All-Purpose Disclaimer
Kim Possible is a registered trademark of Disney, Inc. All rights, properties, and themes are retained therein. Any use of copyrighted material is done so without profit, and falls within the boundary of Fair Use law. All original ideas and concepts contained in the following work are the creative property of its author, and are not to be used without prior and express permission.
What? You were expecting something funny?
The doorbell hadn't finished its cheery jingle before the Stoppables' front door jerked open. Kimmie started back as a worried Norwegian countenance appeared around the door's edge, followed close by arms that ushered her in before she could stammer out a hello.
"Oh, thank you for coming so quickly, Kim," Missus Stoppable muttered, pushing Kimmie through the hall and into the kitchen. She nearly knocked Kimmie over when the girl tried to stop to remove her shoes. "We're in an awful bind."
Kimmie eyeballed her best friend's mother with trepidation. It was strange enough that she hadn't heard from Ronnie since his homecoming. But to be invited over by Missus Stoppable, and not Ronnie? "I, uh, I'll help any way I can, Missus Stoppable."
Spicy air greeted the women as they entered the kitchen. Kimmie's curiosity grew when she saw Ron's father moping at the table with a Bueno Nacho bag at his elbow. He perked up at the sight of the redhead, enough so to pull his head from the tabletop. "She's here. Thank goodness," he muttered.
"We're sorry to put you out," said Missus Stoppable, interrupting Kimmie's question, "But we don't know what else to do."
"You see, Ron just got back from camp the day before yesterday," Mister Stoppable explained.
"He was supposed to meet me at Bueno Nacho and tell me all about it," Kimmie blurted, afraid of being interrupted again. "He never showed."
The uncomfortable look that crossed between the adults pushed Kimmie's curiosity into full-fledged worry. "Ron had a…rough time at camp," Mister Stoppable explained. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down. "When he started calling us daily, begging to come home, I…well, I figured he was just homesick."
Tears dribbled from Missus Stoppable's eyes. "He locked himself in his room as soon as he came home," she sobbed. "He won't come down. Not for us, not for meals…"
"We think he's sneaking down at night to raid the fridge," said Mister Stoppable. "So at least he's not starving." The silver lining failed to quell his wife's muted wails, so he turned to Kimmie with a pleading look. "Kim, please," he said, sliding the pungent bag of Mexican food her way. "Lord knows Ron doesn't listen to us, but he always seems to listen to you."
"Please," Missus Stoppable sniveled, dabbing her eyes, "Please fix my baby boy."
Kimmie took the bag, using it to mask the odd look she gave the adults. She slipped out of the room without further comment and made for the stairs. The trip to Ronnie's room brought new and terrifying possibilities with each step. By the time she reached his door, she wondered if he'd still have arms.
"Ron?" called Kimmie. Her knuckles rapped against the floral print on his door. "Ron, I know you're in there. Can I come in?" When no answer came, she rustled the bag near his keyhole. "I brought some burritos."
She could hear his mouth watering through the door. One long moment of indecision later, she heard a meek, "Come in."
The door squeaked at Kimmie's entrance into the darkened room. She stepped over the headless corpse of a stuffed monkey, shutting the door behind her, and picked her way across the cluttered floor. The drapes were drawn tight. When Kimmie reached for a lamp, a terrible clamor rose up from the tent of sheets sitting atop Ronnie's bed. "Don't! I…prefer the dark."
"Oh-kay," said Kimmie, lowering her hand. She sat at the edge of the bed, near the mouth of the tent. As soon as she let the bag of burritos drift too close, a hand shot out of the tent flap and snatched it away from her. "So what's the deal with Camp Naptime here?" she asked the tent over the sound of its scarfing.
A belch rattled its sheets. Empty wrappers tumbled out the flap on a putrid wind before Kimmie heard him say, "I'm not comin' out, so don't even bother."
Kimmie fanned the noxious odor away. "I just wanted to know why you're in there," she said. Manufacturing her best hurt tone, she added, "It must be pretty important to blow off your bee-eff-eff over."
Her syrupy words played Ronnie with practiced care. "Sorry, KP," he said mournfully. "I just…I can't go out there. I can't."
"Why? Did a bear maul your face, or something?" Kimmie tugged at the hem of his tent, only to have her hands slapped away and her efforts negated. The tent clutched itself shut from the inside with every intent to stay that way. "C'mon, Ron. Whatever it is, it can't be that bad."
"It?" A bitter laugh shook his tent. "If it was just an 'it,' I'd be fine. No, my naïve young friend," he said, missing the roll of Kimmie's eyes, "It was 'they.' Or 'them.' I dunno, I got a 'D' in English. But it was a lot of stuff!"
"Ron…"
The tent flap shrunk from her entreating hand. She thought she saw a flash of bloodshot brown in its gap, but the color came and went too fleetingly to be certain. "Wannaweep showed me a lot, KP. It taught me that only the strong survive in that big, scary world out there." In a small voice, he added, "And I'm not strong enough."
Kimmie gave up trying to pry the bed sheets open. "Ron, you're being stupid," she said. "You're plenty strong. Now quit cowering in your bed!"
"Oh, it's easy for you," Ronnie's dismembered voice shot. "You're brave, and popular, and smart, an' pretty too. You can do anything. I can't."
She blinked. "You think I'm pretty?" she asked.
Ronnie balked, shaking the bed with his squirming. "No. Maybe. Shut up." With a sigh, he said, "Look, the point is, I just can't go out there. The world lives to pick off small fries like me, so I'm just going to hide here until the world goes away, m'kay?"
Kimmie tapped her chin, lost in thought. "So, let me get this straight. You think I've got something you don't, and that means you can't come out of your bed." Pausing to let it all sink in, she decided, "That's dumb."
"Rub it in, why don'cha."
A deep sigh rattled her chest. "Okay, fine. I'll tell you what; How about you hang around me until you feel like it's safe enough to go outside again." She felt ridiculous, but if it would get him to come out…
Time trudged by in tedious ticks as Ronnie's tent pondered her offer silently. At long last, his trembling voice emerged to ask, "You won't…you won't let anything happen to me? 'Cause there's a lot of…"
The thick fear in his voice melted the cynicism iced around Kimmie's heart. She laid her hand next to the flap and leaned close. "Stick with me, Ron. Whatever it is you think you need, I've got enough for the both of us."
Another long pause came and went. "Okay," he stammered. "I'm comin' out."
Kimmie readied her most dazzling smile as the tent rustled and collapsed around Ronnie. That smile dissolved into pure horror upon first sight of what remained of her best friend. "Holy crap!" she cried without thinking.
Ronnie scratched at his puffy, lumpy, beet-red skin where the thick white bandages covering him would allow. Bug bites littered his body in such droves that they easily outnumbered his freckles. If not for the wiry, cowlicked blond scrub at his crown, Kim might have mistaken him for a half-mummified Elephant Man.
