All-Purpose Disclaimer

Kim Possible hates those chapters where it feels like pulling teeth to write. Argh!

Screaming chaos thundered into Kim as her neighbors stormed out the building's front door, clad in robes and pajamas in their blind panic. Above them, their building roared and snapped with the conflagration left from the explosion Kim witnessed moments before. She fought her way up the steps and through the door, ignoring the careless elbows, the frantic shoulders that beat her back, the chorus of terror that struck her deaf. Indomitable will drove her into the teeming mob, force fueled by a single, desperate thought.

'Please don't be dead,' pleaded Kim, taking the rickety steps in threes and fours. She plowed through the tail end of the crowd, reaching the second floor. Haunting vacancy greeted her in the hall, unsettling her more than her panicked neighbors had. 'Please don't be dead,' she begged, sprinting to the door marked with a crooked twenty-six above its peephole. She touched the door and recoiled, yelping at the intense heat behind the wood. Then she kicked the door square off its hinges and leapt in after it, heedless of the sweltering wave she dove headlong into.

What little she could see before her was Hell itself, squeezed into the confines of their beloved home. The walls of their bedrooms and the counter between their kitchen and living room had crumbled into combusting mounds. The air ran thick with smoke, blurring the apartment into a pastel smear through her tears. She swiped them clean and ducked low, screaming Ron's name.

"Ron? Where are you?" Kim coughed in the smoky heat. A panicked part of her cried indignantly that she didn't know if Ron had been there for the blast, but conventional Team Possible luck told her otherwise. Regardless, she couldn't leave until she knew either way. "Ron, where are you?" wheezed Kim.

A wall of flame between her and the bedrooms daunted Kim. She marched toward it, ignoring the tremendous heat and the splintering cracks the old roof warned her with. As she crossed the living room, tiny squeals of fear teased her ears through the fire's malevolent roar. Kim turned to a mound of fire splayed out next to the wall, and recognized it at once as the cabinet Yori had left them, tipped onto its front. Its hard wood resisted the inferno, but would not do so for long. And as she stared into its flames, she heard the squeal again, this time for certain.

"Hold on!" shouted Kim. She spun in place, looking for anything to help fight the fire from the cabinet's back, or tip it over, or find another way to open it. Nothing but blaze surrounded her. Smoke stole the sense from her head, leaving it light, heightening her urgency. Darkness spilled into her vision's edge, resolving her dizzy decision.

Praying for the best, Kim plunged her foot into the flaming cabinet with a roar. Searing pain lanced through her leg as her foot penetrated the cabinet. She felt something soft and motionless catch her foot on the other side, across a million miles of agony. She yanked her foot out of the fire and fell back, coughing, crying, slapping the fires on her leg silent, and hoping that whatever she had felt was still alive.

A pink blur sprang out of the cabinet's hole and onto Kim's stomach, where it clung to her tank top and wailed. She held the terrified mole rat close and choked, "Rufus, are you okay? Where's Ron?"

An inhuman howl split the cabinet's broken back. It erupted into a geyser of glowing splinters, with Ron Stoppable at its core, covered in burns and patches of fire as he collapsed at Kim's feet. She fell atop him, beating the smaller flames from his body as he pressed his face into her chest, heaving guttural breaths in and out.

"Ron," Kim shouted in his ear, coughing. "Ron, it's me! It's Kim!"

His fingers dug painfully at her sides as he looked up with feral panic behind his tears. But the look evaporated when his eyes met hers, and he mouthed two familiar letters that filled her with hope. Then Ron sagged against her midsection, mumbling the letters over and over.

Kim reached down and snagged Ron's arm and leg. "C'mon, Rufus," she said. Rufus skittered down her shirt front and dove into her pocket, tugging its flap closed behind him. Bending further, she hefted Ron onto her shoulders in one jerky motion. The added bulk nearly brought her to her knees. "Cripes, Ron," she grunted, gagging on a cinder. "I think I'd prefer your baby fat to all this muscle right now."

