All-Purpose Disclaimer

Kim Possible is a registered trademark of Disney, Inc. She's also kept me sane these past two years, and for that, I owe her my thanks, and so much more. So I hope you all cheer for her, because this fight isn't over yet, and she could use the support.

Kim's search ended when she heard grunting laughter filter through the D-hall men's room. A moment's pause outside the green, rusty door confirmed her worst fears when she heard a muted and familiar cry end in gargling misery. She paid no mind to the sophomore girls giggling at her from behind their lockers. Pushing the door open, she strode in and shouted, "Drop him."

She couldn't have imagined the scene more perfectly if she had seen it beforehand; two of the varsity football team's offensive linemen were squeezed into a single, smelly stall, each with a leg in hand to suspend their dripping victim over the toilet bowl. Their QB leaned against a sink with a pink rodent squirming in his fist, and laughed openly at the display.

"You're the boss," the prank's ringleader said. He nodded to his thugs, who plunged their sputtering scrub of blond back into the toilet.

Anger flashed in her eyes before they became a streak of green. She flipped forward, kicking his fist, forcing the squealing rodent up into the air. Pushing off from her handstand, she flew up and over their heads to land nimbly atop the flimsy walls of the dunking stall. The wailing pink projectile fell into her waiting grasp as she glared down at the linemen.

"Let me rephrase," she said, cradling the mole rat to quell its shivering. "Pick him up, turn him over, and walk away."

The massive football players balked at her gymnastic prowess, the tip of her reputed iceberg. They glanced back at their quarterback, but his chiseled jaw was clenched too tight to say anything. Uncertain, they pulled their victim out of the toilet and upended him. The gangly boy coughed and sputtered his way to the floor. Liberated from the bowl, his face now proudly displayed purpling bruises that drove a flaming spear into Kim's stomach.

As Kim dropped down next to the boy, the quarterback found his voice. She liked to chalk his burst of bravery up to the combined six hundred pounds of muscle returning to his side. "You gonna fight the spaz's battles for him all his life?" he asked her once his linemen formed a barricade between the two.

Kim patted the water out of her best friend's lungs. She met their scowls with a cool look, and said, "Ron fights his own battles, Brett. I just end them when they get out of hand."

"You're pretty hot stuff for a frosh, Possible," Brett said. His smoldering gaze traversed her lime tank top's collar. "You'd be hotter if you stopped doing so much charity work and started hanging with the right people."

The air between them grew frigid, concordant with her cool look's drop into the subzero. "Walk away," Kim told him through her teeth.

Brett looked ready to argue the point, but reconsidered at the twitch of her brow. He and his goons strode out with as much dignity as they could muster. Their dirty looks rolled off of Kim like the water dripping from Ron's battered face. "Hey, thanks a lot, guys," he called cheerily. "Let's get together again real soon. How's next week looking for you?" As the door swung closed, he chuckled, and muttered, "Mine's terrible."

Flustering hands wiped at his face with a handkerchief, mashing his swollen features dry before ruffling his hair. "Ron," Kim said fussily, "You have got to start watching gout for those guys."

"I'll remember that the next time they hunt me down and carry me off," he said with a wry smile.

Kim's concerned frown couldn't last against the grateful twinkle in his eyes. She swiped playfully at the cut on his chin with her kerchief before helping him to his feet. "Well, you look like a raw steak lost at sea. Better head for the nurse's office and get your lungs siphoned before you drown on your feet."

The minute she said it, she knew she had taken it too far; Ron's chocolate eyes narrowed with suspicion as he said, "Okay, what's the sitch? Humor's my bag. And usually, you don't find me until after the train wreck, not during."

Rufus jumped from Kim's knee into the crow's nest on Ron's crown and tried to make sense of it while Kim attempted to sound casual. "Oh, it's nothing. Just this 'thing' out in the Rockies. Lost hikers, impending blizzard. No big. You probably don't feel up for it any—"

"Are you going?"

The question rocked Kim back. Ron was listing from side to side with dizziness, and looked like he had just been pulled out of a sea storm (despite Rufus's masterful stylist touch). But the gravity in his face that pulled his mirthful, swollen expression taut crinkled Kim's brow. "I…" said Kim, surprised. "Yeah, of course I am."

Ron plucked the tiny stylist from his hair before anything could be done about his cowlick. Brushing his soaked jersey to no effect, he said, "Then let's go," he said, grinning from ear to ear.

Protest parted Kim's lips. Her sharp tongue had a hundred good reasons for Ron to stay behind balanced on its tip, not the least of which being the purpling bruise that was swelling his eye shut. But one look at his smile left her speechless, and filled her with warmth she couldn't fight.

She found herself reaching for his hand as his smile spilled over onto her face. "Let's go," she echoed, and led him out the bathroom door.

Kim Possible
The Power of Friendship

by Cyberwraith9

"I should have known," Kim said.

