A/N: First, just so you know, this is a short story, not an epic. It covers a lot of time, but not in great detail, which may confuse people. I may skip months or even years between chapters. Second, this is the very first fic of mine to feature everybody's favorite naked mole rat, Rufus!
Classic Cowboy: You're welcome, and I can't wait!
Campy: Thanks for pointing those out.
MatthewC: I have a motivation in mind. I just hope I can make it sound plausible.
Parareru: Most of your questions will be answered (I hope).
Thanks to: Cold-Chaos, mattb3671, eckles, Wanderer3, sirka, daywalkr82, Triaxx2, Jokerisdaking and GargoyleSama.
Kim shifted uncomfortably. Ron was sitting across from her in a booth at Bueno Nacho, his chin resting on his interlaced fingers, staring at her. It wasn't a hostile stare, of course. Nor was it a leering ogle of the kind some people sent her way. No, it was a 'who are you, and what have you done with Kim' kind of stare.
Unable to stand his relentless gaze, Kim frowned back at him.
"Ron? What are you staring at?" she demanded. If he were any other boy, Kim would have guessed he was checking out her cleavage. Kim smiled to herself. She was just a few weeks shy of her fifteenth birthday, and was finally at a point in her life where she was comfortable wearing what her mother called 'skimpy outfits'. Kim didn't see what the big deal was. So she liked camisole tops. So what? And sure, maybe this particular one was cut a bit lower than any of the others. Kim just happened to feel like wearing it, that was all. The fact that Josh (sigh) Mankey worked in one of the stores in the mall and Kim was going over there later had nothing to do with it.
Ron cocked his head, gave her a peculiar look and said, "Who are you, and what have you done with Kim?"
"Called that one," Kim muttered. Then, "I'm me, Ron. What makes you think otherwise?" Kim thought she might know, but didn't say anything.
Ron's expression morphed to one of concern. "Well," he said, "It just that school starts in a week. That fact should have you so excited you can't sit still, but there you are, sitting still."
Kim smiled sheepishly and relaxed. She'd called that one, too. "I don't know, Ron," Kim admitted, speaking slowly. "I really am looking forward to ninth grade. It's just...cheerleading I'm not so excited about."
"But you love cheerleading," Ron protested.
A tiny pink face popped up out of Ron's shirt pocket. "Rah! Rah!" a squeaking voice exclaimed.
"You said it, buddy," Ron said solemnly. "See K.P.? Even Rufus can't believe you're bummed about cheer squad."
Kim grinned at her best friend and his pet naked mole rat.
"It's not cheer squad itself I'm bummed about, so much as having to play second fiddle to Bonnie 'I'm the center of the universe' Rockwaller...again." Kim said the last word as if it left a bad taste in her mouth.
Ron gave Kim a sympathetic look. He certainly understood her position. Kim would be going from Captain of the junior high squad to the lowest levels of the high school squad, a fact Bonnie was certain to rub in Kim's face at every opportunity.
"So try for Captain, why don't you?" he suggested.
Kim sat up straight and glared at him. "Ron," she said sharply, "you know as well as I do that the position of captain goes to the most popular girl on the squad. I'll have to be a junior before I have a real chance at it."
"If they gave it out on the basis of ability you'd win hands down," Ron grumbled.
Kim felt herself blush. Ron was one of the few boys who had even a faint idea of just how strong (and fast, and agile) she was, and he was the only one who wasn't weirded out by it.
"Nice of you to say so," Kim smiled, sipping her soda.
"And what's with that top?" Ron added, shaking his head.
"Yeah!" Rufus chirped, giving Kim a disapproving look.
"What's wrong with it?" Kim asked defensively.
"I know you have breasts, Kim. You don't need to show them to me."
"I am not..." Kim began, then, "You've been looking?"
"Newsflash, Kim," Ron said, pointing at himself. "Fourteen year old boy. Can't help but look." Ron looked away. "Especially when you flaunt them like that."
Kim looked down at her chest, then at Ron. She thought about making a snarky remark, but then thought better of it.
"Does it really make you uncomfortable?" she asked.
"Yeah, a little," Ron admitted sheepishly.
Kim smiled again. "I'll remember that," she promised."
"Beep-beep-be-deep!" The clear tones of the Kimmunicator rang through Bueno Nacho.
Kim's hand darted to her pocket and retrieved the electronic device. Activating it she asked, "What's the sitch, Wade?"
The moon face of Kim's recently acquired 'tech guru', as eight year old genius Wade Load referred to himself, blinked into existence on the Kimmunicator's small screen.
"Big trouble," Wade answered. "Professor Dementor just raided a private electronics lab out east. He stole something called..." Wade paused and looked at something off camera. "...called an interlinked capacitor relay," he finished, shaking his head.
