Kim Possible and all related characters and indicia are owned by the Disney Corporation. Supergirl and all related characters and indicia are owned by DC Comics/Warner Bros. This work of fan fiction is written for pleasure, not profit.
Triaxx2: It's possible Faust was lying. He is a manipulative old man, after all.
The Centurion Imports warehouse was a quarter mile from where they'd parked the van, and Kim and Ron were able to cover almost the entire distance unseen by moving through the narrow space between two lines of rail cars. Of course that meant they weren't able to see all that much themselves, but one couldn't have everything.
Kim raised her hand to signal a halt. Ron stopped just behind her and waited while she consulted her Kimmunicator Mark II, as Wade referred to it. Unlike her regular Kimmunicator, the Mark II had a matte black finish and a special screen that shed very little extra light, and which could only be seen from directly in front. To Ron, who was standing just inches to the side as he looked over Kim's shoulder, the Mark II's screen was blank. Kim pushed a few buttons and considered the results.
"First waypoint," she whispered. "Let's go up and have a look," she added, jerking a thumb at one of the rail cars.
"I'll take the next one ahead," Ron said, edging past her.
Kim turned to her right. The car next to her was a covered hopper, for just what Kim neither knew nor cared. What mattered was that it had a ladder at each end for reaching it's roof. Kim took hold of a rung, put her foot on the lowest step, and began to climb. She paused just below the edge of the roof. Moving slowly, she raised her head until her eyes cleared it. The roof of the car was peaked, the crest running down the length of the car with a narrow walkway of expanded metal mounted just above it. Kim moved up onto the roof, almost crawling, trying to stay as close to the metal body of the car as possible. She slithered up to the walkway and looked over it, studying the target.
The warehouse was a blocky two story affair, its walls pierced occasionally by windows, some of which revealed lights beyond. The front of the warehouse, which was facing away from them, was well lit, if the light reflected by objects further away was any indication. The one side Kim could see had no lights of its own and was shrouded in shadow. The back wall was dark as well, except for a single dim bulb above a door at ground level. Kim turned her head and looked in Ron's direction. He was a vague shape in the darkness.
Kim activated her helmet radio. "Ron, Kim here, what do you think?" she asked in a hushed voice that would have been inaudible a few feet away.
"Looks deserted, K.P.," came Ron's equally hushed reply, "No sigh of...wait!" he hissed.
Kim saw it at the same time, a tiny flare of yellow light. "Front corner, looks like someone just lit a cigarette or something," Ron's voice opined. Kim activated the helmet's built in imaging system. It wasn't quite as good as binoculars would have been, at least as far as magnification was concerned, but it would do. It took her only a moment to confirm Ron's guess.
"Yep," she agreed. A thin man, perhaps in his twenties, was leaning on the corner of the building, a glowing cigarette dangling from his mouth. The man appeared to take no notice of anything. If he was a sentry, he was either very, very good, or lousy. Kim turned her gaze to the warehouse roof. Or rather the edge of said roof, the roof itself being higher than her vantage point and so out of sight. "What about the back wall," she prompted.
After a brief silence Ron said, "Looks clean. No obvious cameras or sensors."
"Which doesn't mean there aren't any," Kim rejoined sourly.
"Not at all," Ron agreed. "Risk it?" he inquired.
"Risk it," Kim said firmly.
They reached the door in the back wall of the warehouse without incident. Ron reached up to the battered fixture above the door and unscrewed the bulb until it went out. Then he and Kim flattened themselves against the wall on either side and waited, listening.
Five minutes went by. Apparently no one inside had noticed the bulb going out, or if they had they weren't going to do anything about it. Ron felt Kim tap him on the shoulder. He looked over at her and she gestured at the door. He nodded once and stood lookout while she got to work.
From a pouch on her belt Kim produced a thin, flat probe at the end of a slender cable. She plugged the free end of the cable into the Mark II and slid the probe into the narrow gap between the door and its frame. The probe and its software were courtesy of Global Justice. Most building alarm systems monitored doors for nothing more than open or closed status, and determined one or the other with simple proximity sensors set into the frame. Such sensors were usually magnetic or, more rarely, optical. The probe was designed to detect either type without triggering them, a neat trick in Kim's opinion. A careful circuit of the door (including the bottom edge, an often overlooked area) revealed a single magnetic sensor mounted just above the latch. Kim quickly blinded the sensor with a piece of adhesive coated sheet metal. The lock itself yielded to Kim's picks in a few minutes.
