As the new CEO of the Walt Disney Company, everyone is this story is MINE! You must get MY permission before writing any further fanfics!

(And I also own Warner Bros. and Scholastic and the entire planet of Neptune. . . )

Seeing Red

Today's been off to a really weird start.

He overslept - not a good thing - and then had to rush through breakfast so fast he barely had a chance to taste whatever it was he ate - some kind of cereal - and he put his clothes on a little too fast because when he started out the door his shirt was on backward and he had no pants - he's still not sure how that happened. So he got out of those and into his lab coat and checked the calendar to make sure it was a work-day after all, because if it wasn't, he would be a very Grumpy Gus.

Friday. That's a work-day, and it's the night he gets pizza and goes to karaoke. (It's a good day.) But today's a special Friday. It's National Appreciate Your Boss Day, which he read in the book of Weird and Wacky Facts Shego got him for his birthday.

So he grabbed the card he made for Dr. Director and stuffed it into his backpack along with a coloring book and his crayons (64-piece pack with the sharpener in back - very impressive), in case he had to wait awhile before she saw him. Then he jumped in the hovercraft and flew to work, yelling "Hi" to Shego when he passed her house. He made sure to remind her it was National Appreciate Your Boss Day, since he used to be her boss, after all.

Her reply was, "So - wait - am I appreciating you, or are you appreciating me?" Shego and her smart-alack. . . y. . . ness.

Once he got to Dr. Director's office, she was out in the hall, talking to one of the members of - uggghekkk - Team Impossible. Dash or Crash or Burn. One's a redhead, one's a brownhead, and one's black, but other than that, they all look the same. Some incredibly advanced and highly unethical method of cloning, no doubt.

So he waited for a little while, swinging his legs in a chair, but the talk went on for a long time, and after about ten minutes, he realized he really needed to go to the bathroom, so he sprinted down the hall. It's fine to run in the halls when there's an emergency, Dr. Director said once, and that was definitely an emergency.

But now he's done and feels much better, so he walks back out, waving his hands in the air to dry them off - the dryer was having problems - blew the gloves right off his hands - he'll fix it later today if he remembers - maybe he'll tie a string around his finger to remind himself -

Whoa. He stops halfway down the hall and presses both hands to his head to calm his hyperactive thoughts. Ever since he learned Team Impossible works for Global Justice, he's been really nervous, and when he's nervous, his brain goes so fast the rest of him can't keep up.

When he gets back to Dr. Director's office, she's sitting at her desk, and Dash-Crash-Burn is nowhere in sight. That's a good thing, because he doesn't want any of them seeing the card he got her. Not that he wrote anything too mushy - he's not proposing or anything - but he thanked her for helping him reform and being patient with him and just generally being so nice and making him feel like he didn't want or need to conquer the world anymore.

She smiles when she sees him, and he grins back. "Good morning, Dr. Drakken," she says. "You wanted to see me?"

He bobs his head up and down and rocks up on his toes, eager to have something go right today. "Yes!" he squeals. His voice goes way up out of acceptable indoor volume, and he tries to make it go back down. "I have something for you."

Dr. Director leans in. "Oh, really? What is it?"

"Well -" he takes a deep breath and gathers up the words in his head, hoping they're the right ones - "today is National Appreciate Your Boss Day, so I made you a card - since you're my boss and everything - well, you're everybody's boss here - anyway, it's just kind of a thank-you gift." He grabs the zippers on his backpack and yanks them in opposite directions.

A tiny piece of paper - one of Global Justice's report slips? - falls out and floats to the floor. Funny. He doesn't remember putting that there.

Huh. He picks it up and reads it.

And things go very, very wrong.

Dr. Drakken's To-Do List

1. Convince the good folks at Globall Justace to make the Immobilizer 2000 portible. That will make it much easier for me to steal. DONE.

2. When everyone leaves for lunch, smugle the machine out of the sceince labs. Do that today.

3. TAKE OVER THE WORLD! MUH-HAH-HAH

Malfunction. Malfunction. Malfunction. Shutting down now. . .

His hands start to shake so bad the paper falls out of them and lands on the floor. Disappear, paper. Or spontaneously combust - I don't care! Just stop existing - somehow! And don't let Dr. Director pick you -

"What's this?"

- up. What's going on? Could he have written it in his sleep? Did something evil take him over and make his hand write something he vowed he'd never write again?

One look at Dr. Director's face, and his chest squeezes so hard he's sure his heart is going to explode. She hasn't looked like that since the last time she got an e-mail from Gemini.

The room turns into a blur and the lights start making funny noises and someone is screaming, loud and scratchy and scared, "I didn't do it! That's not mine! Please believe me!"

"It certainly sounds like you," Dr. Director says, talking to the screaming person who must be him. "At least, the way you used to sound."

He pants hard, trying to breathe, not to panic. He needs to find the right words, the right formula that will make everything okay again and take that awful look out of Dr. Director's eye. "I didn't do it! Please - I didn't! I would never - not anymore - oooooooh."