She staggered back toward the broken door. Halfway there, the ceiling made good on its creaky warnings, giving way to a torrential stream of fiery debris that plunged into their path. Kim swore and screamed and railed at the insurmountable blockade to no avail. The fire fed off her anger, growing as if to spite her.

With nowhere left to go, Kim turned back and trudged deeper into the apartment. Her hopes sank fast, but then lifted when she caught sight of the blown-out window. She stumbled across the waning snatches of unscorched floor while her whirling mind recalled the line of cars parked in front of their building.

"S'hot," Ron murmured in her ear. "Turrna headown."

Kim's body wracked with deep coughing. The hellish inferno around them melted together behind tears she couldn't wipe away for fear of dropping Ron. Unable to trust her eyes, she let memory guide her to the gaping hole in the wall, sobbing each time she wandered too close to the deadly flames. The blackness ate the edges of her vision, which swam with blurry dawn. Wisps of a cool breeze kissed her face, and she wheezed, "I hope Mister Weinberg hasn't moved that VW van of his."

Summoning the last of her strength, Kim threw herself out of the hole. Ron fell by her side, guided by her questionable judgment into the open air. Cool freshness flew past her burns, pulled the tears from her eyes, and swept the smoky air from her lungs. For one brief instant, the world became crystal clear; Kim saw Ron twisting beside her, and pulled him close. Then she felt a terrible blow, and heard the screech of metal compacting beneath her. Then, darkness.

Kim Possible
The Power of Friendship

by Cyberwraith9

"You are such a spaz."

Ronnie Stoppable gave his best friend a pained look. "Will you just give it a rest?" he shot at Kimmie. The pillow propping him up sighed as he flopped back. He folded his arms and stared pointedly between the posts at the foot of his bed. A pout rested on his lips, one he knew would flee if it caught sight of the smirk on Kimmie's face, and he wanted to stay peeved at her for as long as possible. Being dizzy and nauseous with painkillers helped in that respect.

Bemusement whistled through Kimmie's teeth in a hissing laugh. "I'm sorry," she said, not sorry in the least. "But you are." Her knuckles rapped on the itchy cast wrapped around his leg, before his flailing hand chased them away. "I mean, how many kids jump off the roof because they think they can fly?"

"Lots," said Ronnie, sneering.

"Okay." Kimmie spoke with the maddening patience of someone who knew without a doubt that she was right. "And how many people our age do it?"

Thought trudged through Ronnie's mind, turning to indignant puffing as it reached his face. "Not so lots," he admitted. Crimson laced his scrunched cheeks.

She nodded, and leaned against his bedside. Her bright eyes devoured the coarse casing of his leg with ravenous curiosity. "I hope you learned a lesson," she said.

Glum, he nodded too. "Yeah. That the good people at Cubix Box and Packaging need to design a better, more aerodynamic cardboard."

"Or," she suggested, "That cardboard makes for poor wings."

"Yeah, yeah," he jeered. "And knowing is half the battle. I get it, okay?" Ronnie moaned and tore the pillow out from behind him. He smothered his face with the flat of the pillow, clutching at its edges. "This sucks," he said. "Now I don't get to go to camp. Mom says I gotta wait next year for Wannaweep. My whole summer's down the tubes."

"Bitter much?" Kimmie teased. "Relax. There'll be plenty of other summers." She reached down and pulled a book bag from under her seat. Its straining zipper groaned as she opened the bag, revealing a host of battered boxes and sheaves of dog-eared paper. "Look, I brought a bunch of board games we could do, and some other junk. Videos, too."

"Humph," sniffed Ronnie, lifting his nose to her bag. "I don't feel like playing 'bored' games."

"It's just until you feel up to leaving the house," insisted Kimmie. "Then we can go outside again."

He scalded her with an incredulous look. "Hello? You leave for cheer camp tomorrow." Downcast, he added, "An' I'll be stuck here. With my parents."

