Disclaimer: Kim Possible and related characters are the property of Disney; Jackie Chan (the animated version) and related characters are the property of Adelaide Productions. However, the copyright and/or trademark owners are in no way responsible for the content of the following story, which is entirely my fault.
Notes: Yes, the title is a particularly evil pun – and it's the major reason this story exists, as once the title occurred to me, I knew there was no way I could leave it lying around unused. Never mind the number of other projects I have on various burners, fic-related or otherwise, this one wasn't going to let me ignore it. The pace of updates on this tale may be erratic, as I really do want to move the "Sitch in Slash" series forward, and this story isn't (I don't think, at least) a part of that continuity.
1 • All This For A Toy?
England • Montgomery Fiske's country estate
Monkey Fist regarded his computer screen thoughtfully as Bates set a plate on his desk, then poured out a cup of tea to go with the banana scones. "Something important, sir?" the butler asked.
"I believe so, Bates. It appears that my agents have located the puppet-avatar of the Monkey King – in Seattle, Washington, to be precise."
"Ah," said Bates. "A new monkey artifact. What does this one do, milord?"
"Actually," his employer replied, "it is neither new nor precisely an artifact. According to my sources, it is the Monkey King himself, frozen in the form of a wooden puppet. Which is what makes him – ah, it – extraordinarily useful. If I can obtain that puppet, I can perform the ancient rituals to transfer the Monkey King's chi power – the power of a god himself – from the puppet into me. And then . . . " Monkey Fist paused, gathering himself for a diabolical laugh, ". . . I shall have more than enough mystical monkey power to overwhelm all my enemies once and for all! Muahahahahaha!!"
"Very good, sir," Bates said calmly, as his master stuffed a banana scone into his mouth. "I'll ready your luggage at once."
Monkey Fist merely nodded, reaching for another scone with one genetically modified foot as he typed instructions to his minions halfway around the planet. Soon, he thought. Soon ultimate monkey power will be mine.
USA • Global Justice HQ
"We have a code Maxwell Gracie Gold, repeat, M-G Gold," the agent on duty at the GPS monitor desk said, speaking crisply into her headset mike. "Satellite monitors confirm M-G subject Montgomery Fiske, a-k-a Monkey Fist, en route for North America via private jet. Specific destination not yet established, pending data-sweep." She was keying commands into her desktop terminal as she spoke, initiating search routines that flickered out like a swarm of tiny spiders across hundreds of different public and private networks. Simultaneously, a bright purple dot appeared on the giant map-screen that occupied most of the room's wall, pulsing as it moved across the Atlantic.
In a smaller glass-walled chamber above and behind the main operations floor, a tall woman with a patch over one eye glared at the map and frowned. "Monkey Fist," Dr. Director muttered, then switched on her own headset. "Assignment desk, open channel K; contact Kim Possible for immediate dispatch, final destination to follow."
Almost immediately, a much younger voice sounded apologetically across the communications link. "Monkey Fist? Sorry, Dr. D – Kim and Ron are in Japan right now on a high-security job for Nakasumi. I'll let them know as soon as they check in, but it might not be for a day or two."
The brow over Dr. Director's visible eye twitched. "I see. Well . . . we'll just have to deal with this one ourselves, then."
"Good luck," Wade told her. "But keep me informed, just in case."
The GJ leader nodded toward her camera pickup. "Of course," she said, then switched back to the shielded headquarters signal network. "Assignment desk, who do we have available and in range for immediate dispatch?"
The reply was instantaneous. "Agent Otis Knowe, present location Atlanta, Georgia. Agent Charlene Pei, present location Albuquerque, New Mexico. Agent Will Du, present location Minneapolis, Minnesota."
Dr. Director suppressed a sigh. Pei was just two months out of the GJ training academy, and Knowe was an infiltration specialist who stood all of four foot eight in his stocking feet; against Fiske and his inevitable troop of monkey ninjas, either of them would be hopelessly outmatched. That left just one candidate – and as good as that agent was, he tended not to deal well with the occasional "mad genius" cases that landed in Global Justice's lap.
There was, however, no other option. "Very well," she told the assignment officer. "Assign and brief Agent Will Du, then notify him as soon as Fiske's target destination is identified."
"Understood," came the reply, and then the connection clicked off as the assignment officer switched channels.
Dr. Director stepped forward for a moment, gazing down onto the operations floor, then reached up, unclipped her headset, and slipped it into a pocket as she headed for her office. "Good luck, Will," she said softly as she headed out of the command chamber in search of a cup of extra-strong herbal tea.