"Which does...?" Kim prompted.
"Stores and discharges electricity," Wade told her. He frowned. "Apparently just calling it a capacitor wasn't good enough for the guy who invented it," he muttered, mostly to himself.
"Ride?" Kim asked.
"On it's way," Wade answered, "E.T.A. twenty minutes."
"Time for mission clothes, Ron," Kim said, rising.
"Is it just me, or are these henchmen bigger than usual?" Ron asked as he dodged a blow from a ham fisted man half again his height.
"I'd say yes," Kim replied as she reared back and kicked yet another mountain of flesh out of her way. "Dementor's Napoleon complex must be getting worse."
Ron sighed. Mad scientists were hard to figure out. Sure, they might be real geniuses, but so often they did irrational things for no apparent reason. Take Dementor for example. The man stood barely four feet tall, yet was invariably sounded by huge lackeys and equally oversized gadgets.
Kim and Ron quickly cut a swathe through Dementor's henchmen. Okay, Kim did most of the cutting, and Ron found it strange that the henchmen didn't rush her, just came on in ones and twos. It probably said something about their intellects that they could watch their fellows get manhandled by a fourteen year old girl, and still not expect her to do the same to them.
Of course, Ron allowed, they didn't know about Kim's strength. But it really should have been obvious. Ron watched Kim throw a guy who had to weigh three hundred pounds, if he weighed an ounce, halfway across the large central chamber of Dementor's lair. True, she used a judo throw, and equally true, she probably couldn't have managed the throw without using judo, but still...
Suddenly there were no more henchmen. They had broken through the last line of Dementor's defenses. But they were too late. High above them they heard the insane cackle of Dementor's laughter, and the rapidly quickening thumping sound of spinning rotor blades.
"Vonce again, Kim Possible," Dementor taunted as, megaphone in hand, he leaned out the open hatch of the chopper's cargo compartment, "You haff failed to prevent my escape!"
Kim glared up at Dementor, even as she reached into her backpack and pulled out...a hairdryer.
Dementor went wild with laughter, even as the chopper lifted off. "Foolish girl!" he chortled. "To think that you could threaten the great Professor Dementor with a..."
Dementor didn't get to finish his thought. Kim's index finger squeezed, and the 'hairdryer' shot a weighted line toward the slowly rising helicopter. The line wrapped itself around one of the landing skids. Kim activated the winch function and went sailing skyward.
Dementor looked impressed.
"Not bad," he allowed, "But not good enough!" he finished. A knife appeared in hand, the blade flashing as he reached out and cut the monofilament line. Kim managed a surprised yelp then, arms and legs flailing, she fell, landing back first on the concrete floor.
"Kim!" Ron cried, ignoring Dementor's fading laughter, charging toward where Kim lay. She'd fallen fifty feet at least, and...
Ron's thoughts were numb as he fumbled for his own Kimmunicator. Kim would need a medi-evac and...
Kim tried to push herself up on one elbow.
"Ugh," she groaned.
"K.P., don't move. Your back..."
"Feels like I belly flopped off the high board at the pool," Kim winced. Ron knelt beside her, hands sliding beneath her, gently lifting, fingers probing at her ribs and spine.
Kim let out a few grunts and gasps, but soon found herself staring into the disbelieving brown eyes of her best friend.
"Nothing's broken," Ron said, very softly.
"Why should anything be broken?" Kim asked irritably. "I didn't fall that -" she glanced up at the chopper platform. She'd been parallel with it when gravity had arrested her assent, and it was a good five stories above her. "-far..." she finished, her voice trailing off.
Ron helped her to a sitting position, then ran his hand over her back again, going under her shirt and tracing her spine from neck to tailbone. Finally convinced she wasn't seriously hurt, Ron joined Kim in staring up at the platform.
"How did I manage that?" Kim wondered aloud.
Steven Parker was pleased and puzzled. Pleased that Sheila had seen fit to pay him a visit, but puzzled because, well, the last time he'd seen her she'd been storming out of his apartment, swearing she never wanted to see his face again. So what, he wondered, had brought her back? Surely it wasn't to try and regain a position on the staff. She been booted from the faculty of the Lawrence Gogh Memorial Cancer Institute years ago for unethical conduct, by her own brother no less, and had made it plain she was never going to come back to Gogh City either. It was perplexing, to say the least. But Steven managed a bright, polite smile when the dark haired beauty who was his ex-fiancé was ushered into his office.
"Dr. Gogh," he said formally, smiling at her.
"No need to be so formal, Steven," Sheila pouted playfully, then strolled toward him. No, not strolled. She almost... strutted, swaying her hips suggestively as she came on. She perched herself on the edge of his desk and reached out to caress Steven's paralyzed face.