The conditions of his pardon jump back into his brain and he can't ignore them. If you break the law again, you'll go to jail for the rest of your life. No parole. No bail.

No kidding. If he can't make her believe he didn't do this - and how can he? It was in his backpack, it's the kind of thing he used to say - it even has his old laugh written on it. It sounds just like something he would do before, back when he was evil.

If he can't make her believe it - his life is over. Completely gone. Back to maximum-maximum-maximum-security prison, the closest thing on this planet to H-E-double-hockey-sticks. All his new friends, Mother being proud of him, not having nightmares and guilt and stomachaches -

"Just because I worked to help build that Doomsday device doesn't mean I'm going to steal it!" No, backspace. Stop that, mouth. Don't call it a Doomsday device.

Dr. Director's eyes narrow. "Dr. Drakken, I'm surprised at this. I really thought - "

"I have changed!" He can see his chest heaving angrily. How dare this thing appear in his backpack and try to ruin his life? How dare it? "It was a force of habit, saying that! I would never - "

"What seems to be the trouble here?" a deep voice asks.

He looks up - way up - into the face of Dash-Crash-Burn. The black one. He doesn't want him to know what the trouble is. He wants him to go far, far away and cease to exist. He wants the whole world to cease to exist -

No. No, no, no. That's the kind of thinking that made him become a villain in the first place. He can't think like that.

And with Dash-Crash-Burn here, he definitely can't do what he wants to do - which is curl up into the fetal position and put his hands over his head. This guy, with his bulging muscles and his hard eyes, looks just as mean as some of the men in prison.

"This is the trouble," Dr. Director explains, showing the paper to Dash-Crash-Burn. "It was found on Dr. Drakken's person, and it appears to be plans to use our equipment for world domination."

He's never been this angry. Ever. If someone can be made entirely out of the pure element of anger - which isn't even on the periodic table - then he is.

Dr. Director's eyes are disappointed - and doubtful - and shaming - and everything he thought he'd gotten away from when he reformed. The Team Impossible guy, though, has his arms folded over his chest and he's. . . smiling. The kind of smile that comes when you think you've almost taken over the world. The kind that makes you look evil, even in a Global Justice uniform.

"What did you really expect from a former criminal anyway, Dr. Director?" Dash-Crash-Burn asks. "People never really change, they say."

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!" he howls. Somewhere in the back of his brain he knows that wasn't calm and it'll just make things worse, but he can't help it. He feels like he just crashed and burned. Maybe even dashed, whatever that is.

"'Scuse me. Comin' through! I need to see Dr. D." It's another voice, and it belongs to the only person he wants to see right now. He's not exactly sure how Shego got here, but she's there anyway, glaring at Dash-Crash-Burn like he isn't nearly a foot taller than her.

Dr. Director turns around. "Yes?" she asks, sounding confused. Oh, right. She's a Dr. D, too. Any other time, that would be really cool.

Shego blinks for a second, then shakes her head. "No, not you. Him." She points at him, and he wipes spittle from his mouth and tries to breathe normally. If Shego's here, things will be okay.

Dash-Crash-Burn plants himself squarely in front of her, so that he has to strain his neck to see her. "Only immediate family is allowed to visit agents at GJ headquarters," he snarls.

Shego rolls her eyes like he's the biggest waste of space in the entire world. "I'm his sister, you dunce."

His chest loosens the tiniest bit. But before he can let himself be too relieved, Dash-Crash-Burn cracks his knuckles - wow, that is an annoying sound - and starts toward him, fists doubled.

Before his legs get the message to run for his life, Dr. Director puts out her arm and flings into the big guy's chest. "Mr. DeMine," she says, voice as professional as ever. "Do not attempt to hurt another agent unnecessarily."

DeMine - oh, so it's Dash - anyway, his eyes pop and he looks at Dr. Director like she's nuts. "Unnecessarily?" he booms. "But that paper - "

The anger in his brain moves over and makes room for that one tiny clear place, the one that told him how to save the world. Something's in it, and he blurts it out, hoping it's the right thing. "This isn't mine!" he cries furiously, grabbing the paper and shaking it in Dash's face. "I can spell science!"

There's a weird twinge in his neck, and the next thing he knows, a vine wraps up Dash DeMine and dangles him three feet above the ground. At the other end, the flower's cute little purple petals are stiff, like it's angry, too.

Whoa. He blinks and puts one hand to his neck, rubbing the vine. I did that.

"Dr. Director!" Dash hollers. "He's attacking!"

Even though he hates to do it, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Put him down, Flower.

But, master -

You'll get us both in a lot of trouble if you don't. Put him down and come back to Daddy.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" he sputters as the vine drops Dash and retreats back into his neck. "They react to my emotions - I'll control them!"

Dr. Director barely nods at him. "See that you do, Mr. Lipsky."

Hoo-boy. He's only Mr. Lipsky when he's in big trouble.