"It still amazes me, every time you do that," Ron whispered as Kim put her tools away. She grinned up at him.
"All it takes, Ron, is a light touch and ears that know what to listen for," Kim smiled.
"Of which I possess neither," Ron cracked quietly. Kim smiled again, in lieu of laughing, and passed through the door into the warehouse.
"Follow me, Ron," she commanded with a jerk of her head.
Rows of pallets, crates and boxes ran parallel to the back wall, standing nearly ceiling high in places. A few lights near the front of the cavernous building were on, providing the only illumination. Kim heard male voices, but even with her helmets amplifiers and filters she couldn't make out what was being said.
"Over there," Ron whispered. A ladder led up to a catwalk that seemed to circle the warehouse at a level where the second floor would have been. Kim nodded and headed for it. Moments later she and Ron were heading for the front of the warehouse as stealthily as they could. The catwalk creaked a bit, but there was enough noise from fans and other such devices that Kim doubted they'd be overheard. Also, the conversation was considerably more animated than she'd first realized. A dozen or so men were standing in a clear area in front of one of the warehouse's loading docks. They were standing in two groups, one larger than the other. Three of the men, who Kim took to be leaders, were in the middle having a heated discussion, about what she couldn't tell. The men alternated between Spanish, of which Kim understood only a little, and an Asian language that she didn't understand at all.
"You getting any of that?" Kim asked as Ron squatted beside her. Ron's high school Spanish grades had been lower than Kim's, but he could at least hold simple conversations. Kim had forgotten most of hers.
"The Oriental either is, or represents, the seller. The Mexican is the buyer, and he's getting impatient because the shipment is late," Ron said quietly.
"How do you know he's a Mexican?" Kim asked.
"He said he wants to be back across the border by morning," Ron answered.
Kim nodded once. "Who's the third guy?" She had him pegged as muscle, if only because he was dressed like a street thug, in ragged jeans and a tank top, with a bandana on his head. He was covered with tattoos, with long scraggly hair and a poorly trimmed goatee and moustache. Quite a contrast with other two, who worn suits and ties. Muscle Boy had said little while they watched, and spent most of his time eyeing the Oriental with a mix of suspicion and hostility.
"I'm not sure," Ron admitted. "He seems to work for the Mexican, but in what capacity, I don't know."
"I'm sure we'll find out soon enough," Kim decided. "In the mean time we'll just have to be patient."
They didn't have to wait long. A few minutes at most went by before they heard the sound of a truck approaching. One of the Mexican's men, a fellow who shared Muscle Boy's fashion sense, opened the door of the loading dock. As Kim and Ron watched a truck backed up into place. The rear doors were unlocked and swung open, then some of the Oriental's crew entered the cargo box, emerging a shortly with several crates of various sizes. Taking a crowbar from one of his assistants the Oriental pried open the smallest one while the Mexican looked on. A huge grin split the man's face when he saw the contents of the crate. He stooped down, then held up a small statue. The Oriental smiled as well, and the two men shook hands.
"I think we've seen enough, don't you?" Kim asked with a grin of her own.
""Boo-yah!" Ron agreed with quiet enthusiasm. Without another word the two drew their grapple guns and fired at the ceiling above the men. Startled by the sound, all the men on the warehouse floor looked up, just in time to see Kim and Ron swinging down into their midst. Team Possible had achieved complete surprise.
Except that they hadn't. The men reacted instantly and with cool professionalism. The Mexican and his men produced pieces of pipe, lengths of chain and even a few switchblade knives, while the Oriental and his crew brought out a variety of eastern melee weapons. It quickly became apparent that the men were not only much better fighters than typical henchmen, but that they were in fact part of the same outfit. That was the only possible explanation for the immediate ease with which they worked together.
That wasn't the only strange thing either. Instead of overwhelming them at once, the men contented themselves with double teaming Kim and Ron. A few went so far as to leave the area, and one actually took a post near the main exit.
Kim kicked the legs out from under one of the men attacking her. He rolled as he fell and sprang back to his feet, little harmed, a moment later.
"It's a trap," Kim snarled.
"Ya think?" Ron snapped sarcastically.
"Let's get out of here!" Kim suggested, backing toward the maze of crates looming behind them. "One two. One. Two!" Ron turned and bolted, knocking aside a man who tried to block their path, Kim doing the same after dropping a sting ball to discourage pursuit. Ron added a smoke grenade for good measure and the teens ran for the back door.
