This story is a huge change from my usual writing style. I thought I'd mix it up and have a little fun.

Ch 1- The Scene of the Crime

Tonight I venture out of my home turf and into the unknown, trailing the path of crime wherever it may lead. I find myself standing in front of the imposing gates of McDuck Manor, an ominous creak sounding from the rusted bars. I was requested most highly by a certain…DWDbiggestfan1991 on an Internet forum to solve a matter of utmost pressing concern to his boss.

The message is highly classified information, which I will not disclose to my narration lest the night wind carries it to eavesdropping ears.

As I survey the grounds with a keen eye, I spy a dark figure sneaking out the front door with a square object tucked under his left arm. He rounds the corner and breaks into a run.

I follow him to the back side of the property, where a tiny, damaged houseboat stays afloat in a pool. Judging from the blackened edges of several planks, it was safe to assume the engine had been hotwired.

The figure dashes into the boat, tossing assorted knickknacks around as he searches for that unknown object. The time has come for my dramatic-and dare I say-daring entrance.

"I am the terror who flaps in the night!"

"Where's all that smoke coming from? Show yourself!" The other duck demands in a near-unintelligible voice. Boy, he should really consider speech therapy.

"I am the miscalculation which costs you millions of dough! I am…DARKWING-YIPE!" I duck a thrown snow globe, the glass shattering on the wall behind me. "What was that for?"

The other duck balls his fists. "You barge into my home and expect a warm welcome from me? Well, you've got another thing coming, pal!"

"And you expect an explanation from me when you rudely interrupted my introduction?" I say. "Now, explain what you plan on doing in this destroyed dump."

"GET OUT OF MY HOME!" The duck screeches, leaping towards me.

My honed senses enable me to expertly evade his enraged attack, and I point my trusty gas gun at his bill. "Yep, yep, yep," I say. "Now will you be good and tell me what purpose you had for sneaking into a houseboat at 10:37 at night? Nothing good ever comes out of tiptoeing around."

Before he could reply, something whizzes by my head, knocking the gas gun out of my hand. When I look back, a cane had embedded itself into the panels, my gas gun hanging from the end by its handle.

"Who are you and why are you attackin' my nephew?" An old duck barks in a most peculiar accent. He stands on the edge of the boat, glaring at both of us with more rage than I would have thought was possible for an old geezer. "Curse me kilts, Donald! I turn my back for two minutes and ya already land yourself in trouble."

"Oh, for crying out loud, Uncle Scrooge," Donald mutters. "I was only putting away a photo album."

"Ah, so you must be DWDbiggestfan1991′s boss," I say. "Scrooge McDuck, an honor to meet you. I am the caped crusader, he who flaps in the night, Darkwing Duck. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Now, what seems to be troubling you?"

Scrooge storms over to the planks, pulling his cane out of the wall and letting the gas gun clatter to the floor. "You have ten seconds to take your fancy gadgetry and theatrics off my property," he growls. "As for you Donald, couldn't this have waited til morning?"

Suddenly a large, rather dopey fellow rushes on board. "Darkwing Duck! You're here! You're actually here!"

I fold my arms. "What kind of a hero would I be if I didn't answer the calls of a needy populace in an orderly fashion?"

He picks me up and crushes me in a giant hug. My lungs are on fire and I savor all the precious air I possibly can. One time the malicious miscreant Megavolt mangled the circuits of St. Canard's power grid for his own nefarious purposes. Being tangled in his wires was preferable to this behemoth's death hug.

"So…." I gag. "Are you DWDbiggestfan1991 by…oof my organs…any chance?"

He finally lets go, and I wheeze for breath.

"That's me! Launchpad McQuack, mind getting me an autograph?"

Well, it would be rather rude of me to refuse. I sign his hat with a black sharpie. I even leave him a smiley face.

"I'm never washing this baby again!" he exclaims.

"Launchpad, may we talk for a moment?" Scrooge says in a dangerously calm voice. He pulls him to the side of the boat. I'm left with Donald, who glares at me.

Well, it was certainly nice to know one duck in McDuck Manor had manners.

"When I said you could bring someone who would help us figure out where the painting went, I did not mean use the Internet to hire A MASKED CLOWN!"

"If I said he didn't demand payment, would you be a little more welcoming?"

