Disclaimer: if it was on TV, it's not mine. Otherwise, yeah, I own it. Soundtrack for this chapter: Symphonie Pour Le Jour Où Brûleront Les Cités by Art Zoyd; Killer by Alice Cooper. Shuffle play, hoorah, hurray.


They were scaling a long-abandoned gantry in a part of the Space Center scheduled, someday, for demolition. Back in Rocket Repair Bay #9, military police swarmed, looking for clues. So far, all they had was a wrecked vehicle belonging to Kimberly Ann Stoppable.

At the apex, Drakken's hovercar awaited.

"This was supposed to be a clandestine mission," Kim grumbled, not quite to herself. "No one was going to know we were involved. I mean, it was just about sneezing powder. Sneezing powder! How big a sitch could it be?"

Her husband scowled. "Not just sneezing powder. Gazuntite. "

"Ok, pre-sneezing powder."

"Global Justice thought it was big enough to drag us into it. Against our will." Ron hesitated, forged ahead. "At least it started that way."

If she realized his point, she ignored it. "We go in, we find the stuff, we get the stuff, we get out. Nothing to it. We should already be back home."

"Yes." Ron had never been more serious. "We should."

"Whoa," she snapped, still climbing, "don't take that tone with me, Ronald Stoppable."

"Yes, please don't," begged an exasperated Drakken, "because I'd really rather not hear your petty squabbling all the way to – where are we going, anyway?"

She shot her husband one more irritated glance, got Wade on the Kimmunicator. "Got anything for us?"

"Tell him to scan for wireless cybernetic communication," Drakken suggested. "That worked for me."

"Already on that, Dr. –ah – Lipsky," the young genius said. "Nothing. They must be covering their tracks. Unusual for those two."

Kim frowned. "They're working for someone else."

"That explains it. Who?'

"We don't know. Someone who needed a spaceship." An idea struck her. "Check for gravitational anomalies. The Copernicus isn't a chemical rocket. Antigrav accumulators. Dad said they have to charge up before liftoff."

Wade typed something, stopped, concern on his face. "Look, Kim – you guys be careful, all right? You dropped out of this stuff for a year –"

The blue man lost his grip, let out a yelp of panic as he slipped down; like lightning, Ron swung down, gave him a hand.

"This climbing stuff is harder than it looks," said the doctor, looking fearfully at the ground far below. It hadn't seemed this difficult when he'd arrived, looking for Shego. In fact, he'd barely noticed the height. It just seemed like a good place to conceal the hovercar. He made a mental note to start thinking things through. It couldn't hurt.

Kim, provoked by Wade's comment, was unaware of the incident. "Are you saying we're rusty?"

"I'm saying 'be careful.' That's all. No need to get snippy."

"Sorry." She didn't sound sorry.

"I did have plans for this evening, you know." Wade's voice had developed just a hint of an edge. "Cancelled them to monitor this mission. To look out for you." He paused, considering his next words. "Why did you take this on? I thought you were done with it."

"I don't know," she lied. "Global Justice asked us to," she evaded.

How could she let something as trivial as fanfiction get under her skin? But someone's fictionalized portrayal of their last mission had left her depressed for a week. It had been so revealing, so troubling, so final. The last inevitable chapter of the adventures of Kim and Ron Stoppable.

For many people, that covert psychological attack could have been crippling, but Kim was a classic Type A personality. Competitive. Demanding. Unable to accept failure. Unable to admit defeat. When Global Justice had dangled an opportunity in front of her, she'd jumped at the chance to show that writer and the whole world that Kim and Ron Stoppable weren't things of the past, fit only for fanfiction fodder.

"Global Justice asked us to," she repeated. "It was no big."

It had been such a perfect mission, so clearly cut-and-dried. They'd recover the stinkin' gazuntite, bring in the stinkin' thieves, and be back home with their daughter in a few hours. Simple.

Except that she'd been knocked unconscious, her husband had been shot, her dad had been kidnapped and Shego was missing as well. Not quite the sitch she'd predicted.

She wished Ron had never discovered Fanfic-dot-com.

Whether Wade accepted her reasons or not, he didn't press the issue. " Phobos and Deimos seem ridiculous, I know, but if they've got someone guiding them –"

"Just another supervillain, Wade. No one special."

"They're crazy. Uninhibited. And they've got some dangerous weapons."

"So far their most dangerous weapon's been a monkey wrench." And a tranquilizer gun, she thought, and with that thought, the crushing terror she'd felt when she found Ron lying on the floor flooded up again within her. She steeled herself against it; there was no time now to be afraid.

But she was. It was just like it had been in Dementor's lair, with the Ron duplicates trying to kill them, with the horrors of an unknown dimension coming through the walls. Deep in her gut she was scared to death. Again.

"Gravitational anomalies, Wade," she ordered, to hide the fear. To keep the quaver from her voice.

Why hadn't she remembered how bad it was?

"Ahh!" Drakken exclaimed in relief. "About time!"

The hovercar was just ahead.


"Do anything else to her," shouted James Possible, "and you'll never get the Copernicus off the ground."

"Who cares?" Phobos continued to work on Shego.

Engaged in helping her sister, Deimos added a single word: "Spoilsport."

