AN – Ok, this chapter does contain a few slight religious references, but they're almost completely historical rather than spiritual. Religious history will play a part in the history of the Fighting Legions, so be prepared for that. Oh, a side note, my screen name, and Masau's name in the story is pronounced MUH-say-you.
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After squashing together on top of one another in the Harrier's second seat, Kim and Ron were hurtling towards New Mexico at nearly Mach 5. Kim reached up and toggled on the microphone built into her helmet.
"So why did Wade call this a prototype Harrier?" She practically screamed at the pilot over the roar of the jet engines.
The pilot did a half turn in his seat to spare her a curious glance before answering. "Because this isn't the model the military has. It's an upgraded version provided just for this mission by a Young Lord Masau. Has a longer hover time, and increased speed. Right now we're going at Mach 5, but I've heard she'll go twice that."
"Mach 10? I heard the fastest military grade plane could only pull a 6."
She could just hear the smirk in the pilot's voice as he answered. "Exactly."
Kim shot a confused glance at Ron, sitting somewhere underneath her. He shrugged and shifted in his seat before blushing scarlet.
What's with him? Wait, why is there a bump…?
"RON!"
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"I said I was sorry, KP! And it's not like you can blame me. Look who was sitting in my lap!"
Kim sighed and rolled her eyes. "Ok, Ok, but not on a mission. Pull it together!" She turned to the pilot who had just jumped to the ground beside them. "Thanks for the lift. Who do we need to see?"
The pilot pulled his helmet and flight jacket off to reveal a rather tall Asian man in his mid-twenties with no visible rank insignia. "The command center is over to the south, but I think I can snag you an escort." He cast a quick glance around and his eyes lighted on an officer. "Major! Spare a minute, would you?"
The officer being hailed turned and nodded quickly. "Is this Kim Possible?" At a nod from the pilot, he turned to Kim and Ron. "Major Kane at your service, ma'am. Please follow me to the command center quickly. General Braddock is waiting for us."
As the teens followed the somewhat disheveled man across the compound, Kim was busy trying to take in the results of the attack. Enough smoke was rising from a large building to the north to cast a shadow on half the base. Here and there you could still here cries for Medics and see corpsmen carrying people in stretchers to a small building with a red cross on it about a hundred yards away. After looking around quickly, she realized that she and Ron had come through where the front gate used to be. At the moment, it resembled a junkyard. Feeling a bit ill, she turned to Ron.
"Shego did this?"
The major heard her and turned his head, never breaking stride. "If you're referring to the woman dressed in black and green, she did surprisingly little of this. A few times she blew a soldier away from her with that acid power of hers, but none of them died. It was the bogies, the unidentified soldiers, that did most of this."
As he spoke, Kim noticed that part of his uniform was singed and he was favoring his left arm. Briefly Kim wondered if it had been Shego or an explosion.
"Here we are. The General is just inside. He can give you the details."
Kim and Ron were led to a conference room with a missing fluorescent light. At the head of the circular table sat two men who could not have looked more different. The man Kim assumed must be General Braddock looked to be in his early sixties and was the model of a military officer. His grey hair was cut short enough that the scalp was visible, his face looked clean-shaven despite the recent attack, and his dress uniform sporting a star on each shoulder was nearly spotless.
To his right was a young man in his mid twenties. Though his face did not show a single sign of stubble, he could not have looked less military. His hair, nearly three feet long and braided tightly, was almost white, tinted with just a hint of what Kim could have sworn was blue. His face was marred just below his left eye by a tattoo that resembled a claw scratch. A silver earring hung from the top of his left ear to complete the image of a head banger. Yet despite his unruly looking face, his clothes were rich. As he stood to greet the newcomers, Kim could see that his shirt resembled something she had seen fencers wear at a renaissance fair a few years ago; it had very loose, long sleeves that closed firmly at the wrists. The only difference was that it had the tight collar associated with the top of a Kung Fu gi. His pants were made of the same pitch-black material, with the bottoms tucked into strange looking combat style boots.
But the strangest thing was that he wore a long cape that came perhaps a half-inch from the floor, clasped at the shoulders and draped back so that it hindered him as little as possible. After getting over the initial shock of Masau's out of place face, the first thing Kim noticed when he stood to greet them was that he was tall. Every bit of six and a half feet, his frame was filled out to make him look like a wrestler very capable of taking out Shego if the two should ever meet.
"Ahh, this must be the famous Team Possible," The young man said in a strong voice a bit lighter than his size would suggest. He seemed in much fairer spirits than perhaps he should be, considering the attack. "We have been expecting you. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Young Lord Masau BlackDragon of the Fighting Legions. This is my associate…"
"Brigadier General Edward Braddock, U.S. Army." The general stepped forward. "I'll thank you to let me make my own introduction from now on, my lord."
"Of course, General." He said with a small grin. "My apologies."
