Hey guys! So this is a story I started a while back and decided to finish up now! It starts when Krane is first building his army, and continues through Rise of the Secret Soldiers in Lab Rats, Mighty Med, and finally, all comes together somewhere in the middle of Elite Force.

Basically, my thought process with this story was; what really happens to S-1 after the attack in Rise of the Secret Soldiers? I know she comes back as Taylor in Lab Rats, but that's not where my story takes her, so it's kind of AU I guess from that point on. Instead, she has a whole different adventure which turns her into an entire different person, and leads her to bringing the two shows together long before this crossover even begins...well, you should see it all come together as you keep reading.

Enjoy!

-Kim

In the middle of a dark globe, in the middle of a calm country, in the middle of a sparse town, stood a lonely little house.

It seemed like a perfectly ordinary house. To anyone that passed, it was dainty. Quaint even.

To everyone who lived in the little town, however, it was a mysterious and abstruse house. Passing photographers would often stop to snap a picture of this majestic sight. Cinematographers and Directors on a family vacation would often pause to speculate what a perfect setting the lovely little house would make for a drama.

Many seriously considered using it as the backdrop for one of their newest creations.

But no one ever did.

It wasn't that the house was intimidating, or scary, or daunting in any way.

It was just that you didn't ever approach it farther then the front walk.

That was just it; it wasn't done. Something about it did not feel right.

The townsfolk had become accustomed to the single battered blue car, which stood outside the little house. It never moved, was never cleaned, or waxed, or attended to in any way. Over the years, it had become a well-used analogy by the menfolk of the suburb.

"Indeed, I do declare my wife has become the dig's buggy!" exclaimed a drunkard one night to his friend. Yes indeed, the man had not even referred to the car as belonging to the person residing in the small townhouse; he had spoken as though the house itself had possession the car.

It was this way with everyone. It was the house's walk, the house's garden, the house's porch, and the house's 'buggy'. The little house held complete ownership of anything located on its property. No one, not a single being throughout the entire town, had ever met or heard from the person whom was claimed by the house as its' resident.

Now the town itself was small in size, and big in talk. Everyone knew what old Ms. Thomson thought about Mrs. Smith's new flowerbed. Everyone knew that Mr. Jones and Mr. Greerty had been best friends since high school football.

Everyone knew that the Johnson's little girl, Stephanie, was soon to be married. And new gossip about the Hendersons, a snooty upper-class family, was coming in every day.

"Have you heard about the Seabrook's son?" was a common way of starting a conversation.

"Don't offend Miss Johnson's pie, she's touchy about her cooking," might very well be the first words of welcome you would hear in that little town.

The children mimicked their parents throughout the day. "You'll never guess what Jessica did!" had become a tune to jump rope too. While the aforementioned girl pulled herself away from her newest male figure long enough to scowl at the offenders.

No story was of to insignificance, no incident to small, and no account too far-fetched to be relayed amongst these residents as 'facts'.

A general unspoken rule was; you could say whatever you wanted, spread whatever tale you wished, as long as for the life of you, you did not bore your audience!

So as it can be assumed, it was of great excitement to the people of the little town when one evening, a second car pulled into the house's driveway.

Little Maggie had been the first person to witness the dark-colored station wagon pull up to the house.

She made her way through town, first alerting the ice-cream man, then the grocer, and finally Old Ben the farmer, who was known for his awing sharp-cheddar sandwiches.

Within the hour, the entire town had been alerted of the incident. And the single man and two women that Maggie had seen had grown to three burly men, a suspicious-looking Russian woman, and a young hottie. This final add-on had been the idea of a rather plastered Mr. Smith, who's wife quickly silenced him by knocking him over the back of the head with her purse.

"Did you hear about that damn Russian spy?" inquired the baker of his newest customer. "Story says she's working with her 'complises on some new fancy bomb to blow us all to kingdom-come!"

"I heard she's a relation of the Rosenbergs," whispered a housewife to her neighbor.

"They must have an lab basement in the bottom of that house," gossiped a young boy to his sister. "They're probably making a poisonous explosive to attack with and kill us all!"

"Stop!" shouted the little girl, covering her ears and running about the yard while her brother chased her, making explosive noises with his mouth.

"Did ya hear of those three muscly body guards the spy's got guarding her?" asked a patron sitting at the bar.

"Did you hear of her car?" asked the bartender. "I heard it had bullet-proof plating!"

"Did you hear of that little angel she brought with her?" asked Mr. Smith in slurred words while his wife jabbed at him with the heel of her shoe. "There's a little slice of the Heaven above if I've ever heard of one!"

