So. . . this was only supposed to be a one-shot, but it got out of hand. (I know, try to contain your surprise.)

A little Twilight-Zonish dreamfic, not really creepy but kind of weird. In other words, it might have made a good read on Halloween if I had been a week earlier with it. Oh, well. . . hope y'all enjoy, anyway.

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Beautiful.

Dr. Drakken gave a grunt of approval as he began to circle his latest genius device, examining it from all possible angles. Absolutely gorgeous.

A cross between a bike helmet and Jack Hench's silly little Attitudinator, it was a huge, round hump of metal with a thick line straight down the middle and jillions of little wires and knobs stuck to it. One side was painted a soft girly pink, decorated with "ZZZ"s and fluffy sheep jumping over fences, so relaxing it almost made him yawn just to look at it. But the other -

Drakken felt himself grin wickedly. The other side was a deep, menacing shade of blue, even darker than his lab coat, so dark you had to be two inches away from the thing to be absolutely, positively sure that it wasn't black. This side had "MUA-HA-HA!"s scrawled in gold letters where the other side had "ZZZs," bolts of lightning instead of sheep.

The Dreamweaver. His baby. The cornerstone of his latest, greatest plan - completely foolproof. There was no way - absolutely, positively none - that sassy cheerleader could stop now.

Hmmm. Grunt. Drakken tilted his head and drummed his fingers on his lab table as he thought. True, he'd said that before about a lot of plans, a lot of plans that had wound up being kind of - well - success-impaired.

But this time! This time was different. Drakken reached out to stroke the Dreamweaver's shiny surface, hoping to calm the burning in his chest, the excitement bubbling up inside his belly. This little beauty was going to make him ruler of the world.

Even Shego had shown tremendous interest in it when he'd walked into the living room with it hoisted over one shoulder. Well, tremendous interest for Shego, which meant she had actually put down her nail file and raised one eyebrow in his general direction.

Drakken had introduced his sidekick to his latest invention, bouncing on the heels of his shoes the entire time because the utter wonderfulness of being on the brink of world conquest was so overwhelming. Shego had raised her other eyebrow and gave him a look that said, without words, Uh-huh. Yeah, right.

And the burning in his chest had started, and not from excitement, either. "What, Shego?" he'd snapped.

"Dreamweaver." Shego had held out her hands and spread her fingers, mouth twisted up like she was eating a Super-Sour Ball. "That's an actually a pretty good name."

Why had she said it like that was a bad thing? He'd crossed his arms over his chest (admittedly not quite as villainously brawny as it was before he went to prison), glowered at her and demanded to know why that was a problem.

"Because." Shego had stood up so he wasn't towering over her anymore and stabbed her hands on her hips in fierce little points. "That means you put all your effort into naming it, and that means the plan's gonna be - oh, how do I put this delicately?"

His sidekick had reached up and pinched her nose between two fingers. "Pee-you," she'd hissed.

That wasn't even coming close to putting it delicately. "Shego," he'd said in the calmest voice he could manage with the hairs on the back of his neck standing straight up, "when you mock me, it actually decreases my productivity." He'd read that in one of those business magazines Hank Perkins had given him a few months ago, back when they were running the cupcake store together.

Shego had not been impressed. Just thinking about it now gave Drakken that awful feeling deep inside, the feeling he was pretty sure nobody even had a word for. Fear and anger and frustration and a little churn in his stomach that told him he should stop trying to conquer the world and the burn in his chest that told him he needed to conquer the world right now - and, worst of all, wanting SO BAD to see respect in just one person's eyes.

There were times when he didn't feel like that. When he worked in the lab. When he was eating his mother's cookies. Whenever he did anything with Commodore Puddles.

And, of course, once he conquered the world, Drakken knew that feeling would be history. He'd have adoration - and power - and glory - and an itchless chest for the rest of his life.

