Using the Monkey

Note "*" represent the Russian language because html does odd things with some of the other symbols normally used to denote foreign languages.

Then.

*And are you certain that is where the control signal is coming from?* Putin asked. *completely certain.*

Yes. The general said, The Americans have also confirmed it and they are preparing to move heavy units in as soon as they can free them up from fighting these…diablos.

*Fools. There will be nothing left.* Vladimir Putin listened to the sounds of conflict, muffled by meters of stone and concrete…but not absent. *Status of Moscow?*

*The army is engaging the Diablos…but currently are unable to make headway to the center of the city. The Kremlin is on fire.*

*Then Give the order.*

*But sir, the Americans…*

*Will do nothing—we can pay them off later, and if they complain remind them this attack is coming from their territory.* He paused, *If we wait we may lose the ability to even launch the attack. Do it now.*

*Yes sir.*

Moments later, a single SS-18 missile departed its silo.

Putin turned to his aid, *Get on the hotline and inform the Americans that this is not an attack on them, but should they launch against us, we will have no choice but to defend ourselves. We will take full responsibility for the attack and make any reparations they desire.*

"Nice Try, Loser." Erik said as he kicked Ron back and seized the EMP weapon. "And a-"

Erik's senses were better than any humans, and even through the rain, he thought he saw something.

In the command post one of Drakken's goons blinked at the read outs. They were designed to detect aircraft and send Diablo's to deal with them, but that wasn't an aircraft…in fact those objects were coming out of the sky at incredible velocity, almost like they were-

Russians had always been fans of overkill and in this case they chose to avoid any subtlety. Of the 10, megaton range warheads carried by the missile, four were targeted directly on the Bueno Nacho HQ where the signal was coming from, while the others were spread out in a circle around it to destroy any secondary command bases.

Erik, Kim, Ron and Shego didn't' have a chance to think. The four warheads detonated almost as one, and they were not simply in the kill radius, they were actually in the center of four overlapping fireballs. Heated to temperatures normally found in stars, everyone in the building was reduced to plasma before they could even realize something had happened. The four titanic explosions merged into one hellish vortex, while the six further explosions completed their destruction in nearly as complete a matter. Middleton High School, by an unfortunate coincidence was nearly directly under one of those explosions—or perhaps it was a kindness. Nobody survived from Middleton, but some lived long enough to know terror and despair—the students at the prom, like Kim, had no time to realize anything was wrong.

The space center, Kim's home, the mall…all were turned to seared rubble, as the explosions roared up and the heat converted everything that could possibly burn into an inferno. It was, in fact, days before emergency services could penetrate to the center of the town…though it must be said they didn't hurry. There was nothing living to be rescued, after all.

Now.

"It is the 20 year anniversary of the third use of nuclear weapons in the history of armed conflict." The BBC announcer's dry accent carried across the tidy London apartment. "The destruction of Middleton, and much of Upperton and Lowerton did destroy the control systems for the Diablo robots, but it also killed nearly 350,000 American citizens, and for nearly a week after the detonation the world held its breath wondering if a full scale nuclear war was in the offing." The announcer paused and the screen displayed a series of montages, emergency vehicles running through a moonscape of burned out buildings, a California school with filtering systems on the windows and a hand lettered sign reading: "Fallout safety center." Parents and children in hoods and masks, and then graphs and charts showing the incidents of cancer and other radiation related problems in the regions where the fallout had been worst.

"That did not happen, but of course, the sudden decline in the relationship between the United States and much of the rest of the world, the collapse of NATO and of most international covenants, can be dated from this period. The fact that the United States had allowed such an attack, the greatest terrorist attack in history, to be launched from its own territory, resulted in…"

Joss muted the sound and stretched out at her desk. She didn't need to be reminded. She had been there. The fury had to be directed somewhere, and in the end, it had been directed at the safely dead. Drakken, Shego…and Kim and Ron. Global Justice was also largely gone, as they had mostly been top surface fighting diablos.