"That bad?" Ronnie asked miserably. Poking at the bandages on his neck, he said, "The monkey bites were the worst. I had to get rabies shots."
'Monkey bites?' thought Kimmie, forcing the shock off of her features. "N-no," she said, sliding back. "You can hardly rash…I mean, tell."
"Thanks," he said, scratching. Though his voice was wry, his eyes melted like brown butter. "And thanks, KP," he said again, more sincere this time.
She pressed him back when he tried to wrap his arms around her. "No big," she assured him. "Now, let's go find you some ointment…a lot of ointment."
Kim
Possible
The
Power of Friendship
by Cyberwraith9
The bars of her hastily-erected cell did nothing to protect Missus Possible from the hateful eyes burning into her body, making her feel injured and unclean at the same time. She, like her husband, and the rest of the scientists and personnel caught in the observatory during Drakken's attack, had nowhere to go. The two perpendicular rows of bars kept them trapped in a corner of the facility's storage basement with no toilet, no beds, or features of any kind. They simply milled about like cattle under those hateful eyes, which now traveled up and down Missus Possible's slim figure.
"Ach, you're quite a catch for a woman o' your years," Duff Killigan said. The thick red bush beneath his leer split into a wicked smile. "It's easy t' see where th' wee lass gets her looks from." The driver gripped in his hand tapped rhythmically into his open palm.
Mister Possible stepped up behind his wife, glaring at the golfer as he gripped her shoulders. "That 'wee lass' is going to knock the stuffing out of you, mister," he snapped. "And I'll thank you not to give my wife backhanded compliments."
"James," Missus Possible whispered, patting his hand. "It's all right. I'll handle this." The soft gaze she comforted her husband with became a tempest of dark aqua, rimmed with a ginger scowl. "My daughter is on her way right now to pound the daylights out of you and your hairy knuckle-dragger friend," she shot at him. The temperature in the cell dropped ten degrees as she added, "And if you set one toe in this cell in the meantime, I'll kick you so hard, you'll have to wait for a second puberty if you ever want them to drop again."
Killigan brayed with laughter right in her face while her husband goggled her with wide, shocked eyes. "Oh, tha's a firebrand you got there," he told Mister Possible. "I'll bet she's a real feisty one in—"
"Killigan," a regal voice called from across the basement, "Cease your useless prattle. That woman will silence you before I even get the chance."
A sour look spoiled Killigan's smile. He rattled the bars of the cage with his driver one last time before waddling across the room to Monkey Fist and his circle of disciples. Their meditative ring had bored Killigan for hours, and showed no signs of stopping. "Ach," groaned the golfer, "Can I nae have a wee bit o' fun? You an' your flea-bitten lemurs just sit there while Drakken an' the scary lass have all th' fun upstairs. We're stuck in th' basement, an' all you can do is chant over those smelly ol' rocks."
The artifacts in question sat atop the open Tome of the Phantom Monkey, twinkling in the weak florescent light. Monkey Fist's loving hands had strung fragments of the Jade Idols onto the Pendant of the Monkey King. A clunky necklace, it sat atop the ancient tome, whose words rippled like living water.
"These 'smelly rocks' hold more power than a thousand of those brutish bludgeons of yours," said Monkey Fist. He opened his eyes long enough to sneer at the artillery strung from Killigan's waist and back, and then returned his closed-eye concentration to the ancient power in his lotus'd lap. "Patience would serve you well, Scotsman."
Killigan laughed. "You an' yours have sat and chanted around those bauble for days now. What makes you think—"
Light cut Killigan to the quick, flaring to life from the hand-lettered pages of the book to bathe his disbelief in the color of blood. Eyes closed, Monkey Fist smiled, basking in his efforts. His monkey ninjas hooted and shrieked as the text swirled around the necklace in a blur of red. More text surfaced from pages beneath as the spinning words siphoned into the necklace, whirling faster and faster, kicking up an unnatural wind that threatened to knock the cap from Killigan's head.
In an instant eternity, the last of the words flew into the necklace, leaving the ancient tome barren. Fist's necklace glowed softly as he lifted it from the blank pages, its green now crimson. "The powers are one. The union is complete. And with it," he said, gazing in awe upon his handiwork, "My transformation into the true Monkey Master."
"Really?" asked Killigan, eyeballing the lumpy necklace. "Well, slap it on, an' let's see wha' all the fuss is about."
Monkey Fist yanked the necklace away from his grubby touch. "Such an event is not meant to be tawdry entertainment, Golfer. When the moment comes…"
The walkie-talkie at Killigan's waist squawked, and said in Drakken's voice, "Killigan! Fist! I do believe we have some uninvited guests. All ninjas report upstairs for a reception. All golfers should remain to keep an eye on our prisoners."
Disappointment sagged in Killigan's beard while Fist and his entourage rose from the floor. "I's no' fair," he said to their backs. "You get t' rumble with th' lass an' her dippit while I baby-sit?"
In the lead, Monkey Fist paused at the foot of the stairs. He looked back with a curious humor, and said, "If you were Kim Possible, and you were storming our gates, would you be thinking of anything else besides getting your parents back?"
The thought brightened Killigan's outlook. "You jus' might have someth'n' there, Hairball."
"Farewell, Scotsman," said Monkey Fist. He rolled his eyes after turning back to the stairs to start his ascent.
The Observatory possessed a state-of-the-art security system to start with, complete with watchful cameras whose electronic eyes saw all inside or out of the tall, domed complex. Under its new, evil administration, more cameras had been added to watch the service road, the only access to the mountain-dwelling building.
The complex's new administrator stood in its security office, watching on monitors what those new cameras saw. It was hard to make out through the haze of a fresh rain, but there in black and white, a motorcycle raced up the dirt road, carrying with it two passengers. Helmeted and clad in black riding suits, they clung to their bouncing steed as it burned a straight path up the steep and treacherous road. The sight of the riders made the 'administrator' smile.
"Well, well," crowed Drakken, "Perhaps our gold is being delivered by some special messengers?"
Shego glared at the televised duo from her place at Drakken's side. The sight of the shapelier rider at the bike's rear made her bandaged nose ache. "Yeah. Motorcycles and teenage vigilantes handle gold transfers all the time." She glanced left and right, suppressing a shudder at the soulless syntho-drones stuffed into the security room with them. "You want me to take some of your overgrown action figures and meet them outside?"
"No need," said Drakken, turning away from the monitors. He swept out of the room, followed close by Shego and the drones. "I have a surprise or two for her before she gets to the front door. Tell Fist and his little helper monkeys to wait for them there, and then join me up by the Cannon." More quietly, he added, "Let's just see what she plans to do."
