A/N: Happy Halloween readers! Here is my little holiday treat for you ;)
I had to keep rewriting the dinner scene below, which is why this chapter took so long. I hope ya'll like this installment and have a great spooky day!
DrakkenandShego1: Thanks for the review! Here's the next chapter :)
Jane: Here is MOAR! I hope you like it.
zzzoo99: As always, keeping it up for you, my dear ;)
Rhaella Valysar: I'm sorry this was not up as soon as you probably would've liked, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Thanks for the review and the favorite. So flattered! I hope this chapter update makes your day as well :-P
CB73:A big mess indeed . . .
Please enjoy this chapter, and leave a review on the way out! Much love, readers :)
Disclaimer: I own Kim Possible now . . . not really
The four adults paused as the doors behind them were shut silently. Next to him, Drakken heard Shego's breath catch and he realized that he had also stopped breathing. Hench and Brotherson watched them all expectantly as Cutting spoke.
"Please," he said, gesturing at the chairs down the table, "have a seat."
They obeyed and completed the table. As they adjusted themselves to their places, two female servers entered the room from a camouflaged door behind Cutting's seat. Drakken fought to keep his face lax as Karen and her new co-worker rounded the table filling the glasses with water. When the task was complete, they stood silently at the ready behind Cutting's high-backed chair.
"I've already said this to BD and Hench," Cutting began, shifting in his seat and turning his gaze to Rooke and Margo, "but thank you for being here tonight. I wasn't sure if it would be convenient given recent events."
"What do you want?" Rooke asked.
Brotherson and Hench looked puzzled by the unfriendly bluntness of the quandary and exchanged a glance.
Cutting turned away as if he hadn't heard the question. "It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Dr. Drakken, Miss Gordon. I must say the photos from the awards ceremony do not do you justice. You are absolutely stunning."
Awkwardly, Drakken glanced at Rooke and Margo for instruction and uneasily bobbed his head. Shego stared at her plate. She was biting the inside of her lower lip and grasping Drakken's fingers under the table to keep from lashing out.
"What do you want?" Rooke asked again, this time in a lower, warning tone.
Cutting's lips tilted into a grin and he took up his water glass as he sat back into his seat.
"What's going on here?" Brotherson spoke up. He had been a nefarious type long enough to sense when something was not what it appeared to be. He had been led to believe that Rooke and Cutting – while acquaintances – were on mutual terms. Brotherson's skin was beginning to feel tight and claustrophobic, as it did when he started to feel as though something was amiss. He was rarely wrong.
Cutting took a long, lazy swig of water and set the glass back down. "The reason I requested this party – specifically, the reason I requested this private session with all of you – is to discuss the current global climate."
"In what sense?" Hench asked. "Weather-wise? Government-wise? The alien invasion?" At this, he shot a look to Drakken and Shego.
"More the latter," Cutting answered. "Although, I would be lying if there wasn't some political aspect to this. After all, Heath and Bur-Whazahm were taken out."
Brotherson's eyes squinted. "You killed the President of the United States and the Secretary-General of the United Nations?"
"Not technically," Cutting corrected. "Ordered the execution? Yes. Carried it out myself? No. I don't bloody my hands, BD. You know that."
"Why?" Brotherson asked. Ordinarily, two murders were a flash in the pan for Brotherson. But when those assassinations were of two prominent political officials, it was cause for mild concern at the very least. He and Cutting were a part of the criminal underworld. They were meant to be nonexistent – none of their crimes, even if they were foiled, could ever be traced back to them. Because Brotherson had not heard through the grapevine of any plans to assassinate the President or the Secretary-General, he felt worried that Cutting had not gone deep enough – that if found out, not only would the authorities find Cutting, but him as well.
"You get the big players out of the way first," said Cutting.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Brotherson demanded. He was beginning to become agitated.
Cutting sighed and reached into his suit coat pocket. He pulled out a small metal box and set in on the table in front of him. Drakken's eyes widened as he recognized the Lorwardian runes embossed on its surface.
"What is that?" Hench asked.
"It is a destroyer of cities."
Ronan quietly left Brotherson's office, stepping cautiously down the hall. She didn't think anyone would be up here at this time of night, but there was no certainty. Her mind floated away from her present agenda and began to focus on the events downstairs.
She didn't know who would be in attendance at the party. It wasn't her concern. That didn't shake the weight of uneasiness settled in her chest. Rooke could handle himself. Margo, too, if need be. It was Shego's job to break and batter enemies. Drakken's dumb luck had carried him this far, surely he could dodge the reaper again.
Her mother on the other hand . . .
Ronan knew Karen had an edge to her. You don't get pregnant at eighteen without one. But she doubted the edge was sharp enough to deal with what she had signed up for. Despite her ultimate trust of Rooke and his decisions, Ronan felt he made a mistake allowing Karen to tag along. This wasn't her place. She was a dancer-choreographer, a goddamn artist. What place could she have among vigilantism and war? The chances were high that she would get hurt.
Or worse . . .
Once the Syndicate was done at the Triangle, Ronan would take her back. That would be it. End of story.
Ronan was so tied up in her own head that as she turned the final corner she almost didn't register the white figure in the dark hall.
"You were not invited," Anya said, her voice lacking any inflection.
She raised the small handgun in her hand and fired. Ronan managed to duck out of the bullet's path as 'Fight or Flight' kicked in. She lurched forward, grabbing Anya's hand as she pulled the trigger again. Ronan felt the bullet slice across the top of her shoulder, grazing the skin in a stinging heat. She pulled Anya into her, slamming their foreheads together. The impact caused Ronan's vision to briefly fade out and triggered Anya to lose her balance.
