Disclaimer: if you saw it on TV, it doesn't belong to me. Soundtrack for this chapter: King Crimson's album RED; Gosta Berlings Saga's GLUE WORKS.
CHAPTER ONE: 4 YEARS LATER
She nimbly dodged the final laser, flung a bolt of plasma at the weapon, blowing it off the wall. Without even a pause she spun in the air to meet the last of the ninja guards, right in front of the vault.
Two frantic, violent minutes later the man was sprawled unconscious on the floor; stepping past the body, she touched the complex electronic lock with a single finger limned in green light. Smiled wickedly, imagining the circuits frying, the chips blowing, the relays failing as the plasma current swept through them.
Confidently she turned the handle; the door hissed open. The treasure within was no bigger than a cell phone. She took it from its shelf, outwardly as steady as a stone, inwardly ecstatic with the thrill of the hunt. This was why she left Team Go. This was why she so enjoyed evil, cherished chaos. It made her feel alive like nothing else could.
Dr. D. had no idea where she was, of course; a lot had changed since the Lorwardian invasion. Drakken really had turned over a new leaf, content to putter around with recipes, home furnishings, and the occasional goofy science project. World wrecking and world conquering were out of the question. He was happy with his new life.
"See you in a couple of days," she'd cheerfully told him as she left in the autogyro that morning. He really thought she was on a business trip; really believed that she worked for Nakasumi Toys. For nearly three years she'd maintained that lie, and for nearly three years he'd accepted it. If he checked, she'd be on their payroll. Not that they knew it. She'd paid a hacker quite a bit to have that done.
Somewhere in her heart she knew he was simply pretending to believe; somewhere in his heart he knew she was not fooled by his pretense. It was an unspoken pact between them; the lie allowed them to stay together without questions.
Not that she had any world-shaking plans. She'd never really understood why all of that was necessary. Steal something very valuable and sell it to the highest bidder; simple, profitable, effective.
She marveled at the device's jewel-like perfection. So small, so seemingly harmless, and yet it would sell for far more than any nuclear or biological weapon. With the money it would bring in, she and Dr. D. could continue their idyllic life for several years to come, far from the rat race, on their personal tropical isle.
As she tucked the object into her leg pouch, a shadow fell across the floor; she spun around, already in battle mode, expecting more ninjas.
A single figure clad in grey stood in the doorway of the vault. Bald, dark eyed, the lines in his face making him look much older than he was.
Not a ninja. Something else.
He held out his hand. "Give me the wireless charger," he said, in a thick Slavic accent.
Green plasma crackled around both her hands. "You must not know who I am, Gramps."
"On the contrary, Sherri Gordon, I know exactly who you are. And I am Andrei Dmitryevich Asafiev. The men I work for need that device very badly." His openly lascivious stare both angered and embarrassed her, something she wouldn't have thought possible. "You are very beautiful," he continued. "Why should a beautiful woman die for so small a thing? Hand it over and live."
She answered with plasma beams cast from both hands, a power sufficient to melt armorplate.
A foot from their unconcerned target the beams bent, deflected by some unseen force, and dissipated. She gasped, startled, and her adversary instantly seized the advantage, moving like lightning, delivering three murderous strikes in a split-second: throat, chest, solar plexus. Any of the three would have killed a normal human being, but Shego was more than human; she was flung back against the vault wall, bruised, momentarily dazed, but alive.
It was Asafiev's turn to be astonished.
With a ferocious growl she leaped into the air, kicked the man squarely in the face, spun as she landed and delivered another crushing kick, sending him flying across the vault floor. He stood up almost instantly, snarling something in another language. Probably better off not knowing what he said, Shego thought, and she was right.
He closed with her, grappled with her; her plasma blasts merely flickered and were quenched. That was fine. Whatever superscience had given the man a defense against her powers could not defeat her strength, her spirit, her martial arts prowess.
She was sure of that.
After all, she had battled the best and won. Destroyed Lorwardian war machines. Defeated numberless enemies. Only one foe had never fallen before her, and this Russian geezer was definitely no Kim Possible.
Yet every move she tried was blocked, every slash of her clawed gloves was dodged, every murderous technique countered with an equally lethal attack. Worse, something was happening to her, something she didn't understand. A creeping nausea, an aching weakness like nothing she'd ever experienced.