Kimmie struck the sad from his face with a scoff. "Like I'd leave you by yourself like this?" she said. "You're helpless enough when you're healthy. Who knows what'd happen if I left now? You'd probably break your back, or something." Kimmie dug through the bag, producing a box of markers. She pulled a fat, black marker from the box, and said, "Now, let's sign your cast."

"You…you aren't going?" asked Ronnie in a quiet voice. "But you've been talking nonstop about—"

"So not the drama," Kimmie said, cutting him off. She kept her eyes locked on his cast, pretending to consider what to write, but Ronnie could see the disappointment glinting in her eyes, still fresh and stinging. After a moment, she said, "I'm cool with it. Just…" And she looked up, giving him a slight smile. "Just don't break anything next summer, okay?"

Ronnie smiled. "Deal."

She nodded smartly. "Okay then. Now…" And she proceeded to draw a big K-P atop his leg, so large and extravagant that no one could possibly miss it.

His dreams evaporated into ether, taking with them any meaning or memory he might have garnered from them. They left in their wake a blank, stark ceiling, accompanied by the soft pip of machinery and the smell of sickly antiseptics. The transition was difficult for him, but soon enough he accustomed himself to his waking senses, chasing the last vestiges of the dream from his mind in favor of this new reality.

Question formed at his lips as he lifted his head from a brick-like pillow to examine the featureless white walls around him, but he hadn't the voice to speak them. Instead, he let his gaze dart about, searching for any sign of what had happened. His heart pounded with a primal sense of fear, and the mechanical pip sped accordingly. Glancing to his side, he saw a set of machines and fluid bags mounted at his side, with tubing snaking from their underbellies to a band on his wrist, where they disappeared into his arm.

Hospital. The word entered his mind, but brought with it no comfort. Instead, snatches of the moments prior to his memory blackout returned in full force, terrifying him with images of flashing steel and snippets of hooting laughter. The pip of his heartbeat accelerated. His eyes lolled about the endless white of the room, panicked, until they came across a flash of color at rest at the foot of his bed.

Ron sat up with a gasp, locking his eyes on the scarlet pooled atop his sheets. The frazzled ball of hair rested atop folded arms, with shoulders behind it that rose and fell at an even rate. As his movement shifted the bedding about, the red rolled aside, revealing a closed eye dancing beneath its lid atop the arms, with lips beneath it that mumbled sleepy nonsense. His heartbeat slowed, his breathing ceased, as he stared at the beautiful creature camped at his feet.

The room's only door squeaked open, admitting another flash of red into the room atop the creamy folds of a clean, white coat. Ron welcome the color in the drab room, and felt the knot in his chest loosen at the smile beneath the cropped, carroty crown of his new visitor. "So," Missus Possible said in a warm tone, "He awakens."

Ron tried to rise, struggling to put voice to his sluggish thoughts. "D…Doctor P?" he asked.

Missus Possible strode to Ron's bedside. Her hand pressed Ron back into his pillow, and she gave him a no-nonsense look. "If you try to get out of this bed again," she told him, "I will sedate you with the biggest needle I can find. Understood?" She plucked a clipboard from the end of his bed and produced a pen.

"Where…?" Pressure throbbed between Ron's temples, a buildup of question that his raw throat could not expel fast enough. He winced and clutched at his head, trying to sit up.

She pressed him back down, and then set about scribbling figures and notes taken from the readouts at his bedside. "You're in the hospital," she said. The clipboard returned to its hook on his bed, replaced with a small flashlight she fished out of her pocket. She peeled his eyes open and flashed the light in each eye. Whatever she saw in them seemed to satisfy her, for she pocketed the light, and then set about feeling around Ron's scalp and throat. "Your apartment exploded this morning," she explained. "I don't know much beyond that, except that you're in perfect health."