Still dazed, Ronan took advantage of her upper hand knocked her assailant to the floor. Anya fell in a cloud of white airy fabric. Ronan lifted her heavy boot and stomped on the other woman's wrist. Something cracked, Anya cried out, and was forced to let go of her weapon. Ronan scooped it up and staggered back to Brotherson's office.
She rounded the last corner and ran into Sutton.
"What's happening? Are you okay?"
"Fine," Ronan breathed. Her head was still ringing. She grabbed Sutton's arm and pulled him back to Brotherson's office. "I ran into Anya. They know we're here."
"I'm not done," Angela called from her seat.
"How much longer?" Sutton asked.
Angela shrugged exasperatedly. "I'm not sure. He has a shit ton of stuff on this thing. I'm also able to get into Hench's network from here. Stuff I've never seen before."
"Barricade the door," ordered Derek. He, Kim, and Ron surrounded the heavy filing cabinet and moved it to the office door.
"Sit down," Sutton urged Ronan. Unsteadily she took up a cushion on the couch that Kim and Ron had previously been occupying, and he went across the room to help with the second filing cabinet.
"What happens when you're done?" Kim asked, stepping away from the barricading operation. "Our exit is on the other side of this door."
"I thought crawling through ventilation ducks was, like, your thing," jibed Angela from behind the desk.
"I was kinda hoping to avoid that in this mission. I thought this was 'big time'."
Something large slammed against the other side of the office door, rattling the filing cabinets. Instinct kicked in and Derek, Sutton, and Ron threw themselves against the barricade, adding an extra challenge to their pursuers. Three loud bangs rang in the hall on the other side of the door as rounds were fired at the outside handle. A body slammed into the door again.
"Anya must've got some lackeys," Derek wheezed, leaning heavily against the cabinets. "That's too much force for a small fry like her to exert."
Another bang, followed by murmuring.
"You can't stay in there forever," Anya called beyond the door. The hair on the back of Kim's neck stood on end at her voice. "This club is a dead end for you."
"Shut up, you psycho bitch!" Ronan yelled, keeping her head resting in the palms of her hands.
"Pots and kettles!"
"What's the plan now?" Kim asked, hurriedly looking to Ronan and Angela. "Are you almost done?"
Angela rolled her eyes, her head following in an exaggerated fashion. "You wanna do this?"
"If it'll get done faster, sure."
"Okay, everyone just calm down," Sutton interjected, attempting to defuse the tension rising in the room. "Angela, how much longer do you need?"
Angela contorted and scrunched her small face, glancing back at the computer screen. "I have quite a bit already. There's a lot more that could be downloaded, but if you all have your panties in a bunch I guess I can finish up this last download. It'll be another minute."
"Can't you just hack whatever else is on there after we split?" Ron asked.
Angela shook her head. "From Brotherson's computer, I can get into Hench's and Cutting's personal and business networks. Both of them run on software I've never seen before. I'm not gonna risk wrecking my stuff or breaching our security."
Another bang.
"That stupid bitch is right," Ronan sighed, getting up. "We're cornered. At the moment. Only way to get out is to barrel through."
She fixed Kim with a look as she wiped away the trickle of blood sliding down her forehead. Behind her, Angela finished up her task and tore the external hard drive from its port. She tucked it in her bag and came around the desk. Ronan handed her the small firearm she had picked up from Anya, and she un-holstered the nine mil from her hip.
"Let's them through," Derek agreed stepping away from the filing cabinets. Ron followed suit and stood slightly in front of Kim, putting a protective arm across her stomach.
She knew that Ronan expected her to use the gun that had been imparted onto her, but Kim was adamant on proving the agent wrong. Kim's hands balled up and she brought them up to a fighting position. She grit her teeth and waited for the door to burst open.
Hench eyed the small box in front of him. It didn't look like anything special. Apart from the designs decorating it, it was rather unimpressive.
"A destroyer of cities?" he asked, unconvinced. He reached forward, but Cutting stopped him.
"Look with your eyes, not your hands," the older man warned.
Hench drew back. "This is what destroyed Go City and Middleton?"
Cutting smiled. "Do you doubt your own product?"
Hench blinked. After a beat, he uncomfortably grinned and asked, "What is that supposed to mean?"
Cutting shifted in his seat and looked around the table at the other guests. Brotherson looked at him expectantly. Rooke and Margo appeared calm and placid, but still interested. Drakken watched him wearily and Shego was still staring at her plate, as if she had heard nothing.
"Back in 1998," Cutting began, turning to Hench, "you came to me with an idea: A company that provided good services to a very . . . specific clientele. Ultimately, you asked me for a start up loan for your company, Hench Co., which I did. Mr. Rooke, too. We have had so much faith in this endeavor that we have continued to invest as a private partners. You have not disappointed, Jack."
This caught both Drakken and Shego's ears, and they turned their attention to the couple across the table from them. Rooke and Margo ignored them, opting to continue to listen to Cutting.
"Thank you," Hench said, up-speaking as if he were unsure that that was the correct response.
"I have had so much faith in this company," continued Cutting, "that I terminated Mr. Rooke's contributions to the company and have taken them up myself, doubling my investments."
Hench looked at Rooke, then back to Cutting. "You don't get to make executive decisions like that. Especially without notifying me first."
"How long ago did you take me and my money off the board?" Rooke asked placidly.