The elder man turned his glare away from the tall lord and looked at Kim. "Ms. Possible, I contacted your controller, Mr. Wade Load, because we have encountered a crises that has us scared enough to call in two favors for help. You and Mr. Stoppable were called on the recommendation of Lord Masau here. He said he'd seen you in action enough to know he wanted you two."
"I see," Kim said hesitantly, not really sure if she saw or not. "And the second favor you had to call was…?"
"You. The first was asking the Legions for help. With what they are, and what they do, I don't imagine you've ever heard of them. And as a senior member of the ruling council, I suppose I had better let Masau tell you about them."
"Well," He started, "why don't we all have a seat. It's a rather long story." He sat down without preamble and put his feet up on the table. He took a pipe from an unseen pocket, filled it with tobacco from a pouch, tamped it, and lit it. Ignoring the glare he had just earned from the General, he took a puff before starting. "The Fighting Legions have been around for almost as long as humanity itself. We were started just over five thousand years ago by my ancestor, Zachariah, to function as a sort of global police force. The Legions are run like a monarchy, with each firstborn male inheriting from his father. But, unlike monarchies, the Legions have three ruling families instead of one: the BlackDragon's, the Volsung's, and the Ikkitousen."
"What do you mean by ruling families?" Kim was trying very hard to keep an understanding on a situation that was becoming very complicated.
"Well, maybe that wasn't the best description. The whole island we're located on is run like a cross between a military base and a large city. The population is about four million people, and all of them are either Legionnaires, our term for our soldiers; their families; or retired Legionnaires. The ruling families act like a commander-in-chief's council, only it's positions are inherited instead of elected."
"There are four million of you on an island?" Ron asked. "That's a lot of cops."
"Well, originally we started somewhere in Turkey. We had a highly restricted town that slowly grew as we got new recruits. You see, all new recruits must be family of an existing Legionnaire, or else he must be personally approved by a member of the three families. But in 34 A.D., after the Christ was crucified, my ancestors decided it was time for a change of location. So we moved to an island in the South Pacific called Borlea, several hundred miles east of New Zealand. It's roughly the size of Vermont. Any way, where I'm going with all this is simply to establish that we've been around for a while, and while the countries don't always want us there, and try to throw us out sometimes, we act as enforcers of human decency. For example, in all civilized countries, murder is illegal and highly frowned upon. Therefore, while we won't write people tickets for people speeding, we will interfere with murderers, rapists, serial killers, and the like, as often as we can.
"But, more importantly, we have several people like you. People who excel in finding and stopping events or people that could potentially harm a great number of people. Like Dr. Drakken, your archenemy. He is constantly trying to take over the world, and that would have serious repercussions that I doubt he even realizes. You understand the threat he is against the common person, and you stop him because of it."
"Yeah… that's what I do. What's your point?"
"Simple. We have recently come up with a program for people like you. Have you ever heard of Spiderman? Well, that whole story is true, but with different names. It took us a while, but we finally found the man behind the mask and made him an offer. Simply do what he was doing, have a flexible job that would let him leave at any time for a call, and we would pay him a handsome salary. I think by the time he finally retired, he had about fifteen million dollars in the bank that he'd saved. The only thing we asked of him was to stay in New York and think of it as his protectorate, and give us a monthly report of what he'd been doing. So really, this was good for everyone. The hero didn't have to struggle just to keep his apartment, we got a major city under a fairly watchful eye, and New York got a full time super hero."
"But what's that got to do with me?"
Masau smirked and leaned forward. "Let me put it this way: how much money do you make?"
Kim blanched. What was this? "Well, none at the moment. I was about to talk to a friend of mine about getting a job at Club Banana to start saving for college. Why?"
"How would you like to make as much money as your parents? Both of you."
Ron looked at Masau eagerly. "My parents or KP's?"
"Both."
"Hold on a second," Kim interrupted, a frown on her face. "You want to pay us? To what, work for you? What's the catch? And what does all this have to do with the war zone outside?"
Masau's smirk faded to be replaced by a blank face with a touch of sadness. "Well, it doesn't really have much to do with what's going on outside, or what was stolen, which the General will tell you about in a moment. Mostly I just wanted to add Team Possible to the Legions. Yes, I want to pay you. You both have a full time job already, why shouldn't you get paid for it? I mean, wouldn't it be easier if you had your own plane for missions instead of having to hope you had a favor due to you wherever the next villain had his hideout? That would be one of the benefits you get, being world class."
"And the catch?"
"Only what I mentioned earlier. We want a monthly report so that we know what you're doing to earn your pay. Now, like I said, I've seen you in action before, and I know you know who to go after and how to go after them, so I'm not too worried about that."
"You've seen me in action? Don't you mean you've hacked security tapes of villains lairs and watched me?"
"Heh, now what good would that do me? You almost never leave a lair standing. No, after you became a big name, I followed you on a couple of your missions and watched you. A couple times you walked maybe two feet from me."
"Well, you certainly know how to give my ego a boost. How much?"
"Later. First let's get back to the matter at hand. General, if you would, explain what was taken, and I'll explain how we're going to get it back."
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AN – till next I write,
BlackDragon