Which reminded him! He jolted straight up, banging his knee into the table and setting off half-a-dozen pain receptors all at once. Stupid things. He needed to test the Dreamweaver before he unleashed its effects on the unsuspecting citizens of the world. (Ohhhhhhhhh, yeah, that sounded evil.)

And this was far too important - too delicate - to test on one of the henchmen. And Shego - mehhh, forget about Shego. She didn't respect the scientific genius needed to create the Dreamweaver enough to use it.

Nope. This was a job for - Dr. Drakken himself.

For an instant, Drakken looked at his greatest invention yet and gulped. If it didn't work - if it had a short circuit or something - if it blew up - hoo-boy. He'd be in deep doo-doo. That thought sent little shivers down his spine.

But if it did work - if it didn't blow up and maim him and singe all his hair off - he'd be ruler of the world very, very soon. Probably before the end of the month. Certainly before his next birthday. What a great present that would be, achieving world conquest on his forty-second birthday!

The shivers came again, bigger this time, and better-feeling. Tingles of excitement, not fear.

With shaky hands, Drakken picked up the Dreamweaver and carefully positioned it on his head. It was tighter than he'd thought - well, his brain was much larger than average, after all - and heavier. It almost felt like he was wearing a crown.

Grin. Now, that he could get used to.

Next, he grabbed the Dreamweaver's control panel, which was much, much fancier than just a simple "remote." The keypad's letters started to spin in circles, and he closed his eyes.

Concentrate, Drakken. Just try to spell the words right.

"D.R. D.R.A.K.K.E.N." He knew he got that part right. He might not have been much of an Englist, but he could spell his own name.

"H.A.S. T.A.K.E.N. O.V.E.R. T.H.E. W.O.R.L.D."

There. Drakken gave the words a quick scan - everything looked right, no jumbled-up letters - and then rubbed his chin in thought. Was that specific enough? Did it give a clear enough image that people would be able to see what they were dreaming - and since everyone in the world was having the same dream at once, it must mean something very, very important and they should track down this incredible Dr. Drakken fellow and -

FOCUS, Drakken.

"H.E. I.S. T.H.E. S.U.P.R.E.M.E. O.V.E.R.L.R.O.D."

Bleh. Backspace.

"O.V.E.R.L.O.R.D."

There. Drakken hit the last "D" with a very impressive pinkie flourish and cracked his knuckles. Now all he had do was press "Enter", and he would immersed - oh, he loved that word, "immersed" - in a dream so real he would be able to see, hear, smell, taste, and feel everything.

He wiggled in excitement, all the way down to his toes. But first - he had to get ready for bed. After all, he wouldn't get the full experience if he just passed out in his Thinking Chair still wearing his lab coat, would he?

Huh. Maybe. He didn't know. But he wasn't about to risk it.

()()()()()()()()()()()

Okay. Drakken sat on the edge of his bed, knees drawn up to his chest, as he ran through his bedtime checklist.

Pajamas on - check.

Slippers - check.

Contacts out - check.

Hair down - check.

He surprised himself with a huge yawn, one that stretched his mouth so far it actually hurt. He'd been up for three days straight building the Dreamweaver - not the longest he'd ever gone without sleep, but long enough. Funny how he hadn't noticed how blurry his eyes were and how much everything hurt until he was about to snuggle down for the night. There had to be some kind of fascinating scientific explanation behind that. Maybe something that could be use to conquer -

One plan at a time, Doc. Drakken could almost hear Shego scolding him.

He snuggled down into a comfortable position - well, as comfortable as he could get with the Dreamweaver clonking against his head - and pulled his wonderful, red comforter all the way up to his chin. It was a warm, safe feeling that almost made the itchy-burn in his chest go away.

Almost.

It was that "almost" that made him raise his finger to the Dreamweaver's control panel and press down on the "Enter" button as hard as he could. There was a big burst of light, like a malfunctioning Doomsday device, and fireworks exploded in front of his eyes.

And then there was nothing.