Ignoring Rooke, Cutting's grey eyes slid back over to Hench. The mischievous glint in his face was gone and had been replaced by something dark and malevolent.
"I made you. To an extent, Rooke and Brotherson made you as well," he explained. "Hench Co. is more mine than yours. Your name just happens to fit the motif."
"I've paid back your initial investment tenfold," retorted Hench. "Both of you," he added turning to Rooke.
"I'm curious," Rooke broke in, still managing to remain calm, "as to where my money is going. Up until right now, I thought I was still investing in Hench Co. A biannual withdraw is still being made from my finances and appears to still be going to Jack's company."
Rooke's passively accusing stare locked onto Cutting's face. The Rabbit sat tall in his chair and breathed through his nose steadily.
"It's a front," Rooke guessed. The corners of Cutting's lips tilted up, giving the answer. "You're just laundering it through Hench Co. I'm funding the Leirian Anarchists, aren't I?"
"I only have so much money to throw around, Rooke. I'm sorry you had to find out this way."
Brotherson interceded before Rooke could speak again. "What is going on here, Lucas? Why am I just finding out about your involvement in the President's assassination and the destruction of two cities? And what's this business with you, Hench, and Mr. Rooke?"
"You didn't need to know. It didn't concern you."
"But it concerns me," Hench pointed out angrily.
Brotherson held up a hand, silencing the CEO. "This is highly irregular, Lucas. This is not how we do things."
Cutting laughed. A high, rattling sound that sent chills down Drakken's spine. To him, it confirmed that the Black Rabbit leader was not entirely sane.
"Irregular?" Cutting chuckled, winding down. "I was under the assumption that I can move and act as my own. I don't need to run things by you, much less answer to you, BD. We are not partners. We are not friends."
Brotherson blinked, trying to not appear bothered by Cutting's statement. "Although we are not partners," he pressed on, "it would've been good to know that you were planning on killing two significant political figures, much less decimating two metropolitan areas. What's the purpose behind it? Have you thought about the repercussions? What if you're found out? Not to be conceded, but what if an investigation leads to my doorstep –"
"You needn't worry about that," assured Cutting.
"And this business with Hench and Rooke," Brotherson barreled on, gesturing at his counterpart across the table. "You can't just alter a shareholder's funds and take it over as your own without consulting Jack. And what are the 'Leirian Anarchists'?"
Cutting looked into Brotherson's face, an icy veil clouding his expression. "I can do whatever I want," he hissed. "I'm a villain. Besides, the business with Hench Co. is perfectly legal – if that really concerns you."
"Bull shit," Hench barked.
Cutting turned his attention back to his left. "How closely did you read that initial contract I had drawn up?" Hench pursed his lips and a vein pulsed in his forehead.
"You are not a very smart business man," Cutting hissed. "It clearly states that, should I remain the largest investor and shareholder in the company, I may make executive decisions."
"Not over my head!"
Cutting shrugged indifferently. "What's done is done." He paused here and eyed Hench's reddening face. "You may also recall Section Nine, paragraph eighteen, lines eleven through thirteen." Another pause. And as Hench failed to answer, Cutting's lips curled gleefully. "You are an idiot," he murmured. "That part of the contract states that should its CEO step down – or God forbid, meet his demise – the company would fall under the direction of the investors."
"Which is solely you now," Rooke filled in. "Seeing as I am now off the board."
"What are you doing?" Hench angrily asked. He picked up the small box in front of Cutting, "What is this?"
Cutting sat up in his chair and reached for his weapon, clearly uncomfortable with someone else handling it. He carefully took it from Hench's hand and sat it back on the table in front of him.
"So you infiltrated my company. You overran production with . . . whatever that is. And you destroyed Go City and Middleton. How? Why?" Hench demanded.
"How? To be honest, I am not completely sure how this works. Vrishkov hasn't quite figured it out yet – "
"You kidnapped the scientist, too? What the fuck is going on? Have you lost your mind?" Brotherson roared.
Cutting tossed up his hands in an overwhelmed fashion. "It's alien technology that was found among some of the Lorwardian remains. Who better to study it than the world's leading Xenologist?
"As for the destruction of Go City and Middleton," Cutting said lazily, leaning back into his seat, "two reasons: Starting off point and punishment."
He fixed his eyes once again on Shego. She continued to stare at her plate. Her jaw was beginning to cramp from being clenched. Drakken's fingers wiggled uncomfortably under her ever-increasing grip.
"Punishment?" Brotherson repeated.
Cutting sighed through his nose. "You know very little about me, BD. You also know very little about our friend Rooke over there."
"Enlighten me then," Brotherson growled.
"I've been working towards my goal for over three decades," Cutting began. "I started by procuring a small, but formidable country in Euro-Asia - Leiriakkesh. The Lorwardian Invasion spearheaded my endeavor, although there have been a couple bumps along the way," he shot a look at Rooke and Margo. "Which brings us to you. Had you not . . . stolen away what I wanted, Middleton and Go City might have been spared. For the time being."
"What did you want?" Brotherson asked.
"Picking up Vrishkov was only one of the people I wanted. I also thought it might be useful to seek out those who had firsthand experiences with the Lorwardians. I sent out a hunt for this fine couple right here," he gestured to Drakken and Shego, "as well as Kim Possible and her sidekick. But, Mr. Rooke beat me to the punch."
"You've been harboring the cheerleader?" Brotherson voiced, turning his attention to Rooke.
