Dust in the Wind
Notes: The story is mine, the characters are not (except for Jun), and this isn't slash/yaoi material XD And I'm gonna make a little dedication: To Draca. Though she may never know it, she is my favorite writer for this fandom and she, through her stories, made me see Darkwing and NegaDuck both in different lights. Thank you, Draca, for bringing insight into these complex and wonderful characters.
It happened on the roof of the power plant in St. Canard. Though all else in the city seemed calm, at this one spot a crime was about to take place. A crime that would baffle police and vigilantes alike for weeks to come.
If anyone had bothered to look at the building they would have seen the dark figure atop it, glaring down at the city below. And they would have seen the one creeping up the side of the edifice to get to the roof. But no one was looking. There didn't seem to be anyone else even out on this night.
The one upon the roof knew he was being shadowed, however. At the first footfall he whirled, the dark eyes narrowed behind the mask he wore. "You found me," he remarked coldly.
"Then you know why I've come," was the only reply. The other figure moved closer, the hand straying to a gun strapped around the shapely waist.
"Oh I know, alright." The man gave a droll laugh, his duck-shaped silhouette bobbing up and down on the short, protective wall behind him. "You're here to try to kill me."
"Correction—to kill you. I will succeed." The assassin stepped closer, the white teeth gleaming. "You don't realize just how many people you've made enemies." This one had been hired to take out this criminal kingpin specifically because Jun the Sniper never missed a target. No one even knew whether Jun was male or female. They only knew the bounty hunter was deadly.
"Oh, I realize." The duck also stepped closer, not about to back down from this like a weak coward. He hadn't risen to the top of the most wanted list just to prove he didn't belong there.
"Then let's begin, shall we?" Jun sneered, lunging forward.
The duck lunged as well and the two collided.
The ensuing struggle of mortal combat went on for only the next few minutes, though to the ones fighting it seemed much longer. First one had the upper hand and then the other. At one point the criminal was nearly able to strangle Jun. In return the assassin kicked him, sending him backwards and bringing out the gun. But the duck was quickly up again and bringing the mysterious figure to the floor of the roof.
What happened then was only a blur. A shot went off. A scream rent through the air. And a body fell under the railing, plummeting toward the ground.
The one who remained stood up shakily, sneering as the other's death was viewed through cold eyes. "Good riddance."
It seemed a night much like any other in St. Canard, Darkwing thought to himself as he drove through the streets on the Ratcatcher. The trees were perfectly silent and still, as was everything else. There didn't seem to be any criminals afoot, but the apparent calmness didn't fool Darkwing Duck, the terror that flaps in the night! He was certain that somewhere out there was a dastardly doer of dirty, despicable deeds—and he was going to find that doer! They would never escape the justice that would be dealt out by him.
Launchpad's voice interrupted the crimefighter from his train of thought. He swerved the Ratcatcher wildly to the right, nearly tearing a fire hydrant free of its foundation. "What IS it, Launchpad?!" Darkwing screamed. "Look what you nearly made me do!"
"Sorry, D.W., but look over there!" Launchpad pointed ahead to flashing lights, piercing through the darkness like glittering rubies and sapphires. "It looks like there's been an accident."
Darkwing perked up at that observation. "An accident?! Perhaps! Or maybe a possible crime in this sleepy town!" The possibility excited him so that he reared the motorcycle up and zoomed forward. Of course, Darkwing didn't want anyone to be hurt, really—it was just that he liked the thrill of searching for and bringing to justice any evil-doers. He liked the feeling of knowing that he'd done something to keep the people of St. Canard safe. And, admittedly, he liked the action, the fame, and the occasional news story. Sometimes he thrived on those things. But that didn't mean they were the only reasons he tried to stop crime.
"Whoa, D.W.!" Launchpad cried, clutching his pilot's hat frantically. "Slow down or we'll be next to get in an accident!"
But Darkwing didn't slow down, not until they'd reached the accident site. Then he leapt up, pulling off the helmet, and strode over to the grim policeman. "What's the crime here, Officer?" he demanded.
The policeman, whose badge read Sergeant Moutou, took one look at Darkwing and completely jumped a mile.
Darkwing frowned, crossing his arms. "Come on, Moutou," he coaxed, reading the badge, "you can tell me, the caped crusader! The terror that flaps in the night! The one, the only—DARKWING DUCK!" With each sentence his gestures became more and more exaggerated and desperate.
Sergeant Moutou held up his hands in a "stop!" gesture. "You just startled me for a minute there," he said with a frown. "But now I recognize you. You're one of those vigilantes, aren't you? A civilian running around trying to do a cop's job?"
Darkwing glared, insulted, his eyes going red. "Now just one minute!" he exclaimed, pointing his index finger at the man. "I'm not some mere, ordinary, run-of-the-mill civilian! I've cracked international cases! Locked dozens of criminals away where they belong! I've cleaned up these streets a lot better than most of you cops!"
"Uh, D.W.?" Launchpad gulped as he came up behind his boss and friend. Somehow he didn't think this was the best approach to use.
"Not now, Launchpad!" Darkwing snapped. "I'm on a roll here!"
Launchpad scratched his head. "But, uh . . . aren't we supposed to be finding out about the accident?"
Sergeant Moutou came to life again at these words. "Accident?!" he repeated in disbelief. "I should say not. What happened here tonight was murder. Though actually the murderer probably did us all a favor," he muttered then.
"What?!" Darkwing cried indignantly. "How can you say such a thing?! Murder is inhumane! A criminal act! Deserving of capital punishment! And you call yourself a cop." He crossed his arms, turning away slightly.
Sergeant Moutou only grunted. "NegaDuck is dead," he said flatly.
"Ohhh, NegaDuck is . . . WHAT???!!!" Darkwing whirled back, unable to believe what he was hearing. "That's impossible! What do you mean he's. . . ." The duck trailed off, staring in disbelief. It was almost sort of an unwritten rule—NegaDuck couldn't die and neither could Darkwing. They could be injured, perhaps seriously, but never could they pass on. Darkwing had started to wonder if NegaDuck was invincible.
"That's why I looked so freaked, you caped clown," Sergeant Moutou snapped. "You look like the guy, but I knew we were havin' him checked out by the medical examiner!"
Darkwing fumed, but by now he was more interested in finding out details. NegaDuck was a criminal mastermind. If anyone could bump him off . . . just how much more dangerous than NegaDuck was that person? "How did it happen?" he demanded.
Sergeant Moutou gestured to where the corpse was being loaded onto a gurney. "Shot in the heart. Plus, it looks like he took a bad fall off that building. Killed instantly. But as I said, I'm not sure it's such a crime. After all, he was a psycho freak." With that he walked off, leaving a still-stunned Darkwing behind.