"Why do I even-wait a moment, Launchpad. Did you say he doesn't demand payment?"

I clear my throat. "That's correct. I do not accept payment for my services. Though a bit of gratitude would be nice."

Scrooge sighs, shaking his head. "I'm goin' to regret this later. But as long as you work for free, I suppose there's no other choice. Follow me to the garage. And don't touch anything!"

Now I see why some call him the cheapest duck in the world.

But if he would kindly stop calling me a masked clown, that would be much appreciated.

I stay behind him as I keenly take in all the details of dusty old relics that have fallen prey to neglect over the years. Strangely, there were green post it notes on some of the objects. I rip one off as we pass by a podium.

I stow it in my pocket so I can examine in a better lit area. It could be a very important clue.

"This is where I kept the painting," Scrooge says, stopping in front of a stack of crates. "It has a picture of a pirate ship, and there's a tear in the upper left corner."

I thoroughly scour the area for clues with my magnifying glass. There was a faded rectangular area free of dust where the painting once sat, as well as several light footprints that led into the interior of the manor.

"It appears that the perpetrator has made their way into your mansion," I explain. "And I found these green post it notes right by the scene of the crime! Whoever pilfered the painting did a poor job of covering their tracks. Mr. McDuck, if you would please gather all the occupants of your estate so we can figure this out quickly."

"Wait, Uncle Scrooge!" Donald yells. "The boys are asleep!"

"Nonsense, Donald," Scrooge says with a dismissive wave. "Nobody is sleepin' tonight until we figure out who stole that painting. I'll wake up Webby and Beakley. Grab the boys and bring them down to the parlor. Launchpad, help this clown search downstairs."

Lightpack salutes, his entire body stiff. "Aye, aye, Mr. McDee! Er, or was it sir, yes sir?" Scrooge taps him with his cane, and the larger duck falls to the ground, almost squashing Donald under his weight.

The Darkwing does not have a need for a partner. I work alone! I have done everything by myself for years, and I most certainly have no need for a dopey duck who looks as though he can't tell a triangle from the square root of 254.

However, I feel generous today. "Come along, Lunchbox," I say in an authoritative, heroic voice. "Let us begin our search…" I pause for dramatic effect as I figure out where to begin. "…in the lobby!"

"Cool! Mind if I show you where I crashed the limo one time? Mr. McDee's face turned this funny shade of red after I did that!" he exclaimed.

"Later. Duty calls," I reply.

I poke my head into the empty fireplace. "Find anything?" Limbobar calls.

"Nope!" I cough. "Nothing but…ack…soot and brick! They did not use the chimney for this."

"Well, geez, I wouldn't really expect Santa Claus to be the stealing type."

Before I could yell at him for that remark, I bang my head against the brick as I crawl out. My suit is covered in ash, so I dust it off, coughing the entire time.

Hope Scrooge McDuck didn't mind a little ash on his nice looking rug.

Next I continue my search into the kitchen, looking underneath the sliver platters for a crumb, a wrapper, or any piece of food that the thief might have eaten while committing this heinous heist.

Another valiant effort, wasted.

"Letterpen, we shall now head to the parlor." I must carefully construct my statements so that nobody is aware that my search has so far yielded nothing. "I have allowed a sufficient amount of time to pass for everyone to be brought to order."

"Okay, DW!" he nods. "Check this out!" He holds out a pair of aviator goggles in his palms. "Found it by the front door. I'm always misplacing my stuff. Lucky this was in an obvious spot."

"Let me see that," I say, examining the material under a magnifying glass. "Hmm…bought from somewhere exotic it appears. I will be holding these goggles as possible evidence."

Lechepond shrugs. "Maybe one of the kids lost it. That Webby is always sneaking up on the boys with dart guns."

At this point I was getting bored out of my mind with the speculation. "That's quite enough. Darkwing Duck shall begin questioning in the parlor momentarily. Who is the thief? Did they know each other previously? Why would the thief choose a painting and not the money?"

"Is it my turn to ask a question?" Lumberpack asks.

"Make it quick," I mutter.

He nods eagerly. "Why are you asking all these questions out loud?"

"For the drama! What kind of superhero would I be without a few cliffhangers?" I protest.

I'm sure it will be a long night.