The other boy turned to her, growling, "I'm gonna enjoy this!"

He lunged at the girl, who deftly jumped into the air.  The boy let out a whoosh of air as he hit the floor and slid into the refrigerator. 

"Ha!  Maybe next time, Tank!" the redhead shouted triumphantly.  She turned to Honker.  "C'mon, let's get back to base!  Time to plan our attack!" 

She sprinted through the kitchen with Honker right behind her.

"Shhhhh!  We have to be quiet so we don't wake up – "

The redhead whipped around the corner to run up the stairs, only to come face to face with a very peeved Drake Mallard.

"Daaaaaaaaaad!" the girl exclaimed casually, trying to cover up her shock.  "How nice of you to join us!  We were just about to…"

"Save it, Gosalyn!" her father shouted,  "Just what do you think you're doing!"

"We were only playing a friendly game of indoor keep away," Gosalyn said, trying to sound as sweet as possible.

Drake turned and looked out into the kitchen.  Various broken objects were scattered everywhere, a boy lay motionless on the floor, and smoke was billowing from somewhere unknown.  The whole scene bore a striking resemblance to a war zone.  Grimacing, Drake turned back to daughter, who grinned up at him sheepishly.

"As I've told you before, it's strictly forbidden to partake in World War Three in this household!  And where was Launchpad during all of this?  Probably  a prisoner of war…"

"Launchpad's out at the mall picking up some stuff," Gosalyn said.

Behind her, Honker nodded vigorously.

Drake frowned.  "Now see here, young lady – "

All three looked up as a small purple airplane in the shape of a duck's head soared through the window and stopped dead in front of Drake.

"The Flashquack!" he cried excitedly.

The small plane spat a piece of paper out of its mouth directly into his face.  It turned and sped out the window as quickly as it had come in.  Drake plucked the paper off of his bill and read it aloud.

"We have received urgent news.  Darkwing, please report immediately to S.H.U.S.H. headquarters."

Drake Mallard swelled with pride.

"Yep yep yep…ahhh, looks like ol' J. Gander needs my expertise," he commented, but then noticed Gosalyn slowly edging towards the door, "Hold it right there, young lady…"

Gosalyn froze, then looked at her father, cringing.

"You better have this looking like a kitchen by the time I get back!"

The girl grumbled something that sounded remarkably like "tyrant" to Honker, but Drake did not seem to notice.  He was already walking towards two blue chairs on the other side of the room.  He plopped down in one and punched the detective statue sitting on the table next to it on the head.  In a flash, the chairs spun around, and Drake was gone.