Anyone even suspected of being a mad scientist had been arrested and executed—in many cases without trial, as DNAmy's death had shown. Any henchmen were considered enemies of the US, and the world…but it hadn't stopped there.

Everything Kim had done had been portrayed as a glory seeking vigilante, and by the time it was finished, most people considered her almost as responsible as Drakken for what had happened. Nobody knew of course—no records had survived, and nobody, not her family or the friends at the school had survived either. They had never even recovered Uncle James or Aunt Kim's bodies, or Jim and Tim's. That had hurt. And the dead couldn't defend themselves, and the living, especially the living in power, were looking for any way they could to divert an enraged publics attention.

Dad and her had seen their ranch seized, tornado and every other example of cyberrobotic technology taken into custody, and when the Technological Restriction Act had come down the pike, Slim Possible had decided to send his girl to Great Britain in order to continue her education while he continued a hopeless war to rehabilitate his family's memory…a war that had ended when his heart attack had claimed him.

"Miss ya, Daddy." Joss said to the photo on her desk. After the way her own nation had turned on her family, she hadn't looked back once she'd left and Joss had been a citizen of Great Britain for the last 12 years. She shook her head. Born in Montana, she'd once considered Middleton over crowded and now here she was working as an assistant curator for the British Imperial Museum in one of the largest cities on the planet—certainly more vibrant than America, hostile cities lurking behind the walls of what was only half jokingly referred to as "Fortress America."

After all, working in 19th century American and western history was a good job…and better than what a robotics specialist could get today… autonomous robotic systems had a very bad reputation, which is why she kept her sideline hobby under wraps…

And if they knew about her main hobby, she'd be lucky to get off with jail time. But that's why she was waiting in her room on a Friday night, instead of going out and hitting the pubs. She had business to do…

Okay, maybe it was because if she drank too much, she started seeing things. The one time a concerned friend had brought her home, Joss didn't remember anything of what happened, but she'd been told she had a very long conversation with Kim and Ron, and her father. She'd been yelling at him for not keeping her at home. No, pubs were not the best idea for Joss Possible.

Where was he? Joss got up and started pacing. The years had seen her grow up and out, fleshing out in to a fit, shapely woman, albeit paler after years in Great Britain than she'd been in Montana, and with more frown lines than she should have had at her age, but still, nobody would mistake her for someone else.

"Come on!" She said, and then stopped as the door bell rang. She quickly ran to it, and opened the door.

There he was. Hair going gray, a little stooped but still the person she needed to see. The person who was going to help her.

"I cannot imagine why you thought I would be interested in seeing you." He said.

Joss smiled, "But here you are." She said. "Lord Monty Fiske." She paused, "You're too old to waste time, and I'm too impatient… so tell me, how did it feel to lose most of the mystical monkey power?"

"Unpleasant." He said. "How did it feel to lose most of your family?" He paused, and then eyes widened in mock surprise, "Or rather all your family, even if it took some of them a few years to die."

Joss's smile didn't reach her eyes. "I've had plenty of time to think about that…but so have you. Lurking in the castle, I heard that even Yamanouchi doesn't' bother you anymore…you're just not important to them." She grinned. "That must burn."

"How do you know of Yamanouchi?"

"I have my ways…" Then Joss got to the meat of the conversation, "And you never beat Ron, did you? It took a ICBM to beat him, you were always second best."

Monty's hands tightened and Joss wondered if he'd gone too far. Then he relaxed, "I think you have a better reason to call me here than to exchange insults…I would prefer to hear them."

"Fine. You know, I've spent years looking for magic stuff, at the museum, books, legends, etc."

"Quite a hobby."

"Not a hobby, not any more…have you ever heard of something called the Tempus Simia?" She paused, "And how would you like a chance to get that power you deserve…by taking it from Ron Stoppable…"

TBC.