Kim Possible backed slowly away from her attacker, blocking and dodging for the most part, but getting in the odd punch and kick of her own. The twenty year old redhead was sweating from her exertions, but thoroughly enjoying herself. For her part, Kim's blonde assailant pressed her attacks with enthusiasm, if not much skill. That was due mostly to the fact that belt holding the jacket of the blonde's gi closed was orange, as opposed to Kim's black.

Finally the blonde made a mistake. She threw a punch a little too hard. She didn't actually hit Kim, but she did end up with her arm stuck out to its full length and herself bent forward, off balance. That was when Kim struck, grabbing the blonde's wrist and falling backwards. As her backside hit the floor Kim brought her legs up, catching the blonde in the stomach. With a yelp of surprise the blonde went flying over Kim to land with a heavy thud on the padded floor of the training room.

She lay there, panting, then reached up and wiped the sweat off her brow before pushing herself up on one elbow and glaring at Kim.

"That's it, I'm turning off the red sunlight," she growled. Kim laughed.

"What's the matter? Can't beat me without your super powers?" she teased.

"Apparently not," Kara In-ze, known to some as Kara Kent, known to many more as Supergirl, admitted with a sheepish grin. Kim crossed to Kara and offered her a hand up.

"Just be patient, Supergirl," Kim said. "You've only been training, what? Six months now? And not even on a regular basis."

"Tell me about it," Kara muttered as she let Kim pull her to her feet. "Between college, the League and doing my own thing in the Midwest, plus babysitting Metropolis whenever Superman is out of town...sometimes I can't believe I actually find time for it all."

"Join the club," Kim grinned. "I have to constantly remind myself that I can say 'no' to people who want a piece of my time."

"Speaking of times," Kara said, glancing at a wall mounted clock. "I have a class in an hour. I'd better start getting cleaned up."

"Sounds like good idea," Kim said agreeably. "Just let me collect Mister Monkey Power."

Kara moved to a control panel and hit a few switches. The deep red light that had been spilling down from the room's fixtures changed to yellow-white. On the other side of the largish training room Ron Stoppable, Kim's partner, room mate and lifelong best friend, stopped listening to the woman he was with and turned his head toward Kim, a disappointed look on his face.

"Time to go already, K.P?" he asked, his tone slightly whiny.

"Supergirl's got places to be, and so do we. Next week is finals week, and you said you wanted to do better than last semester," Kim chided him gently.

Ron grinned and blushed slightly. He'd managed a 'C' average his first semester at the University of Northern California, and had vowed to do better in his second. Ron turned to his companion and bowed.

"I'm afraid I have to take a rain check on that move you were going to show me, Canary-san," he said, mixing casual slang and ritual formality. The statuesque blonde crime fighter known as Black Canary returned the bow.

"As you wish, Ronald-san," she said solemnly. Then she straightened, a dazzling smile lighting her face. "Study hard," she said teasingly, reaching out to ruffle his hair. Ron's blush deepened and Kim and Kara giggled.

Ron affected a put-upon expression and sighed. "I will, Sis," he promised, and then it was Canary's turn to blush and giggle. Kim's own giggles turned into a warm chuckle. Somehow, in the six or seven months they'd been acquainted Ron and Black Canary had developed a relationship not unlike the one she and Ron had had when they were younger: a brother/sister one, save that Canary was eight years older than Ron, which put her firmly in the role of a big sister to Ron's little brother. Ron seemed to enjoy the role. He was, after all, an only child, and part of him seemed to crave those kinds of relationships. That had certainly been the case in his relations with Kim and her family, and still held true for Ron's relationship with Jim and Tim.

"I'll walk you to the teleporter," Kara offered, and the three of them set off.

While Ron and Kara chatted, Kim took in her surroundings. The Watchtower, the Justice League's orbiting headquarters, was a fascinating place. She and Ron had been here a dozen times since they'd been appointed Global Justice's liaisons to the League, and they hadn't seen half of it. Granted, that was because significant portions were off limits to them, but mostly it was because the thing was so damn big.

Kim's sightseeing wasn't for fun, though. She was training herself to be a careful observer, someone who could look at a scene for a few moments, then describe it in detail later. That was what she would do when she got home: sit down and write a report about what she had seen and heard.

So she watched and listened, noting who they passed in the corridors and what snippets of conversation she overheard. There was, for example, Nightwing, an ally of Batman's. Kim was a bit surprised to see him on the Tower, given that he was supposed be even more of a loner than Batman himself.

As they passed through the main briefing chamber, Kim spotted The Question lurking on one the balconies that overlooked it. He was clearly watching them, eyeless mask or no, and Kim smiled. She and Ron had spoken with him once, and learned that he didn't trust them. Of course, The Question didn't trust anybody, so that came as no surprise. Kim sent him a casual wave, and The Question responded by touching two fingers to the brim of his hat. Paranoid he might be, but he still had a sense of humor.

Elsewhere

The island was swathed in lush green foliage, from the edges of its beaches to the crown of the extinct volcano at its center. A ring of coral reefs surrounded and protected it from the battering of the ocean waves. An amazing variety of life, from colorful fish to exotic birds, swam, crept, and fluttered. The island, remote and uninhabited, was a beautiful, balmy tropical paradise.

The man debarking from the boat in one of the islands sheltered coves cared not a whit for Nature's handiwork. Short of stature and given to talking to himself, he was single minded to the point of obsession. He was on a mission, and nothing, nothing at all, would distract him from what he was here to do.

Moving quickly, the man made his way to a particular spot on the island. It was just as it had appeared on the satellite photos. The ruins of a pyramidal building, already festooned with tropical growths as the jungle went about reclaiming it. Carefully picking his way over and through the debris, the man entered the structure. A variety of industrial equipment and computers filled the cavernous interior of the pyramid. Much of the equipment was in a state similar to the building: heavily damaged, if not outright destroyed. The man studied the equipment carefully. An inventor himself, he was familiar with much of it, having worked with similar machines on many occasions.

The place, he concluded, was just what the rumors had suggested: a high-tech, entirely automated assembly plant.

"And here's some of the product!" he exclaimed cheerfully, stooping to pick up a metallic object. A quick examination showed the object to be mostly intact.

"Let's see if you still work," the man said, shrugging off the backpack he was wearing and digging through it. He sat down on a piece of wreckage and began to work on the object, talking to it as he did so. An observer would have noted that the man occasionally acted as if the object was participating in the conversation, and might understandably conclude that the man was a bit daft.

After a bit, the object's eyes began to glow. Eyes, for the object was in fact a head, somewhat resembling a human one, but all in metal. The jaw, which was entirely for show, since there was a speaker at the back of the head's 'mouth', worked.

"B-"

"B-"

"Oh, that's it!" the man said encouragingly. "You've almost got it."

"B-"

"Be-"

"Be- be."

"Bebe," the head said. "I am Bebe. Who. Are. You?"

The man smiled down at the head. "My name's Winslow Schott," he confided. "But everyone calls me Toyman."