"Hiya, baby," she purred. "Did you miss me?" Sheila was wearing an expensive but tastefully stylish suit with a knee length skirt. Her blouse, though... Steven swallowed nervously. She had three buttons undone, and the way she leaned forward gave him a clear view...
"You did," she said with an impish smile, seeing where his eyes were directed.
Steven swallowed again. Something was wrong. As passionate a lover as Sheila had been, she hated to be ogled. By anyone.
"It's been a while," Steven stammered, stalling for time while he tried to make sense of what was happening.
"Too long," Sheila cooed agreeably.
"W-wh-what brings you back to town?"
Sheila demurely lowered her eyes, then looked up at him from beneath fluttering eyelashes.
"I've come for your zipper," she said slyly.
"M-my z-zipper?" Steven repeated, one hand going instinctively to his crotch.
Sheila giggled. "No, silly, your Gene Zipper."
"Gene Zipper?" Steven said blankly.
Sheila nodded eagerly. "Uh huh. Dr. Lipsky and I have hit a roadblock in the development of our latest project, and we need the Zipper to get past it."
"Latest project?" Steven kicked himself even as the words left his mouth. He must sound like a babbling idiot. If only Sheila wasn't coming on so hard... He shook himself and got control of his glands. Was she really working with Andrew Lipsky?
"I'd need to know the nature of the project before I could let you use it," he said firmly, trying to sound confident. He settled his eyes on hers.
"It's a mind control virus," Sheila said, completely matter-of-factly. Steven blinked. Sheila went on, "Drew and I want to enslave humanity, and we think an engineered virus that alters peoples' brains to make them docile and suggestive is the key to success."
Steven blinked again. His jaw worked silently for a few seconds, while Sheila looked at him expectantly. Finally he found his voice.
"That's insane..."
The warmth that had been in Sheila's eyes vanished instantly, replaced by ice.
"You always did lack vision," she hissed, glaring at him.
Steven glared back. Apparently the idea wasn't the only thing that was insane.
"I'm calling security," Steven said calmly, reaching for the phone. Sheila lashed out, knocking the phone to the floor and grabbing Steven's tie.
"The only thing you're going to do is escort me to the lab where the Zipper is, then out of the building," Sheila said coldly.
"I'll call security the second we're out the door," Steven said, trying to sound defiant. "Give up, Sheila, and let me help you."
"First," Sheila grated, "I don't need 'help'. Second, you call security..." She held up her free hand. The gesture drew his eyes. Steven watched in horror as Sheila's hand burst into green flame. "...and it's your funeral," she said savagely. "Third, from now on, you can call me Shego!"
"How did it go?" Lipsky asked when Shego returned to the lab, or rather, the lair, as they now called it.
"Just fine," Shego said lightly as she ran a finger along the line of Lipsky's jaw. She jerked her head and he followed the gesture to a pair of henchmen who were carefully moving a large crate.
"Excellent," he said, rubbing his hands in anticipation. Shego, meanwhile, grabbed a paper towel and began wiping the makeup off her face. Healthy pink gave way to a light, unwholesome looking green.
"The only hitch was that my ex didn't want to go along at first, and I had to...persuade him," Shego added.
"Did he take a lot?" Lipsky asked, his tone playfully concerned. Shego's lips twisted in a cruel grin.
"Convincing him to help me was moderately difficult," she admitted. "Getting him to not talk afterward...that was easy."
Lipsky smiled thinly. "The police are looking for Sheila Gogh," he informed her.
"Let them," Shego replied with an indifferent shrug. "She had mostly outlived her usefulness anyway. Now, if you don't mind, I have to go watch my family's name being dragged through the mud," she exclaimed gleefully.
Lipsky watched her walk away. The genetic manipulation that had given Sheila her powers had had a few unexpected side effects. One was the green tint her skin and eyes had acquired. Another was a major personality change. She'd gone from being a temperamental, smart-mouthed ice-queen to being a temperamental, smart-mouthed vixen. It was a mostly pleasant change: it made her sass much easier to take. But it also made maintaining a professional relationship difficult. Oh well. One couldn't have everything.
Lipsky returned to what he was doing. Unlike Sheila...er, Shego, he wanted to keep the name Andrew Lipsky clean, at least a while longer. But there were things that needed doing that would make that difficult, so he was searching the internet for a pseudonym. He was leaning toward one based on a mythical creature, but was having a hard time finding one that he liked. They all sounded rather silly, to be frank, and that wouldn't do at all.
A dragon would have been perfect, the very image of intelligence, power and cruelty. But Dr. Dragon didn't roll easily off the tongue. He scrolled down the page of the website he was at. There was a list, he noticed, of the word 'dragon' in other languages. One, in Swedish, was 'drakken'.
"Dr. Drakken," Lipsky mused. "I like it."