The two riders leaned forward on their bike, tinted visors glued to the building a few hundred yards ahead. Though they bobbed with every bounce of the road, their hands and feet stuck fast to their ride. Clouds above rained fat, heavy drops upon their approach in great sheets, soaking and slicking the slope beneath them, and caused their bike to swerve.
From the rocks that lined the road rose opposing rows of syntho-drones, their outlines haloed in the rain. Dark staffs flipped in unison in their grasps, alighted at their ends with deadly plasma. Taking aim, the syntho-drones peppered the pair and their cycle with blazing bolts of red.
The brave black bike and its riders swerved between the bolts. Jets of steam leapt from the ground wherever the shots went wide, joining with the mud thrown into the air in the bike's wake. Despite its dodging, the plucky motorcycle took several hits to its fuselage. Its charge faltered, and it skidded a moment, smoking. In its hesitation, two more shots holed its pilot. The wounds smoldered before the heavy rain smothered their infant flames.
Its course now erratic, the motorcycle veered through fresh mud toward the double doors of the Observatory's entrance. Several more shots struck the listing cycle. Flames leapt from the back and spread to engulf both riders. Emboldened by their success, the syntho-drones abandoned their cover and charged after their target, pouring plasma fire into it as it careened through the glass doors.
A razor cloud surrounded the riders as their flaming bike soared into the lobby. They were cut from their seats, tumbling free. Their bike flew into the empty greeting desk and exploded. Fire and splinters set the air ablaze, activating the sprinklers.
The syntho-drones burst through the ruined doors. More of their kind poured out from the halls, all toting the same plasma staffs. They trained their weapons on the unmoving riders, whose bodies sprawled next to each other at unnatural angles. Neither of them breathed.
One of the crimson-clad drones stepped forward and knelt to the deadened rider whose suit was striped with red. The drone slid the visor of the monogrammed helmet back, eager to watch the spark of life fade from Kim Possible's eyes. Its cruel core felt a wave of surprise to discover a digital counter where her face should have been.
"Thanks for playing, villain dudes," the unified voices of the Possible twins sang, while the counter ran to zero. "You're the victim of a Team Possible hoax. Ka-ba-boom!"
The motionless riders swelled and burst, filling the lobby with wall-to-wall fire. Two dozen syntho-drones faded from sight in the intense conflagration. Thunder shook the room apart, spreading the flames in a brief, intense shockwave that tore into whatever it touched. The building quaked and settled, and fell quiet.
What remained of the lobby was covered in a thick layer of charcoal. The blackness curdled from the walls and ceiling as two battle-suited figures picked their way through the entrance. Glass, flotsam, and crystallized syntho-goo crunched underfoot. The shapelier of the two knelt and plucked a fragment of her old helmet, gazing upon her scorched initials as the device in her hand spoke.
"Everything's okay on this end, Kim," Wade's voice assured her. "Though your computer could stand for some upgrades."
"It's my 'old' computer," she reminded him. "I had a better one, until Monkey Fist blew up my apartment.
"Oh. Right," he said, chagrined.
She shook her head, surveying the damage. "Do the best you can. We're signing off here. Tell the others to give us about ten, maybe fifteen minutes. By that time, Drakken should have all of his focus on us. If he doesn't already…" she added in a mutter, stepping aside as a piece of smoldering ceiling came loose.
"Will do. Good luck, guys."
The channel clicked closed as Wade signed off, leaving the two of them on their own. Kim hooked her Kimmunicator back to her belt, still eyeing the scorched helmet fragment. "Not a half-bad plan, Ron," she said, chucking the fragment aside. "And the tweebs did a great job rigging up the remote control for the bike. I am a little freaked at how quick they made those explosives, though," she admitted. When no answer came, she swung her eyes around. "Ron?"
Ron stood over the slagged remains of his beloved motorcycle. His head hung low as he clutched his Kimmunicator-made-remote tight. Tears threatened his eyes as he knelt before his ultimate sacrifice. His grief was so great that he didn't notice Kim until her hand clasped his shoulder. "It was a good bike," he said, sniffing. Rufus crawled from his pocket, offering him a handkerchief. "Thanks, buddy," he muttered, blowing his nose. "In a lot of ways," he confessed, "I think it's what made me cool."
Kim shook her head and helped him back to his feet. "The bike didn't make you cool, Ron," she told him with a pat on the back. "It was the other way around." At his red, puffy look, she smirked, and said, "Okay, maybe it made you a little cooler."
He blew his nose again, and handed Rufus the handkerchief, who let it drop to the floor in disgust. Running a hand across his cowlick, he sniffed, and said, "Okay. Tender moment's over. What's next?"
"A crushing defeat, I'd say." Monkey Fist leaned in the doorway leading deeper into the observatory. The hairy, robed warrior strode forth with his hands draped behind his back and a sick look of triumph on his thuggish face. The hall behind him teemed with spandex'd simians. They hooted as they swarmed out around their master and surrounded the heroes, brandishing bare hands hardened for striking.
The duo stood back to back as the dozen little warriors circled them. Kim prepared herself for a spectacular martial arts battle. Her dazzling, midair windmill kick died prematurely when Ron grabbed her wrist. "Kim," he said loud enough so that both she and their enemies could hear, "Get upstairs and stop that cannon thing."
"Um, Ron," said Kim, eyeing the brutish monkeys, "How am I supposed to make it upstairs without fighting these bozos?"
"Yes, Stoppable," Monkey Fist said, more amused than anything. "Pray tell, why should I let the little hero pass?"
Ron returned his rival's smile in kind. "Three reasons," he said.
Kim glanced back. "You weren't about to count your 'awesomeness' as a reason, were you?"
"Two reasons," said Ron. "One, because we both agree that I'm crap at defusing doomsday weapons big and small." His eyes locked with Monkey Fist's, and his smile grew. "And two," he continued in a low voice, "Monkey Fist isn't going to waste an ounce of energy on you while he has me to kick around."
Fist rubbed at his chin, shocking Kim with his honest consideration. "An interesting proposal, Pretender," admitted the rogue. "But this strawberry tart has caused me a great deal of grief over the years. Why shouldn't I take care of her now that I have the chance?"
The situation dissolved into utter lunacy in Kim's eyes as Ron spread his palms. "C'mon, Chunky Fist. Ordinary teen hero," he said, gesturing to Kim, and then to himself. "Or the pride and joy of Yamanouchi? Seriously, fighting both of us at once will just be annoying, and you know you wanna kick the crap out of me."
"C'mon!" Rufus taunted from Ron's pocket.
A moment passed in tense stillness with the two teens under Fist's thoughtful gaze. Then, with ponderous steps, he shuffled aside and swept his arm out, alighting the way. "Down the hall, stairwell's the third door on the left. Two flights up to the observation deck. Miss Possible only," he added darkly.