Downtown Seattle • International District
To outward appearances, it was a perfectly normal morning along Yesler Street. Customers were strolling from one store to the next, lingering in one or another coffee shop, or perusing the displays in particular windows. Neighborhood residents were walking their dogs, pigeons and crows perched on utility wires, and bicycle couriers threaded their way through the busy stream of auto and bus traffic.
The truly perceptive observer, however, might have noticed a handful of anomalies on this particular morning – especially within a block or two of the three-story brick building where a modest sign reading "Quentin Rio, Appraisals" hung in one of the ground-floor windows. For example:
The straggle-bearded man pushing the personal-sized shopping cart (lined with a green trash bag to keep its contents from spilling out) looked just about as scruffy as any of Seattle's homeless folk, and no one gave him a second glance as he paused under a tree. Nor did anyone notice when he glanced up into that tree and touched something on his wrist . . . causing a pair of nearly invisible wires to shoot silently upward. A moment later, there was a rustle and a muffled thump! as a furry shape dropped out of that tree and into the cart, and the straggle-bearded man strode briskly off down a side street.
Leaning against another tree across the street, a purple-haired Goth girl in motorcycle leathers stood with a double-tall coffee in one hand, watching pedestrians and skateboarders walk or roll past . . . and didn't notice when a small brown hand emerged from the tree's branches to toss a pinch of fine black powder into her lidless cup. Three minutes and several gulps of coffee later, she yawned, stretched, and plopped lazily down at the base of the tree for a nap – whereupon a small black-clad shape scrambled quickly down out of the branches, took all of seventeen seconds to pick one of the heavy padlocks hanging from the sleeping girl's chain-studded belt, and twelve more to use the lock to secure her matching leather wristbands together behind the tree (wrists still inside them). The silent figure paused for another few seconds to relieve its victim of her wristwatch and mini-headset before scampering back up into the tree and out of sight.
A block away, a slim woman in plain jeans and an eggshell-blue shirt reached through the back panel of the stroller she was pushing. But instead of the cool plastic shell her fingers expected to touch, she encountered short, thick fuzz – and the sharp prick of a thorn against her palm, followed by a rapid, numbing paralysis that spread through her body in mere moments. The stroller's disguised monkey occupant took almost no time at all to find and activate the controls that engaged the roller-skate mode in the paralyzed agent's shoes, followed by those that put the stroller on autopilot, sending "mother" and ninja merrily on their way to Pike Place Market and out of any prospective confrontation.
Meanwhile, on a fire escape two floors above street level, another monkey ninja studied the sophisticated infant doll liberated from the stroller a few minutes earlier. The monkey hadn't seen many one-year-old human babies, and the doll seemed no more than usually lifelike where it sat on the metal grating – until it uttered a piercing "WAAHHH!" Hurriedly, the ninja picked the toy up, cradling it in its arms, and after a moment the crying stopped. Then, however, there was a faint click, and the doll said in a surprisingly crisp voice, "You're not my mommy!" The monkey had just time to note the presence of a neat, strategically cut hole in the doll's diaper before a stream of pale liquid shot out, quickly dispersing into a cloud of fast-acting knockout gas.
By the time their master emerged from Quentin Rio's offices ten minutes later, two more monkey ninjas found themselves captured by alert Global Justice operatives (one disguised as an ice cream vendor, the other as a writer Web-surfing outside an espresso bar) – but two more GJ agents also fell victim to monkey ninja sabotage. Monkey Fist – dressed neatly in a black cashmere suit, an oblong box tucked under one arm – merely raised a single bushy eyebrow as Will Du met him halfway between the building entrance and the street.
"Lord Montgomery Fiske," Will said, "I am Agent Will Du, and you are under arrest in the name of Global Justice. Please surrender that package and come along peacefully."
Monkey Fist chuckled. "I rather think not. This artifact is legally mine, and you have no grounds to hold me – not that you could if you tried," he added, eyeing Will critically. "Kindly stand aside."
Will met his stare evenly. "You're wanted in eleven countries on charges of trafficking in stolen antiquities, and in nineteen for illegally transporting animals across international borders. You are also surrounded by Global Justice agents. If you do not surrender now, we will detain you by any means necessary."
"Hah," said Fiske. "My monkeys serve me of their own accord -- and it is you, Agent Will Du, who are surrounded." He whistled two quick, soft notes. "Monkey ninjas, defend!" Four monkey ninjas sprang from what seemed to be nowhere to flank the master of Tai Sheng Pek Kwar.