It was blocked.
A desk, or something, had been pushed in front of it. Two men guarded it as well. Kim whipped a sting ball at them. The spray of plastic pellets should have sent them diving for cover, but they only started at the small explosion. One of them snapped on the lights and Kim saw why. They were wearing body armor and helmets with full face plates.
"Damn it!" she swore. She swore again as the men pulled out guns. She was about to charge them when Ron jerked her back and pulled her behind a crate.
Shots boomed in the cavernous warehouse, and Kim heard bullets hitting crates. There was a bellow from up front, then shouted words.
"No shooting you, uh, idiots," Ron translated. Kim smiled thinly. She didn't know much Spanish, but she knew enough to know that the word 'Chaperos' didn't mean 'idiots'. "Spread out and find them! And remember, he wants them alive!"
"Nice to know we're wanted," Kim said grimly. "Let's take the high ground, Ron. And smoke things up a bit, would you?" With that Kim began climbing the piles of crates. Ron threw his remaining smoke grenades in all directions. Kim added hers as well, and soon the warehouse was choked with blindingly thick smoke. Kim and Ron had to don filter masks it got so bad. Suspiciously, there wasn't much coughing or choking coming from the bad guys either.
"Not good, K.P.," Ron whispered. "These guys are prepared for us." Kim nodded and held a finger to her mask. Footsteps sounded from beneath them. She could hear movement on the crates as well, though nothing close. She and Ron had moved toward the center of the warehouse and were now trying to get to a side wall, where they might find a window and get the hell out of here.
After listening a moment Kim said," Let's get moving again." The words had no more than left her mouth when there was a 'thwack' sound. A tiny, feathered dart was quivering it a crate right next to her. Ron spun, saw an amorphous shape in the smoke, and threw a sting ball at it. Then he and Kim dropped of the crates to the floor.
"Go!" Kim urged. They ran a short distance, almost bowling over one of their pursuers at an intersection between rows of crates, then ducking into a nook to hide.
"I think the smoke is thinning, Kim," Ron said. He was right. The warehouse's fans weren't much, but they were slowly dissipating the gray fog. That would be bad. Kim hesitated only briefly before she pulled out her Kimmunicator.
"What's up Kim?" Wade asked groggily.
"Ambush, Wade," Kim explained quickly. "We need backup. Get a GJ strike team here ASAP!"
Wade's fingers flew. "No can do, Kim," he apologized. "Trouble is brewing all over southern California. All available teams are out. They can divert one, but it'll take twenty or thirty minutes to get them there."
"I doubt we have that much time," Kim said. "I'll try another tack." She pushed a special button on the side of the Kimmunicator.
"Watchtower, Blue Beetle here."
"Beetle, it's Kim Possible. Ron and I could use some help. Is Supergirl handy?" Blue Beetle shook his head.
"Supergirl's got her hands full in Metropolis at the moment," he said.
"Anyone you can send would be appreciated!" Kim said hastily, sketching the situation.
"We're stretched pretty thin ourselves," he replied. "Nearly everyone's out on missions."
"Tonight's the night for it," Kim agreed.
"There are a few folks here though. Let me see what I can do." Beetle's hands had been busy the whole time he'd been talking. "Got it!" he exclaimed. "Found you a pick-up team, Kim. I'll beam them straight to your location. ETA, thirty seconds!"
"Thanks, Beetle. Kim Possible out."
The thirty seconds ticked away with agonizing slowness. The smoke was getting thinner by the moment, and there were footsteps all around and...
Kim felt the familiar sensation of static electricity. Two columns of blue white light flared into existence. The columns faded to reveal the forms of a man and a woman.
"Black Canary and Green Arrow!" Ron exclaimed.
Canary smiled at him. "Hey Ron," she said by way of greeting, her voice slightly muffled by the breath mask she was wearing. Green Arrow, similarly masked, touched two fingers to the bill of his cap in salute.
"You must be Kim," Canary went on, suddenly all business. "What are we up against?"
"A dozen or more guys with black belts, and maybe guns as well," Kim supplied.
"Sounds like we've got them outnumbered," Green Arrow said cheerfully. As Kim gaped at his cockiness, he added, "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go get 'em!"
