Welcome to Mengsk's rendition of The Duck Knight Returns. To be honest, I've had this plot bunny bottled up for a number of years now, adding to it over time. I didn't quite have the story straightened out yet; however recent announcements have forced my hand.
The Duck Knight will return this June in a four part comic book series by Boom Comics. I understand the masked Mallard shall be returning to crime fighting after a one year absence and, frankly, I want to beat Boom to the punch.
I would also like to thank and acknowledge a fellow Fan Fiction author, Scyphi. He was truly the first to bring back the Duck Knight in his tale, "Darkwing Duck Returns," and I have to admit a great deal of this plot was inspired by his work, albeit with one crucial plot difference.
I've let Scyphi in on one twist I have planned. Here's hoping I can deliver a few more.
3/02/19
Well, I ain't dead if you were wondering. Just let an old passion slip for no great reason. Still, time away is not a terrible thing. Gives time for reflection and perspective. Reflections such as asking myself, "why in the hell did you give the henchmen transforming SUV battlesuits!?"
Simply stated I have some revision ideas I feel would simplify and streamline the story.
Disclaimer: I do not own Darkwing Duck™ or any character, location or event from that said show. I did have a Darkwing novel when I was younger but I guess you could say that it was loved beyond repair.
The Duck Knight rated T for language and violence. I like to have a tad more leeway.
...
The Duck Knight Returns
Ch 1. Peaceful.
Uncomplicated times and simple acts fatherly devotion. Enduring peak hour traffic with Launchpad at the wheel. The pilot of the vehicle gets to choose the radio station, always, and the big lug had an affinity for mindless modern pop music. It was a little chilly but it was that time of year. Meeting Gosalyn and her inseperable friend Honker at the gate to school. Relief the pair were unaccompanied by Gosalyn's principal hoping to have a quick chat about Gosalyn's spirited behaviour. She was more settled in school this year and, besides, tended to be on her best behaviour on game day.
An energy was generated by the horde in the stands and somehow communicated to fuel the players in the rink. The home crowd cheering as local ice hockey legend, Gosalyn Mallard, intercepted the puck from the opposing pack and launched a saucer pass to teamates going wide looking for a clear run at the goal. One opponent failed, perhaps delibrately, to stop or change course and both youngters were bowled over. Cusses and rude gestures turned to fists and feathers flying to the crowds amusement and both were send to cool off by the ref. Safe on the sidelines (provided Gosalyn stuck to the terms of her entry never to perform her notorius ricochet rocket bank shot on the premises) Honker was a little red in the face for his friends well known short temper and aggressive nature though Drake took an ambivalent viewpoint it was better excess energy was aired under the supervision of a referee.
The five compadres completed their evening with a welcome treat of Hippo-burger and fries. Eating, joking and retelling events of the day in a corner booth. Launchpad, as per usual, ordered as many burgers as the others combined and put his ability to retain titanic amounts of food without throwing up to yet another impromptu test. How on earth he retained his musclar, barrel chest build was a mystery greater than Scotland's nessy. Drake marveled some ducks were just born with the metabolism eat thier fancy at will. Gosalyn recounted every glorious second of how she kicked butt on the ice whilst Honker, less enthusiastic over sporting deeds, half-listened and happily slirrped his favourite strawberry Hippo-burger thickshake. Asking Gosalyn the occassional question or making an occasional comment to keep up the appearence he was still politely paying attention.
The perfect evening. Surronded by the loved ones he considered to be his family, blood or no. Crime had taken a nose dive of late with the onset of winter. Even Hooter had less reason to call on Drake's services with F.O.W.L still realling from their disasterous "Steerminator" adventure and the supervillains whom plagued St Carnard were safely behind bars. Probably medicated to the bill and enduring twenty questions from an underpaid, 3rd from bottom of the class, bureaucrat of a psych doctor.
Times past Drake would have been bored beyond measure and aching perform an act of dashing heroism so his alter ego, Darkwing Duck, may headline the morning papers. Amaze the citizens of this desperate city with dangerous deeds dedicated to deminishing delinquency and dispelling dispair. Recently he was more prone to daydream of when he could next see Morgana MacCawber than headlines; a shift in priorities which shocked no one more than he! He was spending more time awake during daylight hours and less on late night patrol. Spent more time performing soccar mom duties. He found the neighbours marginally less annoying. If Morgana spent most of her evening plus the entirety of her weekends ensuring her newly opened Shadow Chateau themed restaurant thrived, all of which Drake fully supported, the weekday morning belonged to him. Even/especially if Morgana were too weary to do more than nap while holding hands. Her beautiful snoring could wake the devil and Drake recognised with some humour Morgana only ever lost all painstakingly practiced decorum once peacefully alseep. Only for him to witness.
Drake was happy. In ways he could not remember.
...
It was past sunset when they turned into the Avian Street and caught sight of home. The irrepressibly politie Honker Muddlefoot made certain to thank his host.
"Thank you for the Hippo-burger, Mr Mallard. I had a really good time."
"You know we enjoy having you Honk."
"You're brother hasn't been giving you a hard time lately, has he?" Launchpad asked over his shoulder. Tank Muddlefoot was a bully who lived to make others feel small. Everyone on the block, besides his doting parents, knew it.
"A little bit," Honker admitted, "but I don't let him get to me."
Gosalyn stood up in the back seat and began to spar an opponet only she could see. "If Tank needs a reminder what happens when you pick on my friend...," she left the threat unstated. Her jabbing fists filled in the blanks. "It would be like battling a supervillain."
"Don't fight at school, Gosalyn," Drake demanded. "Not unless Tank throws the first punch. In front of witnesses," he added.
If only the miniture thug were so stupid.
"Why don't you put the car in the garage, Launchpad. Gosalyn, I'll take your hockey gear. You can walk Honker home if you like. Just don't stay more than a half hour, its getting late."
"And say thank you to Herb and Binky for letting Honker come to your game," Drake called after the youngsters as they dashed around the hedge seperating Mallard and Muddlefoot dwelling.
The Mallard family household could be said to be eerie at this hour. The lights off, curtains drawn and scratching noise of the garage door opener in dire need of an oil can. In need of a family to bring to it to life. Drake absentmindedly gave thought to making use of the fireplace to warm his home, the weather really was chilly this evening, and whether he would complete the laundry before or after this nights patrol. Prowling the highrise rooftops of St Carnard or stalking shadows in the cities seedy underbelly.
He placed the key to his home in the latch.
CRASH
An extendable, yellow, metal arm punched through the very centre of his front door. Splintered wood flew in all directions. Pieces stuck into Drakes clothing. Some piecred his body. Three yellow claws closed around Drakes throat.
"Eep."
...