A/N: Was there a question buried deep in the back of your mind about this story? Was it maybe ... 'Geez, Louise, get back to the action plot, please'?

The Knock-Off

The mallard dressed in a purple cape and mask was tip-toeing from shadow to shadow, tailing two suspects as they walked along, drinking their cans of drink.

"Yo, check that out, Laz." The short, tubby squirrel pointed at an Italian cafe.
"Aw, come on, that Last Minute store wasn't enough for ya tonight?" The taller squirrel complained.
"Laz, you dugong, look at the awning! It's ..."
"What's wrong with red and white stripes, Boonie?"
"Look, Laz, it's you and me. We gotta do somethin' about the low standards around here, and I says it's gotta go!"
"Alrighto, Boonie." Laz gulped down his drink.

The mallard stepped out of the shadows behind them, determined to prevent this particular spree of destructive mayhem from continuing. He recalled the speech he'd memorised earlier. 'Now, what was it? I am the ... uh-the empty fuel gauge thirty miles from the nearest petrol station? No that was yesterday. Aw, come on, I used it only half an hour ago! Oh, that's right ... I am the flight that you just missed!'

Laz tossed his empty can over his shoulder, and it hit the purple crime fighter on the beak before bouncing onto the pavement.

"Ow! Hey! I mean, I guess I'll add littering to your list of offences."

"Yo!" The two criminals turned to face him.

"I am the terror that flaps in the night!" The vigilante brandished his purple cape without missing another beat. "I am the-."
"Well, well. If it ain't Gonzo the clown." Boonie mocked. "There was I thinking as how you got ya feather's barbecued, Darkwing."
"You two are under arrest."
"Come on over here an' try it, punk." Laz threatened, flexing his muscles.
"Uh ... I was actually kinda hoping you two would ... you know ... just come quietly tonight?"
Laz and Boonie burst into laughter. "Oh, that's a good un ..."

While they laughed, the purple clad mallard charged forwards, taking Laz by surprise with a sharp left hook which brought the squirrel staggering back. Boonie grabbed the avian by the waist and the crime fighter struggled with difficulty to get free. The short squirrel bit into his leg.

"Yee-ouch!" The mallard shrieked and renewed his attempts to pry Boonie off him. "Something tells me ... I should've ... picked the Teflon outfit tonight!" He grabbed into his jacket pocket. "Hungry? How about a brownie, Boonie!" He pulled out his fist and jammed what he had grabbed into Boonie's sharp mouth. "They're my own recipe!"

Boonie chewed and swallowed. "Hey, that ain't bad ..." His face suddenly went red and he let go of the mallard. He started gasping for breath. "Hot! Hot! Water! Ice! Please!"
"Aw, don't you like my brownies?" The crime fighter pouted as he put a set of cuffs on Boonie, aware that Laz was recovering and was seeing red. In a fit of nerves the purple crusader tensed his muscles. 'Here goes nothing.' As the taller squirrel came at him he let fly with a double web kick.

In a daze the masked mallard found himself lying on the ground nearby. He got up and looked around for Laz.

Laz was out cold on the pavement and Boonie was still safely cuffed. "Well, what'd'ya know?" The mallard smiled to himself and limped over to Laz with another set of handcuffs. "It worked this time." The purple crime fighter now had his two petty criminals successfully cuffed up.

Two police officers came running up. "Darkwing Duck? Hey, are you alright?"

The caped crusader felt a lump rising in his throat as he stepped back into the shadows. Trying to avoid answering the friendly police officers he turned into the nearby alleyway and kept walking, ignoring the pain in his leg. "Yeah ... I wish you were alright, DW." The vigilante looked up at the fence at the end of the alleyway, pulled out the grapple hook and rope and the gas gun from behind him and put the hook in the barrel. "I can do this one. DW taught me how to do it." He aimed the hook at the top of the fence. He pulled the trigger and the gas gun exploded in his fist making him drop it.

The grapple shot twenty metres up into the air before arching over and fiercely hooking itself around a street lamp on the other side of the street beyond the fence.

The mallard picked up what used to be his gas gun. "Whoops. Heh, maybe I shouldn't listen to Gosalyn all the time? I keep forgetting she's only ten." He shrugged and put the charcoaled gun away. The end of the rope was luckily hanging slackly over the fence and he used it to help him up and over to the other side.