Kim looked first to the hairy villain, and then to her stone-faced partner. The monkey perimeter around them broke and parted for her expectantly. "Ron?" she murmured.
A glance passed between them, filled with things yet unsaid. One last, lingering look of longing escaped Ron's eyes before they became as hard as the rest of his expression. "Good luck," he whispered. "Kick some ass."
"You too." She gave him a nod. Then, moving slowly, Kim walked through the passage made by her enemies.
As she passed Monkey Fist, she looked back at Ron one last time. Ron stared intently at his rival. Though his eyes did not meet hers again, Kim did see a thumbs-up meant for her. Satisfied, she turned back and took off down the hall at a fast clip, trusting Ron to take care of the rest.
Ron watched Kim jog from his peripheral, keeping his eyes trained on Monkey Fist. His stomach unclenched as she disappeared, though the rest of him remained tense. "I have to admit, I'm kind of surprised," he said.
"I'll kill her in due time," Monkey Fist assured him. "Kim Possible has caused me too much grief to just let her go. But for the moment…" His sneer returned as he raised his fingers. With a single snap, his statuesque ninjas leapt into action, plunging Ron into deadly combat.
Kim exited the stairwell onto the main observatory floor. Darkness reigned in the unlit cavern of tile, defied only by city light reflected from the clouds. Kim caught sight of shapes dancing in the shadows, but never in the same place twice, and never long enough to follow them. Pale outlines of astronomical equipment wavered in the dark, springing out with each flash of lightning. Hanging at the center of the complex was the Entropy Cannon, a two-story technological terror that could be extended through a retractable ceiling on a pivoting frame to target all of Middleton.
"Greetings, Kim Possible," Drakken's voice boomed. Kim tried tracking the echo without success. Her best guess put him on the upper level, a platform ringed around the interior of the dome from which minions could maintenance the massive cannon. "Welcome to your doom. Did you find everything to your liking?"
"What I'd like to find are my mom and dad, Drakken," Kim shot back. The retort bounded back from the high ceiling, surprising Kim with its desperation. Steeling her voice, she added, "So let's forget the theatrics and get to the part where you start crying and give up."
Maniacal laughter answered her from all around, running over itself as it bounded and rebounded off the featureless walls. "You think you're all that, Kim Possible. But are you really? If you're looking for mommy and daddy, you're barking up the wrong tree…observatory…whatever. But here's a consolation prize."
A spotlight struck the far wall. Trapped within its confines hung a frightened, gagged young man, spread-eagle and struggling against his metal bonds. Spillover light painted a clear path for Kim to race across. Josh's eyes widened as Kim skidded to a stop in front of him. Her forceful hand tore the gag from his mouth, allowing him to cry, "It's a trap!"
She patted his cheek. "I know," she said, examining his bonds. "It's okay."
Lightning flashed in the complex, bringing to life the dancing shapes Kim had spied in the shadows. She didn't need to turn around to know about the contingent of soldiers closing in on them, but did so anyway. Quick green eyes counted a baker's dozen of syntho-drones lurching toward her, blocking any avenue of escape with their broad shoulders.
"I do hate to drone on…" Drakken's echo taunted her.
Kim rolled her eyes. "Oi," she muttered to Josh. "Here come the lame jokes."
"…but it's a little early for you to 'punch out,' isn't it?"
As the brutish automatons drew near, Kim's feet slid into a tiger stance. Her fists curled together and rose in unison. She felt a part of herself float away, the human weakness, the worry, the angst, and the doubt. All that remained was Kim the warrior, who welcomed the battle with a dark grin.
"It's been a slice, Drakken," called Kim as she leapt forward. A combat knife flashed in her hand, drawn in mid-flight from her equipment belt in a reversed grip. She brought the blade across the lead drone's chest, slicing its leathery skin open. Green goo bubbled through the split. Kim tossed her hair back and crowed, "But I really have to cut and…run…"
Kim's bravado waned as she watched the green spillage seal and cease. "Oh, that's right," Drakken's echo said. She missed the second half of his jest, unable to hear him for the ringing in her ears as the scratched syntho-drone drove its fist into her chin. "—upgraded syntho-drones. Leak proof! Eat that, Kim Possible, and taste defeat. It tastes bitter, doesn't it?"
Kim bounced off the metal wall with a grunt. She ignored Josh's frantic cries and wiped her mouth. Her brows knit together and her lips curled. "Upgrade, huh?" she said. Her fingers hovered near the monogrammed logo at her breast. After a moment's indecision, she let them drop, and pressed a control on her belt instead. "We'll save the big guns for later," she muttered.
The tips of Kim's gloves elongated into sharp tips, hardening into ten tiny daggers she brought to bear against her syntho-drone attacker and its twelve brethren. A wild look possessed her face as she darted forward, plunging her hand into the puckered split in its chest. The suit's claws tore its wound wide open and plunged deep into its viscous core. Too wide to seal, the wound gushed all over her. She watched the syntho-drone deflate, draping itself across her arm like a rubber curtain.
The other syntho-drones paused as they watched Kim shuck their slimy leader onto the floor. She resumed her stance and egged them on with a gesture from her green-covered claw. "Who's laughing now?" she called out.
She could hear the disgusted sneer in Drakken's face as he spoke. "We'll see," he echo insisted.
"Yeah," said Kim, narrowing her eyes. "We will."
A tempest of hair surrounded Ron, brushing him from all sides while he stood stock-still beneath Monkey Fist's leer. One claw came especially close, carving a ribbon of red across Ron's freckles. Ron didn't flinch, but wiped the scarlet smear from his cheek with a scowl.
"Afraid, Pretender?" jeered Monkey Fist. He cackled as his minions struck again, opening a cut on Ron's chin. "Terrified, no doubt. But who knows? If you surrender, I might give you a swift death. I'm feeling merciful today."
Ron's scowl never left Monkey Fist through the black flurry of his minions. Crimson dribbled from his chin, crossing his logo'd initials as he looked down and spied a ready wink from his pocket. "Battle Suit," he said in a deep, serious tone, "Command: Booyah."
Panels in the suit's utility belt snapped open. With the hiss of a CO2 burst, the belt spat out tiny ball bearings that struck the ground in a ring around him. The bearings burst, spilling smoke all around him and swallowing Fist's monkeys. Their shrieks became frantic in the maddening blackness of the smokescreen, giving Ron all the time in the world to step forward into clearer air.
"Rufus," he muttered, "Go play."