Will's response was instantaneous. "Task force, engage!" he ordered, speaking into his headset mike; four GJ agents broke cover and leapt into action, racing to meet the enemy.
Both leaders looked startled at the size – or lack of size – of the response. "Stations two, five, six, and eight, report!" Will commanded, even as Monkey Fist chittered a question at one of his own ninja defenders. The combatants, however, were too busy to reply, as they began an eight-way martial arts melee on the St. John Building's rather cramped front lawn.
Will's first action was to fire his taser-watch at Fiske, but the monkey master merely held up a fuzzy-furred hand, caught the wires, and grinned as pale blue energy crackled along his arm. "Thank you, Agent Du! I shall put this extra chi power to good use, I assure you!" He followed the action with a quick, sharp tug, and Will found himself stumbling forward toward the English lord. Quickly, he turned the stumble into a controlled somersault, forcing a surprised Monkey Fist to leap abruptly upward to avoid being knocked bodily to the ground. The jump enabled Fiske to escape Will's direct assault – indeed, he used Will's tumbling body as the springboard for a second hop – but the sudden shift nearly cost him his balance. And as he flung his arms sideways to keep himself centered, the parcel containing his newly acquired treasure flew from his grip.
As it did so, the lid separated from the body of the box, and the three components – lid, box, and contents – each spun in separate directions. The box thwacked Monkey Fist lightly on the toes as he spun back toward his opponent. The lid flew sideways, disappearing into the maze of strike and counterstrike between the monkey ninjas and Will's GJ team. And the box's contents – a colorfully painted wood-and-string monkey puppet, plus a shower of Styrofoam packing peanuts – landed squarely in Will Du's hands as he, too, whirled to resume the fight.
"That puppet is mine!" Fiske roared. "Give it to me at once!" Yet he did not attack; instead, he held himself utterly still, yet tensed and ready to spring in an eyeblink.
Will regarded the object he held with complete astonishment. "A toy?" he asked in tones of disbelief. "All this for a toy?" He turned it over in his hands, noting the brief inscription carved on the monkey's back. "Pull my leg . . . ."
"NOOOO!" Fiske's wail went unanswered as Agent Will Du, shaking his head in bemusement, suited action to word, tugging gingerly on one of the puppet's segmented lower limbs.
The sound of cymbals clashing – too soft for anyone save Fiske to hear – came from nowhere in particular, and the slight whoosh of displaced air also went unnoticed. Nor was anyone along the street (save Monkey Fist) properly positioned to see the very air sparkle with red-and-silver glitter as the dual transformations occurred: monkey puppet to living, breathing – and levitating – Monkey King, and top Global Justice agent to toy-sized, roughly chiseled figure of string and wood.
"Well, well, well!" said the newly freed Monkey King, making one quick spin in mid-air before settling himself neatly on solid ground. "The King is back, long live the King! And who might you be, fur-fingers?" he inquired, eyeing Montgomery Fiske with a mixture of curiosity, amusement, and wariness.
Monkey Fist bobbed his head in what he hoped was a gesture of respect. "A humble student of Tai Sheng Pek Kwar," he replied, "the greatest of all martial arts. My services – and my students – are at your disposal." He gestured toward his monkey ninjas, who had stopped fighting and turned their attention firmly toward the Monkey King the instant he had come to life. The remaining Global Justice agents, meanwhile, were staring at the four-foot-tall talking monkey with glazed expressions.
"Monkey kung fu," the Monkey King said. "Hmm. Not as much fun as good old monkeyshines – but it'll do for a start. Show me a couple of katas, boys," he said, turning to address the four monkey ninjas – who promptly spun, bowed, adopted formal fighting stances, and dropped their dazed GJ opponents flat with one carefully targeted kick apiece.
The King grinned. "Very smooth. All right, then, fur-fingers – let's find someplace to sit down and make some plans."
"As you wish," Fiske said, doing his best not to grit his teeth. This was going to complicate his plans enormously. Unless . . . . "I have an aircraft nearby," he told the Monkey King. "That should be suitably private."
He waited till the King had followed his gesture – and the lead of the remaining ninja team – before quickly and quietly scooping up the all-but-forgotten puppet and following the Monkey King toward the garage where Bates and the town car would be waiting. Perhaps you can help me after all, Will Du, he thought. You may be just what I need to maneuver young Stoppable into living up to his name – once and for all.
To be continued...