The purple crusader landed unsteadily on the pavement.

"Say cheese." The camera flashed at him.

He blinked the stars away from his eyes as he tried to recognise his photographer. "Hey, I thought you were into radio, Rhode. What's with the pictures?"
"I do a bit of everything, Mr. Darkwing." Raul responded. "Chance is a fine thing in this business and it pays double to be on two payrolls."
"Huh?" The Darkwing duplicate struggled to understand what Raul was talking about. "Uh, yeah I guess ... that would ... um, how do you mean?"
"You know; because I get paid twice for the one story. By the way, I wanted to say sorry for-."

A crash of windows and the splintering of wood up the street interrupted the reporter. People were crying out. The noise of a siren quickly followed.

The purple clad crime fighter turned from the reporter and saw a patrol car pull up to the curb up ahead. "I'd better see if I can help them." With that the masked mallard rushed towards the disturbance.

There was a dazzling flash of light from the place and several screams from inside.

"Yikes!" The mallard changed direction slightly and instead dove behind the police car as the police officers jumped out with their guns. They charged in through the entrance of the store but he didn't follow because he wasn't sure of what he was facing. 'Now who can make a flash like Photon Pig?'

Darkwing Duck's double gulped as he heard the sound of Photon Pig's voice.

"Ha-hah! Darkwing Duck may have succeeded in destroying my weapon last time, but this time, there's no one to stop me; Photon Pig!"

'... Um, how about ... Photon Pig?'

'If he sees me I'm as good as dead just like those people in there!' He clenched his beak at his grim assessment. '... Photon must be getting new parts to that machine I smashed up.' He sighed. '... Well, we have the time you wanted, DW.' He blinked back tears. 'But time to do what? You never told me that part, DW. You'd know exactly what to do ... But you're not here ...' Then the mallard saw movement out of the corner of his eye before Rhode disappeared from his view ... in front of the store.

"Rhode, get behind something! Hide!" He called out.

The street around his protectively shadowed spot behind the car lit up in a flash of white.
"My eyes!" Raul screamed.

The mallard kept his still working eyes on the police car's paintwork. "Rhode, you need to get back behind the car before he comes out and finds you!"
"Help me! I-can't-see anything!" Raul shrieked in horror.
"Look, I can help you if you just keep quiet; I can get to you-."
"I'm-blind! My-life-is-over! How can I report on something I can't see?"
The mallard stood up to help the reporter, but he glimpsed movement in the shop and ducked down out of sight.

He was too late.

Photon Pig stepped back out onto the street and found the owner of the panic stricken voice standing in front of the jewellery store. Clearly he'd been standing there when Photon had used his miniature gun to disintegrate those fool police officers. A camera was on the ground beside him, telling Photon that this person was probably a reporter.
"Help me; I've gone blind!" The poor unfortunate soul wailed, not realising who he was talking to.
With a snigger Photon stepped on the camera and turned it into shards of plastic and snapped circuit boards. Then he grabbed the tiny reporter. "You like making news, you reporters. So let me help you make the news for you. It'll be ... oh, say about thirty seconds if you're lucky."

The crime fighter shrank back behind the police car, watching helplessly as Photon Pig lumbered away with Raul Rhode. "I'm so sorry, Rhode." He whispered hoarsely, feeling hot tears spring into his eyes from his failure. "He was too quick ... and ... I'm not."

The purple crime fighter got to the next alleyway where he'd parked the rat-catcher. "...But I just can't take on Photon Pig and win ... or even get out of it alive." He twisted the key in the ignition and the engine started up with an assertive roar. "I wish I could do something."

He drove the rat-catcher slowly, recalling DW's last fateful plan. The most important thing to DW had been to stop Photon from finishing his doomsday weapon. It was so vital that it had involved DW sacrificing himself so Launchpad could get a clear window of time to destroy it. " ... Wait ... I know Photon's not at home right now!" The crime fighter sped the motor cycle up now he knew where he was going. "Oh, boy; is Photon going to be mad when he gets back!" The crime fighter smiled for a brief moment.

Then he remembered the unfortunate Raul. "You just helped buy the rest of St. Canard more time, Mr. Rhode."