Icy rain drenched the three of them—Kim, Drakken, and an unconscious Shego—through the jagged gaps in the distant dome ceiling. Ozone hung in the air, left over from Kim and Shego in their final battle. Fatigue weighed heavily in Kim's arms as she cupped the dancing red flames of her Battle Mode, but her glare was just getting warmed up.

Drakken shrugged his arms out wide. "What's the matter, Kim Possible? Are you upset that I had you totally fooled, or that I sent you halfway around the globe to chase…me?" He tossed her the boxy device in his hand, the source of his 'Mister Voice' persona.

Kim caught and crushed the voice modulator. Its bits burned to nothing in her hand's fire. "Both," she said, advancing on him.

As she raised her hands to blast Drakken into another time zone, the plasma flames in her hands faltered, then faded, drawing back into her suit's red trim. Kim stumbled to a halt and stared at her hands. She tried slapping the trigger set beneath her Team Possible patch. Nothing happened.

"Oh, and look at that," crowed Drakken, pulling a tiny black disk from his pocket. He began to flip the nickel-sized disk from his thumb. "It looks like your tussle with Shego wore down your batteries. How opportune," he said with a sneer.

Kim dropped into a fighting stance, shaking away her surprise. "Like I need super powers to mop the floor with you. Now give up, and save us both some trouble."

The tired tremble in her legs didn't escape Drakken's notice. "So certain, are we?" he asked, nodding at her knees.

She drew herself upright, locking her legs, and swung an arm out. "Just surrender," she snapped. "I won't let you hurt my city with your ray."

"Sure." A control box found its way into his hand. He tossed this to Kim freely, just as he had his modulator. She fumbled with it while he said, "That's the remote control for the Entropy Cannon. Oh, the shutdown sequence is the blue button. You could self-destruct it with the red one, but…" Looking over at the grand weapon, he said, "Well, we're a little close for that. Besides, you wouldn't want a Nevada-sized crater where Middleton used to be."

Her thumb grazed the blue button. She bit her lip and gave Drakken an uncertain look. Against her better judgment, she pressed the button. The two-story cannon groaned as its lights winked out one by one. Its soft, electrical hum died, leaving the patter of raindrops to serenade their standoff.

The control box clattered and splashed as she tossed it aside and resumed her stance. Drakken's smile punched through Kim's soaked, paper-thin patience. "I'm sick of your games, Drakken," she roared. "What is this all about?"

His face split wide. "What has it always been about, Kim Possible?" he asked her sweetly. "It's all about you."

Terrified breath lingered in Monique's chest as she descended the stairs into the basement. Her hands shook so badly, she had to clench both of them until her knuckles ached beneath their gloves. Wet hair swished behind her swiveling gaze as it plumbed the shadows. The crop top and cargo pants clinging to her body, heavy and cold with rain, were not the source of her chills.

"Not upstairs," she muttered to herself, treading softly on the cement steps. "Not in the offices. Just like playing hide-and-seek." Sweat or rainwater, or both, dribbled down her neck. "Only the guys I'm seeking want to do my body serious harm."

Her outlook brightened when she hit the floor and spied the crude cage wedged into the corner. The dark, empty stretch of floor between her and the milling prisoners stretched on for a dangerous eternity, but a familiar pair behind the bars spurred her forward.

"Monique!" Missus Possible cried as the teen slammed into the bars. "Sweetie, it isn't safe here. You have to go."

Monique's hands scrambled across the bars, grabbing at the wrought-iron lock and pulling experimentally. She paused long enough to flash Kim's parents a reassuring smile she didn't feel in the least. "Don't worry, Doctor Possible…and Doctor Possible. I'll have you out of there just as soon as I teach myself to pick locks."

Mister Possible glanced over the top of Monique's bobbing head while she poked into the lock. His eyes went wide, and he gasped. "Monique, look out!"

The dreamy teen spun around, falling on her butt. She shrieked at the putter swinging thorough the space her head had just left. The club clanged against the bars as she rolled onto her belly and out of harm's way. Rising clumsily, she stumbled back with another shriek to escape the putter's follow-up blow.

"Ach, you're no' the lassie," said Killigan, shouldering his club. "You're no' even th' dippit. You're that lass what queered th' deal with Drakken's rocket."

"I know who I am," shot Monique. She backed away, tripping over her own feet as her brave front collapsed. "And I know who you are, Mister…Golfer…guy."

Killigan's thick brow fell over his eyes. "Y' wee little tart! I am Duff Killigan, the world's deadliest golfer. Prepare to meet your doom, girlie!"

A funny look crossed her face. "Deadliest? What kind of competition is there for that?" Her bravado disappeared when Killigan backed her into the wall. "I m-mean, you don't s-s-see many killers out there on the l-links, right?"

The club at Killigan's shoulder flipped open, unsheathing a long, flexible blade from its head. Killigan's other hand produced an oversized pistol the likes of which Monique had never seen. Both weapons swung about to rest on Monique, worsening her stammer. "Maybe a demonstration will fix your wagon," he suggested, waving the tip of his putter sword beneath her chin.