Ron's memory burned with the red numbers of a countdown. He recalled diving into Yori's dragon cabinet and slamming the door behind him. The world of his memory shook and blazed, and then… "Kim!" he cried. "Rufus!" He tried to bolt up, only to be bounced back down by Missus Possible's firm hand. "Are they—"

"Both fine," she assured him. Ron's quickened breath eased down as Missus Possible smiled at her slumbering daughter. Her hand plumbed the depths of her white coat again, this time producing a small pile of pink putty, which she poured into Ron's grateful grasp. The tiny ooze stirred softly before melting in the palm of his hand, curling around his thumb with a sigh. "There's nothing wrong with either of you medically, aside from some mild exhaustion and dehydration." With a flash of annoyance, she added to the insensate Kim, "Which is the only reason she isn't in a bed too."

A grateful sigh eased Ron back into his bed. He set the sleeping Rufus at his side and murmured, "Thank God."

Missus Possible drew a chair up to his bedside, sitting with a nod. "Mmm. Strangest thing, really. Usually, when people are in a fire, there's burn trauma to deal with, respiratory damage from smoke inhalation…but you two are totally fine."

Her over-casual tone put Ron on edge. "Um…thank God?" he said again.

"Which is very odd," she continued. "The EMTs that arrived on scene to pull you two out of that van's roof said you were both dreadfully injured." A faux-thoughtful look furrowed her brow. "They had the most outlandish tale to tell. It seems that, on the way here, a strange red light enveloped you both, and started healing you. What was it they said?" She rapped a knuckle against her chin, sucking in a breath. "Like watching a film in reverse." Missus Possible leveled her eyes at Ron, and said, "Isn't that odd?"

"I, uh…" Sweat beaded on the back of Ron's neck. An apprehensive lump clogged his throat, garbling his words. "I guess you'd be a mite curious about that, huh?" He flexed his hand, searching for any spark of the power Missus Possible described, but felt none. He would have gladly explained to her the mystic predicament he found himself in if it meant having his old power again, but none came at his internal summons, try though he might.

Missus Possible kept him trapped with a strange look. But her inescapable baby blues swung away from him, turning instead to the cherubic face nestled in Ron's sheets. "Someday," she murmured. "But not today." Her fingers combed through the crimson tangle atop her daughter's head. The serenity written into Kim's tired features drew a smile out of Ron, while her mother said, "Today, I'll just be grateful that both of you are all right."

The spell between mother and daughter reached out and captured Ron, holding his eyes captive on Kim's peaceful countenance. His breathing unconsciously matched hers. "How long has she been here?" he asked in a hush, loath to break the spell.

"As long as you have," Missus Possible said. "You've been asleep almost an entire day. I tried to get her to leave, just so she could get some rest, but…" Her lips quirked. "Well, let's just say that one of my orderlies received a black eye and a lesson in when to bend the rules on visiting hours."

The conversation stilled as they sat and watched Kim slumber. Her eyelids flickered with the excitement of a dream unseen. Whatever her dreams, they curved her lips. Ron wished he were the source of that smile, all the while remembering that he wasn't. 'How could someone so gorgeous give me so much grief?' he thought with a smirk. 'She's like an angel…'

"Things have been rough for you two this past week, haven't they?" asked Missus Possible. The question caught Ron unawares. His smirk dissolved, but he remained silent. "You know," she said uneasily, "I've meant to thank you for a long time now." The smirk that fled from his face found hers, and bore warmth upon Kim in a tender kiss to her cheek. "It's not the sort of thing that comes up in everyday conversation, but…" Her hand ran through Kim's silken strands once more. "You've brought so much love into Kim's life."

Ron considered the object of his consternation. "Sometimes," he said softly, "I think things would have been a lot easier if I never met her. I can't help that. But I couldn't imagine my life without her if I tried. She just…" He paused, biting his lip. "She makes me feel better than I am. Like I could do anything, just because she's there." Looking down, Ron confessed, "How could I not…?'

Missus Possible laid a hand atop Ron's, drawing his eyes back up. Her gentle smile struck him dumb. "That's nice too," she said, "But that isn't what I meant." With a gentle squeeze, she told him, "You've given Kim someone she can love."

"I…I'm not…" stammered Ron.