Howling pink fury leapt from Ron's pocket and into the smoky fray. Fist's monkey ninjas, disoriented already, were wholly unprepared for Rufus's gambit. The warrior rodent smashed into them, driving his tiny claws into them with precision and power unlike any other mole rat in existence. His body stretched to fantastic lengths to snare monkey limbs and pummel monkey faces. Disarrayed, disheartened, Fist's best warriors tumbled about with infantile cries.
Ron exited the cloud with a cape of smoke dissolving from his shoulders. "You know," said Ron with a curious cant of his head, "I just realized that you and me haven't had a real fight since my summer o' fun at Yamanouchi. Isn't that funny?"
The ruckus behind Ron puckered Fist's face. He reached into his robes and pulled out a strange, lumpy necklace. Ron didn't recognize its chunks of red stone, but he recalled the Amulet of the Monkey King dangling from its end without delay. And the faint glow surrounding the necklace gave Ron a funny tingle at the base of his skull.
"Funny?" asked Monkey Fist. "I suppose so. Everything about you is a joke."
"See, here's my theory," Ron continued, approaching his stoic foe. "You've spent years trying to get monkey this and that, but they always wind up with me…or Kim," he added, nodding at the Amulet. "The magic, the prophecy, and all that mysticism bullshit keep coming my way, and you can't stand it, 'cause it means you're the 'pretender,' not me."
Ron's smugness twisted Monkey Fist's puckered face into distilled rage. "Pretender, am I?" snarled Fist. The necklace twisted in his grasp as he jerked it up and over his head. "No, fool. I have waited for this moment all my life. I need wait no more. Bear witness to the birth of the one true Monkey Master." He touched the Amulet, and murmured, "Em Naimis Retsam, Ogaga."
The red jade encircling Fist's neck flared, driving Ron back with its crimson light. Ron flinched, squinting and shielding his eyes, trying to pry through the luminescence. Fist's glow could not be pierced, but lasted only a moment. As it faded with a snapping sound, Ron's eyes readjusted, and bore witness to what the tingle in his head was now screaming about.
Fist's robes sat 'round his feet in shreds. He no longer needed them; thick, wiry black fur covered him from head to toe, broken only by the pail, hairless flesh of his thuggish face. A ring of raised red jade was fused around his neck, ending at his collarbone with the shape of the Amulet beneath his fur. His hands and feet were larger than ever, capped with fat, reddened knuckles that cracked in anticipation as his beady eyes fell on Ron.
"What do you say, Stoppable?" said Monkey Fist in a throaty growl, gearing fangs that gleamed hungrily. His black fur rippled as he stepped forward, bare feet slapping against the tile. "Who's the Master now?"
Panic hammered through Ron's veins. He wished desperately for those latent abilities of his that Fist coveted so highly. They lay defiantly dormant, no matter how hard he concentrated, or how badly he needed them. "Okay, that's a little impressive," Ron admitted. He clamped down on his panic, standing his ground in the face of Fist's approach. "Y'know, you could probably be some kind of spokesperson for the Hair Club for Monkeys, or something."
The hairy Fist sneered. Scarlet light pulsed in his curling knuckles. "Jest all you like, Stoppable," he said. "It's time to die."
Kim threw the last draining syntho-drone onto the floor. She shook the clinging goo from her arms, and then wiped a sheen of sweat from her brow. The claws in her gloves retracted at the touch of a button. Fighting to get a handle on her ragged breath, Kim glanced around the barren observatory, heedless to Josh's calls of warning and fear. Though her chest rose and fell fast, her eyes remained rock-steady. "What now, Drakken?" Kim bellowed, throwing her arms out wide. "You sent your pet monkey, and you sent your slimy toys. Where's you're A-game?"
For a moment, the cavernous space remained deathly still. Then, a slow clap echoed, growing faster as Kim tried to track its source. Movement caught the corner of her eye, pulling her attention to the upper deck.
A pair of gloved hands slammed together in mocking recognition of Kim's victory. Their owner stood at the second level's railing, leering down at the redhead with eyes full of malice. Her green-and-black-suited shoulders shrugged in an inviting gesture.
"Drakken's A-game is right here, Princess," Shego said, pointing to herself. "Where's yours?"
Kim lifted and straightened her arm. She leveled her fist at Shego, taking aim through the slits of her emerald scowl. Her other hand rose to steady her arm, and pressed a hidden control at her wrist. The seam atop her forearm blossomed open and launched a tiny grapnel spike straight for Shego.
The villainess didn't twitch as Kim's grapnel shot her way. She kept her smile as it struck the railing and latched on. When the taut nylon cord slingshot Kim into the air, Shego stepped aside as politely as possible to give Kim plenty of room to land. "It's about time," said Shego as Kim hopped onto the landing. "I was starting to worry. Thought Monkey Fist might have been too much for you."
"The boys are playing downstairs," quipped Kim, retracting the line back into her suit's sleeve. Then she pulled her arms up, striking into a battle stance. "So we're free to have some girl time."
Shego watched the rapid breath whistling through Kim's nose while the two women circled one another. "Look at you," she said with a laugh. "Already worn out."
"I've got plenty left for you, Shego," lied Kim. Even passed out for half a day, Kim hadn't had enough time to recuperate from a week's worth of nonstop escapades. She had to keep on the move and shift her stance to hide the tired tremble of her limbs.
Either Shego saw through her, or she didn't care. One way or the other, the smile Shego gave her as her hands burst into flame chilled Kim to the core. "Doubt that. But let's find out," she said.
Kim grunted and flew back at the gout of green fire hammering into her stomach. Her boots skidded across the floor, kicking up sparks as she fought to keep her footing. The suit held out against Shego's flames, saving Kim from the worst of its heat, but couldn't save her breath as it rushed out of her.
The darkened observatory swam in her eyes. Then it rolled on its side as Shego brought her foot upside Kim's head. The railing saved Kim from a lethal fall by slamming into her side while she reeled with the blow. She clutched at the bar and tried to settle her eyes on the green blur charging her from behind. Kim's clumsy roll kept her skull intact from Shego's blow, which rattled the railing instead.
"Hold still, you little—" Shego's growl became a groan as Kim lashed out blind and struck the pit of her stomach. The blow drove Shego back and wiped the smirk off her face. "You've got guts, girl," she rumbled, doubled over. "And I'm gonna spread 'em all over."
Shego's lost sneer found its way to Kim's lips. "Thanks," she said. "Looks like you just have a gut."
She kicked for Shego's midsection again. Shego caught the kick and twisted Kim's foot, forcing Kim to spiral to the floor. A second kick chased Shego back. Scorch marks marred the floor in the wake of Shego's handspring. Once on her feet, she launched a stream of fire at Kim with a fearsome howl. Kim fled in a graceless scramble, diving behind an empty crate that had housed parts for Drakken's machinations. By the time Shego mustered another blast to destroy the crate, Kim was no longer behind it.