"Don't be so disgusted, BD," Cutting scolded. "You gave her information regarding Killigan's ridiculous world-wide golf course scheme. And you hired her," he added, turning an appalled look to Hench.
"Don't act so high and mighty, Cutting," spat Hench. "Didn't you just say you tried to seek out her assistance as well?"
Cutting shrugged a shoulder, "Assuming she would be willing to help. If not . . . "
He let the pause fill the room, allowing the others to imagine what would happen if Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable didn't agree to assist him.
"I was sort of counting on that reaction anyway," he continued. "One less thing to worry about that way." Cutting cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "I sort of figured that you two would be more excited about the idea," the comment was directed at Drakken and Shego. "You both have been awfully quiet during this conversation. Do you have anything to say? Any questions? Concerns? Comments? Not even you, Miss Gordon?"
Drakken let out a small whimper as Shego's hand crushed his fingers even further. He wasn't sure how much more baiting she would be able to take. He was thus far impressed that she had managed to hold her tongue. Had he ever spoken to her like that, she would've blasted the living daylights out of him. Cutting leaned across the table and stared at her, trying to provoke some kind of reaction. Shego shut her eyes tightly so she wouldn't have to see him out of her peripheral. Cutting snickered and sat back up.
As Shego's vice-like grip tightened further on his hand, Drakken became aware that he was squeezing back, a familiar, protective instinct shaking awake inside of him. The same emotion had befallen him when he had heard of Team Go's situation with Aviarius a couple years previous. He didn't like Cutting, and he especially didn't like the man poking and goading Shego into a break down. Drakken felt his upper lip curl into an involuntary sneer.
"So the attacks on Go City and Middleton were punishment against Rooke for taking away part of your plan?" Brotherson asked.
"More or less," answered Cutting, still staring at Shego. "It would've happened anyway." He paused here letting silence fill the room. Thirty seconds past before he carried on, "Killing Heath and Bur-Whazahm were appropriate next steps. Like I said, take out the potential big problems. And it gained greater media attention."
"That's never been your MO," said Brotherson.
"What do you know about my MO, BD?" This left the king pin once again slack-jawed and speechless. "I've never shared my hopes and dreams with you. I've just been biding my time, waiting for the world to catch up. Now it has."
As he spoke, Cutting stood and walked behind his chair, surveying the scene before him with snidely pleased expression.
"Alright, Cutting," Brotherson spat. "What is your MO? What's the plan?"
"Oh, it's a classic," Cutting said lightly. "World domination."
Drakken's heart thudded against his sternum at the phrase, and his hand tightened around Shego's.
Brotherson gawked, then smiled. Eventually a deep, bubbling laugh worked its way out of his throat. The sound echoed around the otherwise silent room. This seemed to annoy Cutting.
"I've already destroyed two cities – three if we count Chernobyl. And I've orchestrated the murders of two of the world's most prominent figureheads. I have a small country already at the helm of war. Let us not forget the origin of this conversation: I have taken over two Hench Co. factories and am having them manufacture replicas of our little artifact here," he gestured to the cube. "I am prepared to bury this planet."
"Which brings us to Rooke's original question," rumbled Brotherson. "What. Do. You. Want. It seems you have everything working for you."
"I just wanted to make sure that no one in . . . our sector, shall we say, is going to try and get in my way."
"You've made it difficult to gather allies," Hench said.
"I don't need allies, Jack," Cutting assured, picking up the box and placing it in his jacket pocket. "I am perfectly well off without any of you."
"Then why have me set up this party?" Brotherson asked.
"Like I said before, take out the big players first," Cutting said simply. As he spoke, he pulled out a long barreled pistol with a silencer attached and fired two shots into Brotherson's chest. The villain let out an utterance that was a combination of a gasp and a choke and slumped over onto Drakken's shoulder. The scientist immediately shuffled his chair away from the body, his shoulders coming up to meet his ears in horror. Behind Cutting, Karen and the other server both shrieked.
Rooke made to get out of his seat, but Cutting turned the weapon on him. "Please remain seated."
"What the fuck!" Hench yelled at a couple octaves higher than his normal speaking voice.
Cutting turned the gun to Hench who fell back in his seat, staring at it with wide eyes.
"Lucky you, Jack," the Rabbit said. "You get a choice. So do you doctor." Cutting looked over his shoulder at Drakken, who was leaning heavily against Shego, trying to stay as far away from Brotherson's corpse as possible.
Drakken felt his jaw slackened and mouth fall open as he looked up at the other man. He couldn't help himself. "What's that?"
Cutting's mouth once again tilted into a surprisingly endearing smile. "Help me. You have experience and you've nearly been successful; you just need a little guidance. Leave this 'new leaf' behind," Cutting nodded toward Rooke and Margo. "Go back to what you know you were born to do."
Drakken didn't know what to say. How ironic that Shego had said something similar to him on the boat ride to the club. He couldn't lie: The offer was enticing. This man had already destroyed two major metropolitan areas and had done away with two potentially problematic government officials. All within the span of two days. Cutting was vicious, smart, impactful, and unperturbed. He was everything Drakken had aspired to be when he had been trying to take over the world.
However, he doubted – he knew – that Shego would not be extended the same chance. She was bunched in with her mother and brothers. Drakken didn't need any kind of confirmation to know that Cutting was planning Shego and her family's deaths. The thought made his blood boil in ways that defeats handed to him by Kim Possible could not even compete against.
Before Drakken could say anything, the sound of shouting, breaking glasses, and splintering furniture drifted into the room. The remaining occupants looked to the doors of the suite, as the din grew louder, grew closer.
