The city of St. Canard was vary busy at night even by day, but this night was the busiest of all because of all the tourists. A mother, a father and a twelve-year-old son, little Jimmy, all too well dressed for this kink of neighborhood, walked down the festering street, out-of-towners trying not to look out of place, which marked them even worse. They carried playbills in their hands. They'd just been to a show, but now they needed to get a taxi. They walked down the street to look for a taxi and a group of strangers looked them up and down, smiling as they hurried by.
The mother cluched at the father's sleeve. "For Pete's sake, Harold, can we please get a taxi?" she asked trying not to make a seen.
Harold looked back at his wife with an annoyed, even angry expression, the kind of look that would make him king of the household back wherever they came from. Little Jimmy reached in his back pocket and pulled out a map. "We're going the wrong way, Dad!" he snapped, as Harold looked around. "Put that away!" the father insisted, trying to keep his voice low, trying not to attract attention. He led his family down the street and a hooker smiled at Little Jimmy. "Hi there honey," cooed the hooker as Little Jimmy smiled back.
The father led his family into an alley hoping to find a taxi on the other side. The alley had no light except the dim light of the moon on wrecked cars. Just then a man in cowboy cloths called out to the father. "Hey, mister!" he said holding out his hand. "Gimme a dollar," he begged. The family could tell that he was maybe nineteen or twenty, but they moved away from him. As they moved along another cowboy wearing black and holding a gun whacked the father across the back of the neck.
The father fell like a stone to the alley floor and the mother grabbed Little Jimmy. They backed up against a wall, too scared to move or make a sound. The cowboy who asked for a dollar ran across the street to join his friend with the gun, the friend was who was already ripping through the father's pockets to see what he could find. The friend paused in his task and pointed the gun at Little Jimmy. "Do the kid a favor, lady," he said softly and reasonably. "Don't scream."
She swallowed her scream instead. Tears streamed down her face. She held Little Jimmy tight against her, as if her son was the only thing that was keeping her sane. Little Jimmy didn't say a thing either, as if all he could think about was the muzzle of the gun. The two cowboys ran off with what they wanted and then the mother screamed as she and her son ran to the father was crumpled in the alleyway. Her scream echoed up and down the alleyway. It mixed with the music, and the laughter, and the car horns down the street. Up on the old St. Canard Cathedral that faced the Alley a figure stood next to some stone gargoyles saw the whole thing.
Meanwhile the two cowboys: let's call them Jessie and Frank, were on a roof, six stories above the street with all the things they took from father. Frank the one with the gun opened up the father's wallet and looked at the cards. "All right! An American Express card."
He tossed the card at Jessie. "Don't leave home without it, heh?"
He turned his attention to counting the cash as the night wind blew gravel across the roof. Jessie looked up. He had heard a noise, like metal clanging against metal. "Let's beat it, man. I don't like it up here." he said with unease. Frank just laughed. "What are ye, scared of heights?"
"I dunno." Jessie shivered. He looked around, even though there was nothing there except darkness. "After what happened to Kitty The Kid-" That made Frank angry. "Look, Kitty The Kid got ripped and took a walk off a roof, all right? No big lose."
But Jessie knew it wasn't that simple. "No, man. That ain't what I heard at all." he stopped for a minute, as if he didn't want to say what came next. But it had to come out. "I heard the Darkwing got him." he said with fear running up his back. "The Darkwing? Gimme a break!" Frank snapped as he looked away, as if his friend's idea wasn't even worth laughing about. But Jessie just shook his head. "Kitty The Kid fell five stories, straight down. There was no blood in the body."
"No shit," Frank agreed. "It was all over the pavement." His head whipped around. He stared out into the dark. This time, he heard the sound and looked back at Jessie. "There is no Darkwing." he grumbled. Then Jessie started to shake with horror. "You shouldn't turned the gun on that kid, man, you shouldn't tu-" he was cut off by Frank who was holding out money. "If you want your cut of this money all you have to do is to shut up!" yelled Frank as he took his half. "Now shut up!"
That's when Frank and Jessie heard the sound of feet crunching gravel above them. They looked up and saw a masked figure with a gray fedora, a lavender coat with a pair of gold buttons vertically on its left side, and a purple cape with red innards.
The figure glared at Frank and Jessie which put great fear in them. "Do you think that you have watched to many westerns?" asked the figure with a low angry voice. "I want your gun, Frank!" he ordered. Frank dropped to the gravel and pulled his gun out. He fired twice at the figure, two clean shots. He was too close to miss. The figure fell to the roof with satisfyingly solid sound. "Well he got it, Frank," sighed Jessie in relief.
As Frank and Jessie picked up the money that was blown around in the night breeze, The figure was standing in front of them as if nothing had happened. But before Jessie could react, the figure kicked him in the chest. The kick lifted him completely off his feet and sent him flying through the air into a brick chimney. Jessie slumped to the roof, out cold. Frank dropped his gun and ran for the fire escape, but the figure moved his hand, as if throwing something.
Frank fell and could no longer use his legs. They were pinned together, wrapped in something, rope or wire. His arms were still free. He pulled his body along the rooftop, the gravel slicing into his elbows, drawing a dozen tiny streams of blood. He did not think of the pain. Only about the figure. He was so scared that he almost crapped his pants. The figure reached down and grabbed him by the shirt, took him over to the edge of the roof, and held him out beyond the edge.
All Frank could do was beg for his life. "Don't kill me," cried Frank as he looked down to the street below him. "I'm not going to kill you, Frank," said the figure in a calm and strong voice. "I want you to do me a favor. I want you to tell all your friends about me!" he ordered in a raspy voice. "What are you?" asked Frank with fear. The figure pulled him close to him. "I'm Darkwing Duck!" he hissed.
Darkwing Duck threw Frank roughly on the tar-and-gravel rooftop. He still managed to look up, to see Darkwing Duck step off the building's edge, six stories up, off into nothing but air. "Tell them, Frank!" called Darkwing Duck's voice. Frank really started to scream.
Meanwhile in the alley. Little Jimmy and his mother was still around his hurt father when Darkwing Duck approached them. "Don't be afraid. I have taken care of the outlaws and recovered your money," he said in a caring voice as he gave them the money. Little Jimmy was confused. "Why do you do the things that you do?" he asked as he held his mother. "I myself had an experience as a kid with my own family!" he said patting Little Jimmy on the shoulder and then flew away into the night.