Shego, by this time, has snatched the paper off the floor and is reading it, eyes narrowing the more they take in. "Sure doesn't look like Drakken's handwriting," she finally says. "You can actually read it."

The clear place opens up again, and he grabs the right words, flings them out of his mouth. "Please - you've got to believe me! I'm reformed now! I don't want to take over the world anymore! I've never been so happy in my entire life since I started working here! Why would I risk everything I have now to try and do something I stunk at?"

He stops talking and slaps both hands over his mouth to keep from whimpering. His insides feel like they're on fire - he's not sure if it's from anger or fear, but he knows he's about to cry. So he grabs Shego's sleeve and hopes she has some right words, because he used up today's supply.

"Exactly." Shego glares at Dash, like she's wishing he would spontaneously combust. "The dude is so reformed now, it's disgusting. He doesn't even jaywalk anymore."

Dr. Director rubs her chin like she's thinking - please believe me. Please believe Shego.

Dash whirls on their employer. "Are you going to trust her word? She's a supervillain, too!"

He really wants to punch that guy.

"What part of 'reformed' is a foreign concept to you, Superman?" Shego's voice sounds as bored as ever. "I know Drakken better than his own mother does."

Dr. Director holds up both hands, and his lungs stop working. "Dr. Drakken, I very much want to believe you - and Shego - but - "

But? But? BUT? His chest is so hot, he's pretty sure he can breathe fire.

" - we just don't have enough evidence to either confirm or deny whether the note was actually written by you." She sighs and takes a step out into the hall. "Professor Ricardo?"

He breathes hard - no fire yet - and clutches Shego's sleeve even tighter. She doesn't pull away. He knows Professor Ricardo. He works in Lab 591 with him.

Dr. Director's voice drifts back to him. "Will you escort Dr. Drakken to the Interrogation Room and make sure he stays there until we know what to do with him?"

His stomach flips, burning the ulcer that's probably not healing anymore after today. The Interrogation Room. It's one-way soundproof - if you're inside, you can't hear what's going on outside, but everyone can hear you.

Don't run, the clear place tells him. You'll look guilty.

Dr. Director takes him by one arm - gently, at least - and he stiffens, because his nervous system is still commanding him to run away from touch. Professor Ricardo takes his other arm and they lead him down the hall. He looks back over his shoulder. Shego's standing there, hands in tight fists at her sides.

Don't leave me, he mouths over his shoulder.

I'm not, she mouths back.

And she doesn't. She manages to convince Dr. Director to let them talk in the Interrogation Room for five minutes. Dash whines about that, but his employer points out that the room doesn't have any windows, just a chair and a desk, and they're guarding the only door.

"For your sake, Dr. Drakken," Dr. Director says as she pulls that same door closed behind her, "I hope you're telling the truth."

He barely parks his tailbone on the edge of the chair and jitters all over. He's still angry, but fear's creeping in, too.

"So - we only have five minutes. Talk fast." Shego puts her hands up like little walls on the desk and looks hard at him.

He closes his eyes to block out the light of the single bulb hanging from the Interrogation's Room ceiling. It's just like every other interrogation room he's ever been in - and it's the first step back to prison.

Prison. Diablos. Lucre. Throwing up. Lippy guards. No touching Mother. The way she cried. The way I cried. Other guys with fists and razor blades -

Only when Shego grabs his shoulders and yells, "Doc, stop!" does he realize that the horrible, strangled wheezing sound is coming from him.

"I can't go back, Shego," he hiccups. His legs are shaking so hard they're hitting the bottom of the desk. He presses his hands down on his knees to make them stop and tries not to picture those legs in jailhouse orange. "I can't. I'll die."

"I know, I know." Shego runs a hand back through her bangs, which he's never seen her do before. "Just try not to freak, okay? It makes everything five billion times worse."

It's really, really hard not to panic. His entire world is at stake here. "I never wrote that list," he says, gritting his teeth down hard and breathing through them slowly. That's the best way he's found so far to keep from crying. "I've never seen it before in my life, I swear!"

"Don't swear, Doc, it isn't becoming." Shego's mouth only twitches a little bit.

He slides all the way down in his chair. "What do I do?" he hears himself whimper.

Shego sighs, one of those up-from-the-toes things that makes him want to yawn. "I can't believe I'm saying this," she mutters. "But do you really believe prayer works?"

He nods automatically.

"Then - pray." Shego leans toward him, eyes more serious than he's ever seen them. "Pray your little blue butt off. Meanwhile, I'll -"

Her voice stops, and he finishes it for her. "You'll do whatever it is you do."

"Exactly." One side of her mouth curls up at him, then falls back. "Here." She hands him his backpack. "Color a pretty picture for me," she adds - sarcastically, of course. He savors it.

Once she's gone, he flips to the first page, grabs the biggest, reddest, angriest-looking crayon and scribbles the entire picture that color. Then he puts his head down on the table and sighs from his own toes.

"Are you there, God? It's me, Drakken. I need your help again. . ."

TO BE CONTINUED