The twins were shaving Shego's head, prepping her for the atrocity. No longer trying to struggle, the green woman morosely watched the growing pile of jet-black hair on the floor. Dyed, of course. Her encounter with the Old Ones had left it snow white. Very few people knew that. Just as very few people knew her powers were gone.

And some people evidently refused to accept that fact.

The whirr of electric clippers continued. They'd come at her with serrated steak knives at first, but her captor had vetoed that. Not to spare her pain, but to get the job done faster. She'd never been more relieved in her life.

Not that her future looked any brighter.

After all, she was the prisoner of someone who would trust these lunatics with knives for brain surgery, but not a haircut.

Possible shouted again, louder this time. "Do you hear me? If one more hair hits the floor, I'll make sure you can't liftoff. I designed the ship; I can do it. From here."

There was one word from the loudspeaker. "Stop."

"No," spat Deimos. "We don't want to."

"What?" The voice was surprised, even shocked.

"She's brutal. Vicious," added Phobos. "She needs the compliance chip."

"Do not defy me. Stop!" demanded the voice; with a simultaneous sigh, the cyborgs put down their clippers, stepped back.

"Don't worry, Shego," shouted the astrophysicist, as confident and reassuring as a yelling man can be. "I've been in a tight squeeze a time or two myself. I know how to squeeze back."

She rolled her eyes and groaned in dismay, knowing just exactly where this was going. Kimmie's dad meant well, but he really needed to stick to his science books. Still, it would buy them a few more minutes. There had to be a way out of this mess.

If only she'd remembered to turn the suit sensors back on after the Hench episode. If only she hadn't allowed herself to get so angry, at Hench, at Kimmie and her monkeyboy, at Dr. D. At herself.

If only she could quit mentally retracing her blunders and come up with a plan. But it didn't seem to be happening. She strained against the shackles with all her considerable strength. Nothing.

"Has the chip been disassembled for cerebral installation yet," asked the voice, and added, quickly, "Phobos."

The twins looked at each other, disappointed to have been denied their usual dual response. "No," Phobos finally said, exasperation in her voice. "Not yet."

Beside her, Deimos silently mouthed the words in perfect synchronization.

Their unseen captor laughed. "Then put it on the doctor, of course."

The twins went into the other room, leaving Shego sadly, slowly shaking her head. Saw that coming.

Shortly Dr. Possible walked by her, the chip stuck to his forehead, his eyes locked, unblinking. "Dr. P! Remember!" she whispered as he went by, hoping he understood.

Phobos led him away; Deimos walked up to Shego, staring at her. "You look stupid without your hair. Stupid green girl."

"Ple-ease. A kid in kindergarten could do better than that."

"Better than what, stupid green girl?"

"That goes double for both of you."

The cyborg's strangely crafty half-smile never changed.

"Did you stay behind just to needle me?"

"No," she said, and suddenly, violently kicked Shego in the stomach. Watched her writhe in the restraints. "Cry for us, stupid green girl. Bully. Killjoy."

In agony, Shego glared at her tormentor, gasped out a retort. "I… don't cry… for anyone…"

"You like to fight. You and the other girl, the redhead who hurt my sister. You like to hurt people."

Shego had no answer. With a girlish laugh, the cyborg kicked her again.

"It's fun, isn't it? More fun than the Zodiac Gas." Deimos giggled as her disruptor antenna spun, pointed squarely in Shego's face. "You really don't have your powers anymore, do you?"

Shego turned her head, closed her eyes, waiting for the final, fatal blast.

"We still have ours," Deimos said cheerfully, and skipped off after her sister.

In the center of the gigantic lair, aboard the Copernicus, an ominous figure in black supervised in silence as Mr. Dr. P. carefully connected a high-voltage conduit to the ship's mighty engines. "It converts electrons into anti-gravitons –" He froze, his mouth open, forming a word.

"He needs a name," Phobos helpfully supplied. "The chip's programmed responses require it."

"A name? Then let him call me," chortled the villain, "Master."

"It converts electrons into anti-gravitons, Master," the scientist repeated. "It wasn't through charging when you stole it, Master."

He guffawed. "That's beautiful. That's a work of art." In the midst of his victory, alarm seized him; he spun around, confronted Phobos. "Where's your sister?"

"You can't send us back to the asylum. You're not our master." The cyborg's gaze was still quite insane, but no longer dizzy and unfocused. Something had changed. A purpose had been found. "Shego can't weaponize anything."

"What? How do you know that?"

The answer came from behind him, in the hatch of the ship. "We tested her."

"I told you to leave her alone." He turned to face Deimos, still refusing to accept it. "You're crazy."

"Yes-"

"-we-"

"-are."

"Stop doing that. I've told you that for the last time."

"You're right," they chorused, moving toward him. "You have."


Hundreds of miles away, a readout filled with data; Wade looked at it in triumph. "Jackpot! Gravitational anomalies in a big way, Kim. I've got a fix on it now: here's the coordinates."

"Please and thank you," she replied, without thinking. A moment later the hovercar turned, swooped off into the Eastern sky, its occupants ready for battle.

Unaware that the rules had drastically, dramatically changed.