All eight jumped as the doors were flung open by two bodies hurdling through the air in a flash of black and white. Anya and Ronan landed with a crash on the long table, shattering the expensive china and crystal. The dinner guests ducked and covered as the broken shards sprayed across the room.
At some point through the fall, Ronan had managed to gain the upper hand and was straddled on top of Anya. The Syndicate agent gripped the straps of the other woman's dress and repeatedly slammed her against the table. Anya clawed at her assailant's face until she was able to prop her legs under Ronan's torso and, mustering up all her strength, kicked above and behind her, sending Ronan careening backwards and into the head seat. She toppled over it and landed heavily on the floor, looking up just in time to see Anya throw two steak knives in her direction. Ronan rolled out of the way as the blades lodged into the wall behind her.
Anya leapt off the table to continue the fight. Unlike the skirmishes between Kim and Shego, which, while mean, had always been flowing and almost . . . artistic and stylized, the battle between Ronan and Anya was just nasty, with little thought and finesse.
The doors, which had been brought off their hinges by the two women's impact, provided a view of the chaos in the main hall. The small cocktail tables that had dotted the floor were either broken or had been ripped from their places, and were strewn around the room. Broken glasses and bent serving plates littered the floor as well. The curtains that surrounded the stage were ripped and partially torn from their scaffolding. Amid the mess, more fighting was taking place. Every now and then Sutton and Derek (who was being shadowed by Angela) would dart across room, to get better vantage points for firing up at the Rabbits in the balcony area. Kim and Ron were handling things in a more 'hands-on' manner, fighting enemies that had lost their automatic weapons. Even Killigan was getting in on the action, firing golf balls left and right. He had no clue what was actually going on, but any excuse to make things explode was fine by him.
Anya picked up a large shard of china as she and Ronan wound around the dining room. The two women exchanged a series of blows and blocks. Anya was too busy trying to find a chink in Ronan's defense to notice the sudden flash of green that sent her hurdling out of the room. Quickly, Shego tore a slit in her dress and ran out of the dining room, her hands and forearms engulfed in plasma green flames. Ronan followed her out, grabbing the broken leg of a chair as she did. Without thinking, Drakken strode after them.
Across the room, Kim kicked the goon she was fighting in the chest, sending him staggering back into Ron's clutches. In skillful swatches of blue, Ron dealt out a synchronized series of punches, followed by a swift kick that sent the Rabbit's head crashing into the nearby wall. He groaned for a moment before slumping down, having been rendered unconscious. Kim smiled at Ron, but the feeling a relief was short lived as she saw Anya get thrown into the banquet hall. She landed with a smack and rolled over onto her stomach. As she started to get to her hands and knees, another bolt of plasma knock her over another few feet. Shego followed shortly behind the blast, and Kim was struck by the look on her face. Never before had she seen such a contortion of rage wash the villainess's face. The unadulterated hate that consumed her being seemed to make her entire body glow. Ronan trailed just behind her, a long splintered piece of wood in her hand.
Stalking up on her prey, Shego swooped down and grabbed Anya by the neck, lifting her up and slamming her into the wall, holding her aloft so that her toes grazed the ground. Shego's free hand curled into a plasma laced claw, her sharp nails hovering just above Anya's face.
"Put her down," a tight, calm voice called out.
Behind her, she heard Ronan make a small choking sound in the back of her throat. Reluctantly, Shego tore her eyes away from the girl under her grip. Cutting had entered the floor, which had caused the fighting to momentarily cease. He had Karen in front of him, his left arm wound around the top of her chest and his right hand holding his gun to her temple.
"Put her down," Cutting repeated quietly.
Shego glared at him and tightened her hold on Anya's throat, exerting a gurgling gasp. Cutting grimaced and drew back the gun's hammer.
"Shego," Drakken said behind her. She didn't turn to look at him, but he continued anyway, "Put her down. Please." The pleading tone of Drakken's voice made Shego's insides roil with agitation and betrayal. She was so close to disposing of her brother's murderer, and now he was asking her to step back.
"Please, Saoirse."
When he said her name, her grip loosened. Cutting noticed and leered at her.
"That's good, Miss Gordon. Be a good little sidekick."
Shego's lips curled angrily around her teeth, but she lowered Anya the ground. As she relaxed her grip around the other woman's neck, Anya lurched forward slicing the piece of china through the air. Letting out a surprised cry, Shego ducked out of the way. Ronan was still watching Cutting's hold on her mother, and only realized Anya's attack a second too late; she turned in time to see the edge of ceramic coming down on her. A surprised and pained cry ripped from Ronan's throat as Anya's shank sliced across her face. She staggered backwards; clutching the left side of her head, blood seeping through her fingers. Anya whirled around and thrust the shard into Shego's hip. She cried out, taking a final swipe at her attacker before stumbling to the floor.
Cutting barely had time to congratulate his protégée on her snake-like strike before a thick and strong thorny vine struck him down. Another root – this one smooth – reached out and scooped up Karen by the waist, bringing her to Drakken's side. The spiny feeler lifted Cutting up by his ankle and threw him across the room. Drakken grabbed Karen's hand and ran her back to the dining room. Margo had turned over the table and was crouched behind it with Hench.
"You three stay here," Rooke ordered to Margo, Karen, and Hench. He reached into his suit coat pulled out a small, snub-nosed pistol, handing it to his wife. "We need you alive," he warned Hench. "Let's go, Doctor."