She suddenly, shockingly, knew he was toying with her. He wanted her to fight, to prolong this battle.
Even as that certainty shook her, he broke away, held a hand out as if warding her off, but his expression belied that; burning eyes above a cold, twisted grin. "I would have liked to watch you take it slowly, girl. But I am on a tight schedule. This will do."
There was no brilliant beam, no thunderous sound, no evidence of the devastating power that had been released in the vault beyond a barely visible green flickering. The woman crumpled to her knees, struggled to stand and failed. A sour taste filled her mouth; sweat beaded on her brow, drenched her shuddering body.
She could feel her organs blistering, burning deep within her.
Asafiev knelt down, pulled her to him, stroked her face, her hair. Bruised her lips with his. Ran his rough hands over her lissome form. "Ah, it has been so long since I have held a woman like you – if there was only a little more time." He cupped her face with his hands, stared into her eyes. "You are still defiant. Good. When you stand before God tonight, do not blame me for your circumstances. You could have walked away. This was all your choice."
He took the device from her leg pouch and was gone.
A few minutes later Global Justice agents poured into the hallway, ran down to the vault and stopped, aghast.
"My God," cried one of them. "Shego."
Another knelt beside the stricken, trembling woman, who had passed into unconsciousness, maybe comatose. "She's still alive. Barely. Get a stretcher in here."
In less than a month no less than six of them would be dead of radiation poisoning.
On an island far from that deadly vault, Drakken finally finished his latest project, stood back and surveyed it with pleasure. A beautiful cake with her favorite icing. No mushy inscription, though. She wouldn't want that.
He would prepare her favorite meal tonight as well. Everything needed to be perfect when she returned from that business trip. She had promised she'd be back right at noon, and he would have everything ready. He loved her so much; he could hardly wait to see her surprise.
It was her birthday, after all.
The Leader was dissatisfied. "The device must be decontaminated before we can use it. It may have to be destroyed and another built. Not difficult, since we have the original, but annoying. What happened out there?"
Asafiev was clad in a radiation suit; not to keep radiation out, but to protect those who had to be around him. "There was trouble this time. Shego was also after the charger."
"Shego?" said ancient Sergei Ivanov, once a member of the Supreme Soviet. "The Shego?"
"No. Some other Shego." Asafiev snorted with disgust. "How many do you know?"
Ivanov was neither amused nor intimidated. "Sarcasm does not become you, Qua-Czar."
He hated the codename they had given him, but held his peace. "I apologize, comrade. It was not my place to criticize you. Of course it was the Shego. There could be no other. The briefing didn't begin to describe her. She was… incredible." A pause. "Her account with God is settled."
The Leader's eyes widened. "You saw that?"
"I didn't have to see it. I know how much the human body can withstand. She took quite a bit more than that."
"You survived quite a bit more than that."
"Yes. I did. But as the comrades in the scientific division never tire of pointing out, I am no longer human."
"Neither is she. It was a comet in her case, as the briefing must have told you."
"A gift from Heaven. Drakken was a lucky man, to have known the love of a celestial being." He walked toward the door, impatient to get back to his quarters, to get the radiation suit off. The new recording of Messiaen's Turangalila awaited. Music was one of the few pleasures he could still enjoy. "Maybe she has survived. When we leave humans behind and begin to deal with angels and demons, all bets are off."
"Which are you, Qua-Czar?" the Leader asked, in his Midwest accent, so different from Asafiev's own.
"I am a servant of the Leader, the people, and the Soviet Union. Nothing less." He turned back to the men around the table. "And I am Andrei Asafiev, not Qua-Czar. Use that codename in your journals, in your clandestine meetings, in your secret conclaves, but do not call me that to my face. My name is all that is left me. Use it."
"One day, very soon, your country will be returned to you as well, Asafiev. You have done a great work here. We were fortunate that you survived, whatever the circumstances."
There was no answer. Instead the bulky figure stalked from the room.
"You know this will change everything," Ivanov told the others. "Whether he killed the woman or not. It will be much harder to continue our plans in secrecy. Other people will become involved. Drakken, for certain. Kim Possible. And her fiancé. His name escapes me."
"Ron Stoppable. I've had some experience with all of them," said the Leader, with a grim laugh. "By all means, let them come."