"Oh, this is sad," said Shego, toeing the smoldering remains of the crate. She peered into the shadows throughout the room. No sign of Kim's escape revealed itself, so she picked a direction and began strolling along the perimeter of the upper deck. "This is what the great Kim Possible is reduced to? Running and hiding?"
No answer came from her taunt. Shego's glance became a glare as each shadow she searched failed to produce her cowering quarry. A flicker of movement from behind caught hold of her scowl, guiding her hand for a fiery blast. She melted thirty thousand dollars in astronomical equipment into a puddle of slag.
Shego gnashed her teeth and quickened her pace. "You ever wonder why I stay here at this amateur hour, Kimmie? Well, let me tell you a story." She whirled around, thinking to catch Kim right behind her, but Kim wasn't there. "Four years ago, I met this preppy cheerleader. She had some decent skills, even if she was full of herself. She reminded me of myself when I was her age. And I thought to myself, 'Shego, that's her. If there's one person on this dirtball planet that can beat you, it's her.' And ever since, I've been looking for a way to settle the score between us. Hell, I've been looking forward to it."
Instinct blared a warning to Shego's reflexes, which whirled her around in time to sidestep Kim's flying kick. She caught Kim by the throat and slammed the hero up against the wall, digging into her fancy new suit with flaming fingers.
"But look how the story ends," said Shego, crushing the life out of Kim with a renewed sneer. "You're exhausted, distracted, and totally tapped out. What a disappointment."
Kim gritted her teeth and gave up trying to pull Shego's iron grasp out from beneath her chin. "Then let me add a little plot twist for you," she grunted. Dangling, she drew her arms back and slammed the heels of her hands into Shego's breasts.
The villainess shrieked and backpedaled, dropping Kim so she could cradle her chest. "Ow! Bitch!" she snapped, doubled over and cursing in pain. "What kind of game are you playing?"
"It's not a game anymore," gagged Kim. She leaned against the wall, gasping for air. Her red face and hair framed a fearsome scowl that she leveled at her nemesis. "It's never been a game. I've just been too stupid to see it. But it's time to grow up."
Her throbbing chest poisoned Shego's words in her mouth. "I'm gonna tear you apart," she growled. Fire leapt into her hands, brighter and hotter than any she had ever summoned.
Kim straightened and matched Shego's tone. "Then I should even the odds," she shot back, and slapped the logo patch on her chest.
Blood sprayed from Ron's nose at the coaxing of a large, hairy fist. The blow spun Ron off his feet and slammed him onto the floor, where he rolled to a stop against the charcoal ruins of the lobby desk. A wad of blood and mucus stained the char at his cough before he started sucking in greedy breaths.
"'The Chosen One has the power to forever change the world,'" jeered Monkey Fist through his new fangs. He sauntered up to the heap of teen, folding his arms across his shaggy chest. "Those old mountaintop blowhards must be kicking themselves for picking you. Imagine how they'll beg for my forgiveness before I slaughter them."
Knuckled toes rapped Ron's heaving rib cage while he tried to collect himself. "Dressing up like a stunt double from King Kong doesn't make you a messiah or a king," he coughed.
The molesting foot hammered into his stomach, robbing Ron of all his hard-won breath. Monkey Fist leaned down while the teen gasped and gagged. "And I suppose your own feeble, neutered powers make you both, mmm? I can feel them, you know. They fester in that rotting carcass of yours. Untapped. Unappreciated. Perhaps I'll give them a good home before I…" Guttural laughter from the worm at his feet broke his train of thought. "What are you laughing about?" he demanded.
"You," Ron chuckled through his beleaguered pipes. "You're hilarious, you piece of crap." He pushed himself up to his feet, swaying unsteadily. The three mutated magical Monkey Fists he saw spinning before him made his stomach churn harder. "You think all it takes is a few powers and some disgusting monkey toes to make you some kind of god-king. You, Simia, Gorilla Fist…you're all the same."
"Take care who you lump me with, Stoppable," growled Fist. "I might make your death slower."
"Y'know, a year ago…" Ron stopped with a laugh. "Hell, six months ago, I would've loved to let you take away all that monkey crap. But I've seen what schmucks like you do with the power. So now?" He tugged on his sleeves and spit into his gloves, rubbing them together. "Now I'm gonna stop playing, and I'm gonna beat the ape right out of you."
Now it was Fist's turn to laugh. More monkey than man, his laughter hooted in Ron's face, spraying him with frothing flecks of spittle. "Really. How?"
Ron raised a pair of fingers. "Two words," he said, and turned the fingers back on himself. Their tips pressed against the patch on his chest. "Battle Mode."
Monkey Fist snickered at the utter lack of change in Ron's suit and the grimace Ron offered up. The villain couldn't possibly know about the series of needles inside of the suit that plunged Ron's skin in a dozen different places. Even his magically-altered ears couldn't hear the hiss of chemicals entering his body. All he was Ron cringe and drop to one knee.
"Battle Mode, eh?" said Monkey Fist with a snicker. "Seems it does half the job for me. Ah well." He sighed, and raised his fist for the killing blow.
When Ron unclenched his eyes and looked up, he gasped in shock: Monkey Fist's blow came down on him at a pace that snails would laugh at. His heart hammered and his body tingled as he looked around to find that the entire world had slowed to a crawl. Even Rufus, beating the tar out of the remaining ninjas across the room, moved as though mired in molasses.
Wade hadn't been able to dumb it down enough for Ron to understand completely. Most of the chemistry combat cocktail coursing through his veins remained unpronounceable to him. What he did understand was that Monkey Fist's blow was halfway to his head, and that every cell in his body felt supercharged.
He rolled to one side, moving out of the way of the blow with time to spare. Only the wind whistling in his ears made him believe that he was moving faster than normal, far faster than that furry freak. He swung an uppercut into Fist's lumpy, pasty chin with all the power he had. Amazement shone in his face as the hairy villain flew fifteen feet back into the wall.
Fist untangled his limbs and stood slowly, even by Ron's standards. He touched gingerly at his jaw. Blood dribbled from his fingers as he looked up at Ron in shock. "What kind of magic is this?" he said.
Ron flexed his arms, testing the extent of his new strength. The combat drugs of his Battle Mode had his heart going so hard, he wondered if his ribs could hold it in. But when he looked at Monkey Fist, he could see every single follicle on the villain's body rippling, and he could hear the wet breath wheezing through his squashed nose.
"The best kind of magic," Ron told him, charging forward. "Science."
The red trim along Kim's suit pulsed, sending a tingle through her body. Kim felt it sweep across her skin as a thousand tiny sensors connected to her. It tingled worst in her fingertips, where she felt micro-circuitry reconfigure itself inside the suit's material.