Rooke headed back towards the banquet hall, Drakken following uneasily behind him. He was unnerved at what his vines just did – what he just did. He had actually physically 'fought' someone. Cutting didn't try to hit him, but he was going to count it as a victory nonetheless. Drakken's hands were shaking and he was strange combination of giddy and stressed. He had a nagging voice in his head that was telling him the incident with Cutting was a fluke he wouldn't be able to recreate. However, as he once again entered the main room, his vine's shot into action as they pulled Rooke out of a sniper's line of fire, while simultaneously reaching up to the balcony and dislodging the gunman from his post. Both men stared, shocked, before Rooke laughed.
"That was impressive!"
Drakken was still shaking. He wasn't doing this on purpose. It was automatic. As if the plants were subconscious sensory organs whose one goal was to keep their host – their home – alive and well. Steadying himself, Drakken concentrated and whipped the body beneath his botanical grasp up and down, repeatedly smashing it to the floor.
He smiled evilly. This was a power he could get used to.
The vine released its prisoner and returned to Drakken as he saw Shego leaning heavily against a nearby wall, one hand gasping the now slippery red shard lodged in her upper thigh. He left Rooke, dashing over to her, arm outstretched, and ready to help her fully to her feet.
"Get away from me," Shego spat, not looking at him. Her eyes were following the scrimmage across the room between Kim, Ron, and Anya. Their fight exited through the kitchen doors and out of sight.
"Let me help you!" Drakken countered, more angry than sympathetic. Did she always need to be so proud?
"Why don't you go help your kid," she hissed. "She took a sharp object to the face. Or why don't you go protect Karen again."
Drakken looked around him. "Where is Ronan?"
"Sutton took her somewhere," Shego growled through gritted teeth. She finally managed to steady herself on both of her legs. "It's something people who care about each other do. They protect them."
Drakken's jaw tightened and words failed him as Shego moved as quickly as she could towards the kitchen.
Cutting groaned as he brought himself up to his hands and knees. This was why he had others fight for him: it fucking hurt if the tables got turned. He was too old to be in the direct line of fire. He cautiously lifted his head and observed the scene around him. Surprisingly, no one was coming for him – they were too distracted by the small force he had gathered to act as party security.
Slowly, he got to his feet. Nothing felt broken, but he would surely be sore the next day. He brushed off his tuxedo, and swiftly made his way to a side hall, kicking a broken table as he went. As he disappeared down the darkened corridor, a smile crept over his mouth. He had been right in Go City. He could use Karen Anderson.
Anya's victory against Shego and Ronan was short lived, as Kim and Ron were next to come at her. She was annoyed, but ready. She had been taught at a young age to fight, and had additional training at the Global Justice Agent Academy. Two self-taught teens would be cake, even if one were blessed with some mystical monkey bullshit.
Stupidly, Kim and Ron fought her into the club kitchen, where she was presented with a barrage of useful sharp objects to attack them with. However, it was also this time that Shego blew the doors off their hinges as she reentered the battle. Anya couldn't help but frown knowing that the green woman would have no qualm in fatally injuring her. Acting quickly, she shoved a drink cart into Kim and Ron, and threw a cleaver she picked up from the counter at Shego. The bulky knife was shot out of the air by a burst of green, and another streak of plasma shot towards Anya. She ducked behind a warming cabinet as the blaze singed the hem of her already tattered dress.
Unfortunately, while she was briefly shielded from Shego, she was still in Kim's line of sight. The teen took hold of the same drink cart and pushed it as forcibly as she could towards Anya. She cried out as the metal smashed into her, knocking the wind out of her lungs. She fought back the stabbing pain in her torso, and grabbed the cart by its posts. Letting out an animalistic snarl, Anya hoisted the cart up, swung it around, and released it. Kim dove out of the way, while Ron was not as lucky. The corner of the airborne cart caught him in the head before crashing into the shelving behind him. Dazed by the blow, Ron was not able to escape the avalanche of pots and pans that soon covered him.
"Ron!" Kim screamed, throwing herself to his side and hurriedly removing pots off of him.
With Kim distracted, Anya fled from the kitchen through a back door. Shego smashed through the demolished kitchen before blasting a hole through the door that she staggered out of.
"Go," Ron rasped as Kim went to help him up. He waved her away. "I'm fine. Go. Go get her."
Hesitantly, Kim got to her feet and dashed out of the smoking hole Shego had left in her wake.
Anya ran down the hall, Shego quickly limping behind her. She tried to work past the pain in her hip and thigh, but each time she took a step the deeper the piece of china cut into her, tearing her muscle tissue further. She would've ripped the damn thing out, but she couldn't be certain that it was plugging some major artery, so she left it in, and her speed suffered for it.
Anya knew her enemy's adrenaline was wearing off, and it was this fact that led her to make a sudden right, bursting into one of the club's stairwells, and ascending up the concrete steps. Shego stumbled through the heavy door, tripping into the handrail. She cried out as the china in her leg scrapped against the cinderblock wall. She paused a moment, trying to stem the burst of pain. She looked up the winding stairs to see that Anya was already a floor and a half above. Reaching her hand over her head, Shego released another ball of plasma that just missed her target, instead destroying a section of metal rail. Anya spared Shego a brief taunting glance before continuing to run up the winding stairs. The green woman took a too aggressive step onto the first stair and her leg collapsed beneath her. She let out an aggravated scream as she tried, and failed, to regain her footing.