She shook her head. "Trust me," said Missus Possible, "It's there. You've both lived with it your entire lives. You don't see it anymore. But I do, in a thousand little things."

He drew his legs to his chest, careful not to disturb the sheets lest he wake Kim. His chin rested atop his knee as he wrapped his arms around his legs and leaned forward. "Like what things?" he muttered.

Gloom persisted while a motherly hand ruffled his hair. "The way you laugh together," she said with a serene smirk. "The way you look at each other. The way you talk to each…" Her serenity dropped at his short, disbelieving laugh. "What?" she asked.

Ron shook his head. "Nothing," he said. "It's just that someone else told me almost the exact same thing. I thought he was lying."

Soft lips grazed his forehead, melting his sardonic misery. "Hear it once, and it's a lie," Missus Possible murmured. "Hear it twice, it's a coincidence. How many more times do you think it'd take until it becomes truth, Ron?"

The pressure in Ron's head ceased as his eyes returned to Kim. "I guess it all depends on who says it," said Ron.

"Smart boy," Missus Possible said. She stood, and straightened her jacket before turning toward the door. "I have to go. There's a whole hospital of people in a lot worse condition than you. But remember," she warned him with waggling finger, "If you even think of getting out of that bed…"

He held his hands up in surrender. "I know, I know, you'll stick me. Tranqs a lot, Doc." Then his smile lost its wry, and he added, "Seriously. Thank you."

She gave him a nod. Then, halfway through the open door, she paused, and turned back. "Being loved is one of the best feelings in the world, Ron," she told him. "But loving someone? Nothing can compare to that. Maybe that's why I'm so grateful Kim has you." With a knowing wink, she slipped through the door, closing it behind her.

Ron sat in silent dialogue with himself. The gentle sound of Kim's breathing kept each notion marching in time as they entered his mind. He stared, captivated by the rise and fall of her shoulders, the curling sweep of her hair across his bed. Everything else in the room vanished, leaving him alone with Kim and his thoughts.

"What's so special about Kim Possible," he muttered. A deluge of answers flooded his thoughts. "Okay, okay," he said, beating back the flood, and amended, "So what isn't so special about her?" Another wave of answers came to him, smaller, more manageable than the first. A million tiny irritations dripped into individual thoughts—the way she bossed him around, the way she took forever getting ready to go out, the way nothing was ever good enough for her—and he found, to no surprise, that he didn't care about any of them.

Ron stretched his hand out, hoping to find answers in Kim's soft cheek. She shifted at his touch, reaching out to snag his hand and draw it to the crook of her neck. There, she cuddled against it. Her smile doubled.

His thoughts all drained away, replaced by borrowed warmth that seeped from Kim into every nook of his being. "You," he murmured to her, "Are a major pain. But Mon's right; I can't lie about it." He brushed an errant lock of hair from her face, musing aloud, "I guess the real question is, do I love you enough to let you go?" But he already knew the answer to that, too, and it put a sad smile on his face.

Thinking of Kim's true love dredged up more details from his blackout. Josh's cries called to him, begging for help. "KP," whispered Ron, "You gotta wake up." He shook her gently, but she refused to abandon her slumber. She twisted away from his nudges, keeping her grip locked on his hand.

With tender fingers, Ron reached down and pinched her nostrils shut. Kim snorted a moment, then jerked awake with a wild gasp. When she laid eyes on his sad smile, she leapt forward and crushed him into her embrace. "Ron!" she cried, burying her face in the nape of his neck. "Oh my God, you're okay. You're okay. Thank God you're okay."

"I won't be if you—urk!" The creak of his spine urged Kim off of him before she broke him in two. "Good to see you too," he croaked after a few deep breaths. "Feels like you're your old self again."

Her arms slid around him again, this time with restraint. Ron flinched as she sidled up next to him. The warmth of her body gave him chills through his thin hospital gown. "You are so lucky," she said into his shoulder. "If you'd've died, you would be in so much trouble."