Let us just be thankful that little Maggie had not been able to see the single man's face, or the theories would have become dangerously ludicrous, putting the house in risk of being raided by a very angry, and very drunk mob-for it was a Friday night after all—perhaps accompanied by flaming pitchforks.

However, back at the door of the house, the Russian spy shrunk to a very fastidious, critical, and lavishly dressed woman. Mr. Smith's 'hottie slice from Heaven' shrunk to a young teenage girl, and the three muscly bodyguards shrunk to a single man, with a very serious and scary-looking skin disease.

"How long is this going to take?" screeched the woman in a high-pitched, and very annoying voice. "Being in such a dingy town is making my feet hurt and getting my clothing dusty."

"Be quiet woman," snapped the man. "We'll be out of this miserable village as soon as I finish conducting my business, and no sooner!"

Just then, the dark mahogany door creaked open, crying out desperately for the need of some WD-40.

"Ahh, I am exceedingly pleased to see you could make it, Mr. Krane," welcomed a very stereotypical-looking mad scientist. He was of average height with brown hair that stuck up shockingly straight from his head. "I trust you are enjoying the sights of our little town? Be sure while you are here not to offend Miss Johnson's pie. She is very touchy about her cooking."

"Foolish talk!" shouted the man, shoving past the scientist. "I came here for a demonstration, not to chat about small-town current events. If you do not have anything prepared to interest me, then we will be leaving."

"No, no!" quickly shouted the scientist, rubbing his hands together in slow, circular movements. "I have many things for you, Mr. Krane, many things that I trust you will be most interested in. If you would please follow me..."

The spiky-haired scientist led the man down a well-hidden and very twisted stairway to an underground lab. The teenage daughter diligently followed her father, with her constantly complaining mother close behind.

"Have you ever thought that maybe if you swept this place out every once in awhile, it would decrease the amount of vermin you have attracted?" asked the mother, stepping gingerly around a rather large cobweb.

"I am afraid, dear lady, that if I was to do that it would take away from the 'evil lair' feel I have accumulated," stated the scientist, grinning sardonically. "I must say that I have achieved it quite well."

"Clearly," muttered the woman.

The scientist led his small group of potential teammates across the lab to a long table filled with a large degree of weapons; some which looked very effective, while others just looked plain silly.

"This is a new invention I have recently created," said the scientist, picking up a large gun-like thing, which was loaded with pencils. Before he could begin to explain his weapon, however, the other man cut in.

"Sir, I do not believe you fully understood my offer as it was stated to you. My eventual goal is world domination, and unless you have anything more-" the man paused to look, almost humorously, upon the other weapons set on the table. "-directed to this cause, I am afraid I will have to be going."

"Wait, wait!" exclaimed the scientist nervously. "I suppose I could skip to the end of my presentation. I assure you that once you see this incredible invention, your every wish will be immediately filled!"

The potential buyer looked unconvinced.

"I give you..." spoke the scientist, quickly turning on a nearby screen, "...The world's first bionic superhumans!"

Up on the screen appeared many simulations of three teens, doing inhuman things with their bodies. Running faster then the speed of sound, lifting objects ten times their size, and moving people and animals seemingly with their minds.

"Hmm, impressiveHmmm, iHhdfhdhdhdhdhdhdHmmmmmmm." stated the buyer. The scientist's face immediately shone with happiness, as though this was the highest praise in the world.

"I told you!" He exclaimed, in a somewhat childish manner.

"Very impressive," repeated the buyer. "And yet, so very unbelievable."

The scientist's smile faded.

"How am I to know that this footage has not been manipulated in any way? How am I to know that I am not giving being caught up in a con operation?"

"Well, I suppose I could demonstrate how they work this very minute," said the scientist slowly. "Implant them into someone before your eyes? Would you believe me then?"

This suggestion seemed tempting to the buyer, so the scientist quickly continued his sales talk.

"I could implant them into one of you while you watch," he said excitedly. He looked around the room until his eyes fell on the wife, who was flicking one of her polished fingernails at an invention. "I propose her."

"What?!" screeched the woman, looking up to see the scientist looking at her in an almost hungry way. "You will do no such thing to me! I am not a lab rat for you to run experiments on!"

"The woman stays human," declared Krane, in an even and commanding voice. He then shoved his daughter forward. "You will give bionics to my daughter instead."

"What?!" cried the girl in surprise.

"An excellent suggestion!" exclaimed the scientist, advancing towards the small girl. "Bionics take better to younger bodies anyway. Their systems can hold up to it more."

"Wait, please, get away from me!" shouted the child, backing away from the menacing scientist, and running straight into her father.

Krane held the girl by her shoulders in a tight grip, glaring down at her with a steely gaze.

The scientist looked up at Krane, seeking permission with his eyes.

Krane dipped his head in a shallow nod.

"You may proceed."