The desperate cry cued Kim as to her location, and the teen appeared in the stairwell moments later. Shego tried once again to lift herself up the stairs, only to be met with hot, excruciating pain through her leg and hip.
"Hey," Kim said, putting a hand on the older woman's shoulder. Shego snarled and clawed her hand away. Nonplussed, Kim said, "It worked before: I'll hit her high, you hit her low."
Shego looked up at her. "Fine."
Kim took the stairs two at a time and Shego hobbled back to the hallway.
Hearing the clatter below her, Anya spared a glance down the center of the stair shaft to see Kim Possible gaining on her. 'Unbelievable, insufferable nuisance,' she thought as she continued to climb.
Anya could see the final landing three more floors up. From there, she would have access to the roof. She was so close . . .
And if it hadn't been for Ronan Anderson and Sutton Queenin bursting through the top stairwell door, it would've been a much easier escape. Having used up all their ammunition in the fight outside of Brotherson's office, the two Syndicate agents fought the Black Rabbit with their hands. Ronan, who was partially blinded by the blood caked across her face was easy enough to slow. One kick square in the chest sent her bowling over the handrail, which distracted Sutton enough to grab her ankle before descending down the center of the stairwell. This allowed Anya to grab the small knife protruding from Sutton's back pocket before rushing out onto the club's roof.
As Sutton lifted Ronan back to the landing, Kim reached the top of the stairs and burst through the rooftop exit. She came to a halt, seeing no one on the roof in front of her. The only sound came from the gravel under her shoes and the waves several stories below. Kim's breath became quiet and shallow. Slowly she turned her head, and out of her peripheral eye saw a dark shape. Kim cried out as she leapt out of the away as Anya jumped from the top of the rooftop entrance. The woman in white landed heavily where Kim had previously been standing, before lunging forward. Kim dodged and blocked Anya's weapon before taking hold of her wrists and throwing her like a shot put. She skidded across the rough roof surface, eventually coming to a stop, and remaining motionless.
Kim watched her lifeless body wearily for a moment before Ronan and Sutton joined her on the roof. They all exchanged a look, and Kim did her best not to react to Ronan's injury. Kim hoped that all the blood made it look worse than it actually was. The left side of her face was painted with it and had dripped down her neck. It was difficult to make out the actual injury, but a darker, glistening streak of red swooped down from the inner corner of her left eye – perhaps even sliced it – and across her cheek.
Breaking eye contact, Ronan stepped forward. She stood above Anya's body for a moment, her fingers twitching and flexing at her sides, before bending over to grab the back of the white dress. Kim and Sutton jumped as Anya leapt to her feet, taking a swipe at Ronan with the knife. There was a too quick skirmish and Anya held Ronan in an awkward chokehold, the knife pressing against her jugular. Anya's eyes sparkled and her mouth opened in a crazed, toothy smile.
Kim's hand twitched and hesitated before reaching for the holster at her side, taking up the gun Ronan had given to her in Montana. This caused Anya's face to brighten in disbelief and she cackled, pressing the knife closer to Ronan's throat.
"Fucking shoot her," Ronan choked through Anya's grip.
Kim was shaking, and the sights of the gun kept moving from Anya and Ronan. A loud hum started in her ears and drowned out the surrounding ocean. Anya took a step back, dragging Ronan with her. The motion spooked Kim and she automatically drew back the gun's hammer with her thumb. What was she doing? The noise in her head was growing louder and louder. It was making her shake.
As Anya's eyes flicked up to a sight above Kim and Sutton's heads, she took another step back, her heels hanging off the roof's ledge. With a final sinister smile, Anya stepped off the ledge, Ronan still in her grasp.
"Ronan!" Sutton screamed, lurching forward.
It was then Kim realized the humming sound was not in her head. A large black helicopter buzzed overhead and swooped down out of sight. When it ascended back over the Bermuda Triangle, Anya was clutching a long ladder that trailed out of the chopper's cabin.
As Kim watched as the aircraft disappeared over the ocean and into the darkness, she couldn't help but wonder: What was the point of this?
Ronan had managed to grasp the face of the building a few feet down from the ledge and Sutton once again pulled her to safety. He embraced her tightly before helping her to her feet. He kept one arm secured around her shoulders, and they two watched the helicopter steal away into the night.
Back in the main hall, Drakken, Rooke, Dementor, and Killigan were finishing tying up the remaining Black Rabbit security in neat circles. The dead and dying were being searched over by Derek and Angela. Ron sat on the edge of a broken table, holding a bag of frozen peas to his head, while Margo used a damp cloth to wipe away the little streaks of blood on his forehead. Shego was nearby, leaning heavily on her uninjured leg. Margo told her that they would have to wait to get actual medical supplies before removing and stitching up her wound.
As Drakken finished the knot on the last Rabbit, he looked over to Shego. She caught his gaze, but merely glared at him before looking away. Against his better judgment, he went over to her. She didn't look at him, but she didn't move away when he brushed back a lock of hair that had come undone from her intricate up do, and unclasped the heavy necklace she wore. A series of blossoming bruises were appearing around her neck and collarbones where the stones and metal had hit her and crushed into her skin during the fighting. He looked down at the ceramic shard protruding from her leg, and his stomach clenched as a wave of nausea washed over him. Closing his eyes, he leaned into Shego's hair and placed his hand on her shoulder. Again, she didn't move, but she didn't act like he was there.
"Are you two alright?" Rooke asked as Angela and Derek walked up to him.
"Fine. Dandy even," answered Derek.
"Did you get anything from Brotherson's office?"