Ron felt himself returning the hug on reflex. He patted her on the back and did his best to ignore the scent of strawberries teasing him from her red mane. "Guess I'm the luckiest guy in the world," he said into the heavenly locks, feeling anything but. "Nobody causes trouble like Kim Possible."

She said nothing, only hugged him harder. Ron closed his eyes and felt his own arms tighten around her. The curve of her body fit perfectly with his, and he could feel her lips resting on his bare neck. Her breath rolled across his skin, calling goose bumps to its surface. All of it, in Ron's opinion, proved without a doubt the absence of any justice in their world.

But he would not lie to himself any longer. "KP," he mumbled, pulling her back, "There's something I have to tell you."

"Me too," she breathed.

He shook his head, insisting, "No, Kim, you…you have to listen."

Kim balked at his hardened face, losing her joy in favor of trepidation. "Ron, is everything…what's wrong?"

"It…It's about Josh."

The door burst open, clapping against the wall and shocking the teens apart. Rufus leapt from his slumber with a squeal as a trinity of Stoppables stormed in with panicked fury, slamming into Ron's bed. They nearly unseated Kim as they took turns hugging and fussing over Ron.

"Oh, my poor baby!" wailed Missus Stoppable, crushing Ron's head to her chest. She sobbed joyful tears into her son's matted hair, which she favored with a hail of kisses. "My little man is alive!"

Kim smiled at Ron's blush as his mother bawled her happiness all over him. "Family moment," she muttered, and backed away. "I'd better…" At his desperate look, she mouthed the word, 'Later,' and gave him a tiny wave.

Uncle Don shoved his brother aside and knelt beside his nephew. As Kim slipped through the door, she heard Don ask, "Ronald, are you all right? Anything broken? Everything okay?"

"I think so," Ron replied between motherly smooches.

Kim chuckled as she shut the door. Through the closing crack, she heard Don say, "Good. Then you'll be fit to work the rest of your life to pay me back for blowing up MY BUILDING!"

Dementor's steps echoed off high ceilings as he crossed his inner sanctum at a furious pace. Broken tile crunched beneath his boot, but he hardly noticed. The shambles of his once-great fortress had scabbed over in his heart, helped along by the anticipation of their Legion's impending success. Buildings could be rebuilt. Armies could be gathered again. But at the moment, Dementor was concerned with the high-pitched whine of machinery coming from outside that had awoken him.

"Dummkopfs," he grumbled, straightening his helmet. The hallway doors squealed aside, clearing his way to the twinkling dawn that painted the ground outside the sanctum's entrance. "They are sorely testing my patience."

Daylight parted for his broad shoulders to squeeze out of the stuck, half-ajar gateway of the sanctum. The mechanical screech that had stirred him was louder, undiluted, and didn't take but a moment to discover its source. He gritted his teeth against its resonance in his helmet and strode forward. The fury in his veins came to a boil.

"What is this?" bellowed Dementor to the sleek aircraft parked in his courtyard. "My Egressor Vehicular Assault Craft? Where…How…Put that down!"

The long line of Drakken's henchmen paused a moment, halting the train of boxes and components that were destined for the cargo platform lowered from the jet's smooth underbelly. Dementor puffed, watching them lean against everything of value left in his lair and stare at him with dopey goggles. Then, chuckling, they returned to their work, stacking the crates atop the pallet.

"Ah, Professor," Drakken's voice smarmed from behind him. "I thought you were still asleep. Hope we didn't wake you." Dementor whirled about to face him. A fresh look of pride and excitement waited for him in Drakken's face. Even the mad scientist's eyes gleamed with the promise of a new day, his day. "Careful," said Drakken, and eased Dementor aside to make way for a pair of henchmen and the large crate they carried between them. "Busy morning, quite a lot to do. You understand."

Dementor's eyes jumped from crate to crate. They spied several unboxed components sitting on the EVAC's cargo pallet and recognized them at once. "My Entropy Cannon! What have you done to it?" he screeched.

Sarcastic scorn whistled from Drakken's nose. "Disassembled it, obviously. You don't expect us to move it intact to our new site, do you?"