As the brief light faded, Shego's sneer grew. "That's your odds-evener? Glowy lights?" She laughed, and gathered new flames in her open palm. "Your new duds fizzle, and you're gonna sizzle, Possible."
Shego's fireball arced toward Kim's head. Without thinking, Kim swept her arm out in front of her, leading with the red piping on her suit. A wave of translucent red formed behind her arm and caught the green blast. Both energies crackled before dissipating into thin air, leaving a clear path between Shego's gape and Kim's delight.
"Fizzled, huh?" retorted Kim. She flexed her fingers. Dark crimson energy pooled into her hand, alighting her in hellish hues. "Looks like Battle Mode is a success. Props to Wade."
"Yeah, kudos," muttered Shego, gathering her own power in hand.
The two women leapt at each other, with twin trails of plasma twisting in the air behind them. Their neon blows met between them, crackling furiously as they fell to the floor. Swipe after swipe, they traded blows, ducking and dodging and keeping one step ahead of the other.
Kim flipped back, catching Shego on the chin with her heel. Black char spread where her glowing hands landed. The energy in her hands shot in short bursts, keeping Shego off-balance while Kim landed in a crouch.
"Aw, look at that," huffed Shego. She regained her footing as Kim gathered the glow between her hands. "You've got to be the cutest wannabe I've ever seen."
Kim braced herself as she brought her hands up and together. Plasma danced between them, crackling as it came together. "Is that what the horse said to the first automobile?" she asked impishly.
A stream of red leapt at Shego. She barely had time to summon her own fire to catch it in. The force of the burst drove her back across the floor with her teeth gritted and her eyes clamped shut. Her arms trembled as the last of Kim's shot dissipated, and her feet gripped the floor. When her eyes snapped open again, they were too late to warn her of Kim's barreling charge.
Shego caught Kim's fist and skidded back again, pushing back with everything she had. "You rotten little bitch," Shego snarled over the sound of their battling powers. "Why won't you fall?"
Braced against the other, they forced each other's arms above their heads. Plasma energy swam together, growing as each warrior tried to match the other. Red and green streamed into the air, lashing out in all directions. Astronomical equipment tore apart at its touch. The domed ceiling cracked beneath the onslaught, crumbling against unstoppable force and heat. Rainwater began seeping through the cracks. The air itself crackled and popped, stinking of ozone, as the energies compounded.
"Give it up, Copykim," Shego said through her teeth. Her face drifted toward Kim's as the deadly tempest flared around them. Large pieces of the ceiling tore away, quaking the floor as they fell, crushing everything beneath them. Sheets of rain pierced the gaps they left, quickly soaking everything it could touch.
Kim matched Shego's power with each burst. She ignored the tumbling blocks of iron and stone, and the rain that turned to steam as it struck their plasma storm. "Y'know, Shego," she said, "I'm a little sick of this story of yours. So let's write an ending."
Ceiling and rain fell relentlessly, crushing, soaking, burning in the women's powers as they staggered back and forth, filling the air with deadly energy. Shego glared, and shot, "What're you—whoa!"
Kim ducked down and slid between Shego's legs, dragging Shego's hands with her. Their powers cut out abruptly as Shego flipped and slammed onto the floor, then slid after Kim like a runaway trailer. The villainess yowled as Kim spun and lifted her from the floor, tossing her into a slagged pile of fallen ceiling.
Without their power umbrella, both women became instantly soaked by the fat, cold raindrops. Hair plastered into Kim's face as she stomped after Shego, flexing her hands. "See, that girl you found? That 'challenge' you were so eager to beat? She's tired of seeing your sour puss."
Bursts of red caught Shego in the chest when she tried to pull herself out of the sooty flotsam. Water sprayed around her as she struck the floor and skidded. Her thick folds of hair sucked in greedy gulps of water and nestled in her face. She struggled to free her eyes from the heavy curtain, then yelped when burning hands encircled her ankle.
"That girl you met doesn't like it when her friends and family get caught in the crossfire," grunted Kim.
She yanked Shego across the wet floor, building up steam. Shego struck the wall with bone-rattling force at Kim's swing. She splashed to the floor with a moan, still unable to see.
Kim grabbed Shego by the lapels before she even settled into a heap and hauled their faces together. "And she's really sick of dealing with your crap over and over again."
Shego squalled as Kim slammed her against the wall. Drained from their epic stalemate, she could only form embers in her trembling hands. "You're not better than me," she hissed, and lashed out.
Kim sidestepped Shego's clumsy attack. Her hands burst into red flames and slapped the wisping green fists aside, then blasted Shego back against the wall. "You're right," she told Shego. "We're not even playing in the same league anymore."
Blood sprayed from Monkey Fist's nose at the coaxing of a tight, gloved fist. He stumbled back with drunken steps and then doubled over at the boot burying itself into his stomach. His feeble cries cut short as the other foot cracked across his face, spinning him to the floor. Soot and more blood clung to his matted fur as he tried and failed to pick himself back up.
"So, I'm curious," said Ron, who cracked his knuckles while he sauntered over to Monkey Fist. "Does all that monkey power help you take a punch, or is this all natural talent?" His insides felt like they were on fire, but he moved like lightning and struck like an avalanche, making the pain worthwhile. "You're really good at it, y'know."
Scarlet light shimmered around Fist's outline. As the light receded back into the red studs around his neck, he found new strength with which to stand and face his foe. The matted blood in his fur remained, warping the hair above his scowl. "Your new clothes have made you a worth adversary at last, Stoppable."
Ron squinted. "Says the guy wearing three different flavors of magic," he retorted.
"Bud did you really think you had a chance?" More of the scarlet light enveloped Fist's furry form, burning away the foreign material stuck to him. His thick black fur undulated with waves of rolling energy that expanded to force Ron back.
"Is that a trick question?" Ron swiped his nose with his thumb and winked. The world blurred around him as he moved in for his final assault. "Back to the Primate House for you, Poo-Flinger."
Confidence helped cool Ron's burning core right up to the second when his fist plunged into the dancing magic that surrounded Fist. His sixth sense screamed in warning too late to save him from utter agony as the field wrapped around his hand. The magic tore into Ron, body and soul, shredding the glove mired in its grasp to drill tendrils into his arms.
The field expanded, grasping and digging into Ron all over as Monkey Fist cackled. "You see, boy?" he said. "You can't stop me." Fist grasped his rival and tossed him bodily across the room, slamming him into the wall.
Ron bounced onto the ground. He rolled over with a groan, clutching his head to keep it from rolling off. His very soul throbbed and warned him not to do anything so stupid as to touch the magic again. A shrill tone sounded off from his suit: he had only a minute before Battle Mode went into emergency shutdown. "Okay," he muttered, "Bad."