Angela nodded. "Very interesting stuff. I didn't get all of it though."
"Well, you may not have that much trouble anymore," Rooke sighed. "Brotherson's dead."
Derek frowned. "Cutting?"
"Yes."
"Where's Hench?" Angela asked.
"I told Karen to keep him company," answered Margo, continuing to buff out Ron's forehead. "We can't have him running off."
"Kim!" Ron cried as she, Ronan, and Sutton entered back through the kitchen. He hopped off the table, tossing the peas aside. Taking Kim up in his arms, he kissed her excitedly. "You're okay," he sighed in a breath of relief.
"More or less," Kim whispered into his neck as she hugged him tightly.
"She got away?" Shego growled, fixing deadly, smoldering eyes on Kim.
Before she could answer, Margo brushed past Kim to inspect Ronan.
"Let me see," she cooed, prying Ronan's hand away from her bloody face. Her face remained stoically unchanged at the carnage, but worry shimmered in her blue eyes. Holding Ronan's chin, she held up a finger and moved it to and fro in front of her eyes. She turned to Rooke and said, "We need to get her an Saoirse on to the yacht. Where the medical supplies are."
Rooke nodded and turned back to Angela and Derek. "Go back to Brotherson's office and finish up. You have ten minutes."
The pair nodded and hurried out of the hall.
"Would you mind telling us WHAT IS GOING ON?" Dementor yelled suddenly.
Rooke looked to the short man, unimpressed and irritated. He then looked around the room and announced, "The party is over. Those of you not tied up, leave now. NOW!" he yelled when no one moved.
Uneasily, the remaining party guests funneled out of the club. As they left, Dementor, Killigan, and DNAmy looked warily over to Drakken and Shego, wondering what those two had gotten themselves into this time.
"What are we going to do with them?" Kim asked, gesturing to the tied up men.
Before Rooke could answer, a yell came from the adjoining dining room. Looking equal parts worried and exasperated, he ran back to the dining room, followed by Kim and Ron. They found Karen knocked to the floor, clutching her nose, and blood streaming down her chin.
"He hit me in the face with a chair leg and left!" she nasally explained, getting up. Rooke helped her and gave her the pocket square in his jacket pocket. Karen held it to her nose and tilted her head back.
"Stop him before he leaves," Rooke pleaded, turning to Kim and Ron. "He cannot leave. He cannot die. He has a seaplane docked outside. GO!"
Thrown by the urgency in his voice, Kim and Ron nodded and ran from the room. They streaked across the ravaged main hall, up the stairs, and out the banquet doors.
After clocking the server in the face, Hench slipped out one of the club's side exits. He walked around the outside of the building in a quick purposeful manner, his body taut with rage. Cutting had some fucking nerve . . .
Hench wasn't going to sit by while his company was corrupted from the inside out. It was his company. His brainchild. His success. He wasn't going to let anyone manipulate or destroy what he had built. To hell with whatever beef Cutting and Rooke were having. He could care less.
Hench finally reached the dock. Most of the boats and other means of transport were gone. He strode towards his plane, pulling the keys out of his pocket. After unfurling the rope from the horn cleat, he stepped aboard, and took his seat in the cockpit. As he readied the plane for flight, he looked over to the co-pilot's seat. A small piece of rectangular paper sat in the middle of the cushion. Hench's brow crumpled curiously and picked it off the seat. The front was blank.
"Mr. Hench!" cried a distant voice.
Hench sat up at the sound of his name, tossed the card back on the seat, and peered into the plane's side mirror. Through the glow of the dock lights he saw the Possible girl and her sidekick running down from the club's front steps.
"Hench!" she called again.
He pursed his lips and ignited the plane's engine. It puttered and died. He turned the key again, and it briefly roared to life before winding down again. He yelled in frustration and twisted the key again. As the engine once again rumbled, he glanced back at the card. It was lying face down, exposing the black cameo of a rabbit embossed on its back. He felt his heart skip a beat, and the sudden, powerful stench of gasoline filled his nostrils. And then everything went white hot.
As she and Ron ran down the club's steps, Kim saw Hench board the seaplane.
"Mr. Hench!" she yelled, picking up her pace.
The plane's engine whined as she and Ron cleared the distance between the club and the dock.
"Hench!" she screamed, losing control of her voice.
The engine roared and died as she ran onto the wooden dock with Ron just a few paces behind her. Just as she opened her mouth to yell for him again, the plane's engine briefly rumbled before the whole thing exploded. The sonic boom and wave heat knocked both teens over, and Ron rolled forward onto Kim to protect her from raining debris as chunks of fiery fuselage fell from the sky.
The pair stayed huddled against the dock for a minute, trying to breath through the smoke and burnt gasoline fumes. Eventually Ron lifted his head. Through the thick smoke and airborne embers he could make out the charred skeleton of Hench's seaplane. He set his jaw, his eyes watering from the smoke, and his ears ringing from the explosion.
He leaned back over Kim and asked, "Are you okay?"
It was only then he realized she was shaking and sobbing uncontrollably. Struck with fear, Ron quickly looked over her body. She didn't appear hurt; he had shielded her from the hot debris and splintering wood. He looked around them, but couldn't see through the smoke and dust.
Kim let out a particularly pained wail that brought Ron's attention back to her. Her body wasn't hurt. Her pride was. And she was scared. She might not even realize it, but Ron knew. Carefully, he covered her with his body again, held her tightly, waiting for the smoke to clear.
A/N: Thanks for reading. Please review.