"What new—"

"Middleton," said Drakken. He swept Dementor aside again to allow the Cannon's long, ringed barrel to be loaded onto the pallet. "Not the most strategically important city in America, I know. But I think it's important for your work to reflect some personal interests. Don't you agree?"

Dementor threw Drakken's arm from his shoulders. Livid red shone from the slits in his helmet, beaming pure hat into his rival's blasé smile. "And when were you going to tell me about this relocation?" he demanded.

With a smile, Drakken answered, "Why, never. But then, you're smart. You figured that out already."

A howl split the air between them as Dementor tore his jacket front open. He yanked the ray gun holstered at his shoulder free and thrust its barrel at Drakken's head. Its ovoid end trembled with fury, and rattled in his glove. "You insufferable wretch," he hissed. The words barely escaped his choking rage. "How dare you…"

"Oh, honestly," yawned Drakken. He stared down the end of Dementor's gun, and plucked a piece of lint from its tip. "You can't tell me that you didn't see this coming."

Dementor's eyes narrowed. "Your betrayal is no surprise," he said. "But that you would do nothing to disguise it…It disgusts me. It insults me." He paused, eyeing the steady creases around Drakken's smile. Behind them, the henchmen hadn't paused in the least at the power struggle; they continued loading the plane, hardly giving the two scientists a second glance. Scowling, Dementor asked, "You have an alternate facility to move the operation to?"

Drakken nodded. "Prime real estate for threatening the Tri-City area with a doomsday weapon."

"The others are already at this facility?"

"Shego and Killigan are getting it out of mothballs now," Drakken explained. "I sent Monkey Fist on an errand for me. He's meeting us there."

Craning his stumpy neck, Dementor watched the henchmen finish the last of the loading. They loitered around the lowered hatch of the plane, watching their employer stare down the end of Dementor's gun without blinking. Dementor's scowl became a sneer as he said, "The Cannon appears to be intact, if disassembled. The plans have all been set into motion. They just need someone to oversee it all."

"So it would seem," Drakken agreed cheerfully.

Dementor's sneer grew. He pressed the ray gun into Drakken's ribs, but the jab did nothing to Drakken's serene smile. "Then you have outlived your usefulness," Dementor told him. "I think it is time a real intellect took the helm of your fool legion."

A ponderous hum rumbled in Drakken's throat. "And that intellect is you?" he asked in a bored tone.

"I despise you, Lipsky," snarled Dementor. "Everything about you mocks what I stand for. You parade around, flaunting your faux intellect. You are a disgrace to our noble craft, and I will enjoy snuffing your miserable existence out with my own hand."

"That would be ducky," said Drakken, "If it weren't for two things."

Dementor's finger mashed down on the trigger. His gun gave a pathetic cough in lieu of the concentrated stream of death he had designed it to deliver.

"Firstly," explained Drakken, as Dementor slammed the butt of his pistol against his palm, "I was smart enough to sap the charge out of that popgun of yours."

A blow caught Dementor from behind, rattling his head inside his helmet. He fell to the ground, dazed. Drakken's face loomed over his, soon joined by a second, more handsome face that wore a sneer identical to the first's. Twin boots lifted over Dementor's eyes and fell, crushing his helmet front and casting his world into painful blackness.

"And second," Drakken said to his insensate foe, "I was smart enough to make backup." He slapped the shoulder of his young assistant, ruffling his combed locks into a frazzle with fatherly delight. "Well done," he said to the young man. "That's something I wanted to do for quite some time now."

The handsome teen swept his hair back into place, wearing a sinister smile on his lips. "Thanks, dad," he said, and straightened the lines of his red jumpsuit.

Drakken started for the EVAC, beckoning for his assistant to follow. "Come along, Nine-Zero-One," he called. "We have a long trip ahead of us. And after that, I have a job for you."

The synthodrone fell into step behind his creator. "What's that?" he asked.

Drakken answered his drone's silent hopes with one sweet, beautiful word: "Payback."

To Be Continued