Two goons were cautiously approaching an intersection in the rows of crates, one on point, the other keeping a watchful eye out for trouble. Out of the corner of one eye he saw a shadow move in the thinning smoke. Whirling he was confronted with a lithe redhead.
"Looking for me?" Kim jeered. The goon opened his mouth as if to speak, then crumpled as Kim's fist smashed into his jaw. At the sound of her voice the goon's companion turned as well. He was clawing for his weapon when a green shafted arrow, tipped with a boxing glove of all things, caught him in the side of the head. He joined his friend on the floor.
The sounds of the scuffle had drawn the attention of other thugs. Two more shapes emerged from the gloom, somersaulting down from the tops of crates. As Kim watched, Ron took on a goon and dealt with him in a brisk, workmanlike fashion. Black Canary, on the other hand...
Ron had told Kim about Canary's prowess as a martial artist, but Kim had thought Ron was exaggerating. Not so. If anything, he'd been understating matters. Canary started with two goons, with a third joining in almost immediately. In mere seconds she had them all laid out.
"Damn," Kim breathed in admiration. "That was amazing!"
Canary grinned and started to reply, when a hollow voice echoed from the still open truck.
"Tut tut tut, Ms. Possible. If you get reinforcements, my men should too, don't you think?"
A black clad figure emerged from the truck. Without a word Green Arrow nocked an arrow and loosed it at the newcomer. The man didn't just dodge the arrow, he actually snatched it out of the air and tossed it contemptuously to one side.
Ron was closest to the mystery man, and sprang forward to attack, launching a flurry of blows that were blocked effortlessly. Then he found himself skidding across the concrete floor, victim of a side kick that knocked the wind out of him. Kim tried next, with no better result. Canary managed to land a few blows, but she too was outclassed, a fact that Kim found a little frightening.
Ron was staggering to his feet as Canary drew back, leaving the ninja standing imperiously in the middle of the dock. He made no move to follow her.
"We'll all rush him at once," Canary commanded in a low voice. "That's probably the only way we can take him."
Kim and the others nodded in agreement.
The ninja spoke. Somehow he had overheard them.
"As much fun as that might be, I really don't have time for it," he said haughtily. Ron felt his skin crawl. There was something familiar about the voice, but he couldn't put his finger on what that was. From the folds of his gi the ninja produced a silvery sphere that he tossed in their direction. It landed well short. Ron assumed it was a grenade of some sort, perhaps a smoke bomb. Unexpectedly the sphere erupted in a flash of bluish light. Ron felt his muscles turn to jelly, and only just managed to keep his face from bouncing off the floor as he fell. Canary, Arrow, and Kim were similarly affected. The goons too, Ron noted dully. Only the ninja escaped the grenade's effect. He crossed to where they lay and scooped Kim up, slinging her over his shoulder. He carried her to the open crate, removed a small object, and muttered something Ron couldn't make out. Tendrils of red-gold light flickered into being, gathering at a point just behind the ninja. The point grew into a circle, through which Ron could see...somewhere else. A portal. Mustering his will, Ron pushed himself up.
"Oh...no...you...don't!" he grated. The paralysis was fading quickly, though Canary and Green Arrow seemed to not to be coming out of it as fast.
The ninja turned to look at him and nodded once.
"Impressive, Ron Stoppable," he said with grudging admiration.
Ron was confused. "You know my..."
The ninja reached up and tugged off his hood. Ron felt his blood freeze.
"You!" he choked.
"Me!" Lord Monty Fiske cackled. "Did you miss me?" he added sarcastically.
"N-n-not possible," Ron stammered. "H-how...?"
"'How' is less important than 'why'," Fiske snorted. "'Why' is to make you pay for what you did to me." He smiled affably. "And now a substantial portion of the means to that end is in my hands," he went on, patting Kim's fanny as he did so.
Roaring with rage Ron launched himself into a flying kick aimed at Fiske's head. Moving with utter calm, Fiske stepped through the portal, turned, and offered Ron a hate-filled smile. The portal snapped shut. Ron sailed through empty air, landing hard in the bed of the truck. Groaning, he looked back at where Fiske had been. How Fiske had returned from the dead, Ron couldn't even guess. Why Fiske taken Kim instead of him, he could guess, and the guesses weren't pleasant.
Canary and Arrow were back on their feet as well. Canary came up and laid a hand on Ron's shoulder.
"Don't worry, Ron. We'll get her back," she assured him.
"We have to find her first," Ron said grimly.