I love to write, but this is my first fan fiction on this site, so go easy on a newcomer. I love reviews, but do not demand them. However, I will always encourage my readers to read and review as well. Please enjoy the first part of this long story. Feedback will power it, but it will continue with or without. Enjoy, Goslin. (Yes, I know it's spelled wrong. it's done on purpose.)
This story takes place nine years after the Darkwing Duck television series. Once again, I write this for the pleasure of the reader and I hope you enjoy. I do not own any of the Disney characters. ______________________________________________________________________

Prologue:

The hairs on the back of Goslin Mallard's neck began to rise with anticipation. Her whole body was trembling out of fear, particularly the had which held the .45 pistol. This was most unfortunate, since she needed it sorely. She glanced from wall to pitch black wall inside the tiny dark room moving as swiftly as she could with her gun from corner to corner, careful not to miss a single spot. Her eyes darted with her gun, but little could be made out of in the nearly pitch dark room. Her hand steadied slightly, used to this particular moment, took precautious aim, and fired all in one swift, practiced notion.
"MALLARD! What the hell was that?!" Goslin retired her weapon to the loop in her belt which was loosely attached to a worn out pair of work jeans, and struggled to find words to answer the question presented.
"What is it, sir?" She asked with every part of speech showing respect and shame.
"Your bullet, Mallard!"
Goslin slowly turned toward the direction in which she had fired her shot, and with out doubt, she knew precisely what she had done. The bullet was planted deep inside a pillow on a couch that was there to 'prepare you for the real world', but all it did in actuality was trip you up. As was the case now. The actual target had been a cardboard replication of a criminal. Goslin felt hot from embarrassment and stood firmly rooted to the ground, not so much as daring to turn back to her superior.
"By the way, Mallard," said the superior as he pulled out his .45 and raised it to her head, "You're dead." Goslin couldn't believe her ears. But they hadn't deceived her, no, she heard correctly. "You forgot to check the south corner. Second fuck up! You're out, Mallard."
"No, honestly sir, I get one more strike!"
"Smart ass! Go to your room and sit in time out like a good little girl. See you tomorrow at 5:00. Come with your gun ready."
With these words of pardon, Goslin slipped out of the room, glad she hadn't invited Honker to watch the proceedings. Training to be a SHUSH agent was hard work without much sleep. Jesus! It was already one in the morning. The only reason she could become even a trainee for SHUSH agencies was the fact that her father had been the best thing ever to happen to the company. This was, second to possibly becoming a professional hokey player, what she had wanted since she met her adoptive father, Drake Mallard. The fact that she was failing but working as hard as her exhausted body would let her was inconsequential to her determination to be in SHUSH. She had to make it. Simply had to.
Goslin Mallard lived in an apartment about five blocks from SHUSH headquarters, so she didn't need a car (which she didn't have) and she didn't have to live with her father breathing down her neck. Finding it had actually been a small miracle. And for St. Canard, the rent was fairly cheap. $600 a month.
The door to the relatively small apartment had been open before she so much as reached it. Goslin held her breath, unsure of what was going on, but in possession of the knowledge that panicking never helps. She took off her backpack (in case she needed the ability to move suddenly) and stepped toward the open door, which, surprisingly, didn't look as inviting as it had on other days. When she had reached the threshold, it appeared as if nothing were wrong. Everything was in it's proper place and there was no sign of a robbery. She couldn't think of anything specific that would interest anyone. Goslin waked through the kitchen and living room on the first floor.
"Is anyone there?"
There was no answer. Convinced the house was unoccupied, Goslin left the apartment for her backpack outside. Once retrieved, she headed straight for her room and locked the door. She stretched and looked at the rather inviting bed that was perfectly made up and ready to be slept on. She quickly undressed and tossed on a pair of silk pajamas Morgana had bought her. Not bothering to brush teeth she sank underneath the covers of her soft warm bed. When her head hit the pillow, it was not greeted with the softness of a usual day. No, there was something wrong. Gosling got out of bed, startled, and looked under the pillow. Underneith was a small envelope with a single word on it : NEGADUCK.