Fist's magic expanded and compounded. The tile at his feet tore apart at its touch, flying into shreds. "I have all the power, Pretender. You can't even touch me."
Shrinking from Fist's magic tempest, Ron found inspiration in the boast. "You're half-right, Dragonball. Rufus!"
Rufus looked over from across the room, ceasing his efforts with the last (semi)conscious monkey ninja. He stopped jumping atop its head and bounded across the floor, dodging the tile shards flung from Fist's aura. "Ho, ready!" he called.
"Monkey Glove!"
The mole rat's shape blurred as he leapt onto his partner's outstretched hand. He morphed himself to cover Ron's mangled fingers, and came aglow with the same light pulsing off of Monkey Fist.
Fist bristled with outrage as he watched his nemesis plunge into the magical aura with his rodent-hand outstretched. The waves of red pulsing from Fist's body rolled off of the pink, grinning glove, allowing Ron to trudge through the miring field step by step. "Your rodent!" shrieked Fist. "He possesses the power?"
"You keep forgetting," grunted Ron, "That there's three of us touched by those disgusting Idols you stole. And one of these things is not like the other." The gelatinous magic buffeted Ron back, tearing at the edge of his uniform. He felt Rufus push back with the force of their combined wills to break against the wall. Together, they fought their way to Monkey Fist, each wearing determined looks in the face of the mutated master.
Monkey Fist lost confidence with every foot Ron gained. "This…this isn't right," he cried, stumbling back. "You don't even want the power!"
The force grew unbearable, but Ron still fought. He drew even with the cowering Fist, squinting against the scarlet wall. Hair billowed in his face as he drew his Rufus'd hand back. "Maybe I don't want the power," he shouted above the roar of the tempest. "But I know you shouldn't have it. So Sit! Down!"
Ron slammed his palm into Monkey Fist's chest, pressing into the embedded Amulet. The tempest around them turned inward, slamming into the both of them. Their screams rose as one, and their eyes lit on fire. Ron felt his burning innards burst into a hellish inferno as the light around Fist grew blinding. He closed his eyes and held on, digging into the fur on Fist's chest, falling to his knees, gritting his teeth. Impossible pressure blossomed in his boots. His hand felt like it would burn away. And still, he held on.
The tempest ceased all at once, letting both men drop at the same time. Ron watched the world spring up and slam into him through swimming eyes. Gibbering pink goo slid off of his hand and plopped onto the floor next to Ron while he pulled his gaze up from the ground.
Hissing noise escaped the tears in his suit. Ron didn't even feel the second set of needles piercing his skin. Those needles injected potent sedatives, easing the frantic and painful beat of his heart as they counteracted his combat cocktail. Nausea pooled in his stomach as the chemicals commingled. The nausea spread and swelled inside of him until he forced it out in great, messy heaves, spilling his guts across the shattered tile.
When he had nothing left to get rid of, Ron wiped his mouth on his remaining sleeve. Pale, rosy flesh sat in a great lump at his elbow. Ron examined the lump, noting with no joy that, even without his thick monkey fur, his arch-foe was still a hairy man. Trailing the patchy hair down the villain's legs, he was surprised to find wholly human feet at their ends. Ron flipped him over, and found no sign of the red stones in his neck, or the amulet.
"Looks like you're all monkey'd out, Monty," he said to his insensate foe. A flash of green caught his eye, and he rolled his hand over. The shape of the Amulet of the Monkey King crinkled in his palm, like a green tattoo sans the needle. His bare knuckles looked meatier than before, and sported new, wispy blond hairs. "Huh. Guess if that's the worst to happen for drainin' you dry, I can live with…"
A draft blew across his feet. As they were supposed to be tucked in his boots, the impossibility of this wasn't lost on Ron. Fearful, he looked own his legs. The ends of his boots had torn open from the inside to make room for more 'changes.' Ron's eyes grew saucer-sized with horror as a set of opposable toes wriggled at the ends of his feet. They curled over his boots' edges.
He moaned, and then vomited up food he hadn't even known about. Doubled over, he dry-heaved himself into submission, while his new toes tapped patiently on the floor. "No way," he said, spitting. He grabbed his knees and panted, staring at the new appendages, feeling ready to puke again. "I don't believe this. You!" His eyes flashed red as they descended upon Fiske. "You limey piece of crap! Take your feet back!" he hollered, and drove his curled toes into Fiske's stomach. The kick didn't transfer those awful toes back to the villain, but it made Ron feel better. "Frikkin' monkeys…"
With crimson fists, Kim pummeled Shego left and right, knocking the larger woman about like a rag doll. The burnt-out villain couldn't muster more than a sparkle before Kim slapped her down. Her suit-powered plasma burst in Shego's face, slamming the villainess back into the wall.
Kim drew a sharp arc through the air and threw it into Shego's stomach, bowling her over. "I think our little tale just reached its climax," she said, striking a stance. The red fire in her hands agreed, steaming in the rain. "What say we get to the dénouement. You surrender, I get my folks, and we all wind up with our just desserts."
Broken, bleeding, burnt, Shego sagged against the wall with a deadly glare leveled at her nemesis. She opened her trembling hands and tried to bring forth her inner fire to combat Kim's techno-facsimile. Mere sparks answered her call, fizzling at once. She didn't have the strength or the focus; her head pounded and spun too badly. But there was one thing she did have.
"Oh, I'll give you your 'just desserts,' Possible," growled Shego. Her fingers fumbled into a pouch on her suit, pulling out a small device. Kim couldn't make out its shape before Shego pressed it into the nape of her neck. Shego lifted her head and sucked in a breath as the chip activated. "I'll shove them down your throat, you little c—"
But the high-pitched whine that came as Shego lowered her hand brought no salvation to its bearer. Instead, a current leapt through her body, spilling out from the chip while it burned into her flesh. Kim stepped back, repulsed by the smell of burning flesh, recoiling from Shego's haunting scream.
Shego collapsed to her knees, clawing at her neck with an inhuman yowl. Scorched flakes of electronics tumbled from her hair. "Drakken!" she roared, falling onto her hands and heaving. Her eyes lolled about. In a shrinking voice, Shego said, "You said…you said…"
"So sorry, Shego," the electronic tones of Mister Voice said from the shadows. "There was only enough working components to cobble together one Emulator Chip."
As Shego collapsed onto the slick floor, Kim tracked the warped monotone. She gasped as a dark shape took form, stepping out of the shadows and into the rain. A boxy voice modulator sat at his lips, hiding a cruel smile.
"And how could I let you have all the fun?" Doctor Drakken asked, and lowered the voice modulator from his mouth. Now nothing spared Kim from his demented leer. "No," he said to himself, peering through the storm that sprayed through the broken ceiling, "I plan on savoring this treat all by myself."
To Be Continued