A lump ran down Monique's throat past the glistening point. Her trembling fists rose up to meet his weapons. "Y-you don't know who you're m-m-messing with. You know who t-taught Kim and Ron all that Kung Fu j-jazz?" Waving her hands about, she declared, "You're lookin' at h-her."

"Oh, Kung Fu." Killigan scratched his head with his gun's barrel, grinning. "Well, maybe I'll be needing a wee spot o' help then."

A whistle sang from his bearded lips. Monique squinted as the basement's lighting clacked on. Then she goggled at the half-dozen syntho-drones lurking near the stairwell. The hulking drones spread out from the door, killing Monique's fantasies of escape.

Backed up by his crimson guard, Killigan couldn't help but swagger back. "So, lassie, do I have enough, or should I call in for more?" When Monique couldn't answer, he leaned in and cupped an ear. "Wha' was that?"

One of the syntho-drones stumbled in its approach. Viscous green goo glopped onto the floor as its outline began to fold inward. Before it could finish emptying, the drone next to it staggered as well. The hilt of a combat knife quivered in its head, twin to the one caught in the folds of its sagging twin. As the second began to drain, the rest of the drones turned to face the stairwell.

Killigan looked back, watching his reinforcements puddle onto the floor. Behind him, Monique pulled her voice together. "I'd say you might not have enough goo bags, baby."

Two dark shapes leapt from the stairwell, rolling in opposite directions. Synchronized motion carried them into the remaining syntho-drones. They darted through the formation, evading the drones' sluggish swipes with preternatural grace, and then leapt out of the fray as the four drones converged on one spot.

Killigan raised his pistol, growling at the pair cartwheeling his way. "More wee sprouts? Impossible!"

The two landed upright, each dressed in black and khaki. One stepped forward, raising a dark black device for Killigan to see. Running a hand through his crop of chestnut hair, he struck a pose, and said, "Close. But actually, it's Tim Possible."

Tim mashed the button. The syntho-drones behind them all heard beeping, and looked amongst each other to find blinking discs adhered to their leathery exoskeletons. That was all they had time to do before they joined together in an expanding ball of fire and thunder.

Warm green biogel splattered across the room, spraying its occupants. Monique squirmed and flinched, wiping the syntho-goo off her face. "Points for the entrance, Double-Mint," she said, "But points off for the mess."

Kim's mind raced, trying to make sense of her crumbling concept of the way of the world. She fought to keep her face flat; no matter how upside-down the world became, she would not let herself fall apart in front of Drakken. "You were our contact all along," she said.

"That's right," said Drakken.

Soggy hair swung into her scowl. "You had us raid Dementor's lair. You tricked us into doing your dirty work for you. Dementor got desperate, and you swooped in with all the answers."

The little black disk rolled between Drakken's fingers. "The little troll is too smart for his own good." With a little giggle, he added, "And you should have seen the look on his face when we took his Cannon." He feigned shock and outrage in a fair impression of Dementor, thrusting his jaw out and making huffing noises.

"You dangled the Evidence Locker in front of your little stooges so they'd get you everything you needed," she said. "And you used that," she nodded, toeing the charred remains of his modulator, "To make sure we'd show up when you wanted us there."

"Mmm, guilty as charged," he hummed gleefully. He plucked the flipping chip from the air and brought it behind his head. Lifting his pony tail, he pressed the chip into his neck. A brief look of pain curdled his mirth as the tines dug into his skin. Then he shivered. "Ooh. Tingly."

Kim clenched her fists and strode forward. Whatever fatigue that had weighed her down vanished in a wave of rage. "Well, guess what," she shot, glaring through her limp, sopping bangs, "I'm here now, and I'm bringing you down."

She reached out to grab him by the shoulder. As her fingers brushed his lab coat, he sidestepped her entirely, remaining just out of reach. Angered, Kim lunched for his arm. Drakken rolled aside, spinning as gracefully as a dancer. He moved with fluidity Kim had never seen in him before. That twisted smile of his remained through a mocking pirouette and a bow. "Is there a problem?" he asked. "I'm right here."

Frustration set her teeth together and locked her green glare on his smug, ugly countenance. "I don't know what possessed you to take dance classes, Drakken…"

Kim's fist arced at his jaw. In her mind, she saw the simple chain of events unfold: her knuckles would drive the consciousness from his body, leaving him a heap of washed-up villain at her feet, and giving her all the time in the world to search for her parents. Regardless of this uncharacteristic grace, he was still Drakken, and Kim refused to let him make a fool out of her.

Water sprayed from her fist as it flew past Drakken's smile; he teetered back, allowing her shot to go wild. While she was still off-balance, he stepped in and slapped her on the back of the head. Kim staggered forward at the limp-wristed blow, more shocked than hurt. She looked back at him with wide eyes. "How did you…"

"I didn't," he said with another mocking bow. As he dipped, his pony tail swung to one side, allowing Kim a glimpse of the tiny chip embedded in his neck. A gasp parted her lips. Drakken must have read the recognition in her face, for his delight compounded. "You like? Of course, mood swings don't do much good, which is why I altered it to overwrite certain synaptic patterns of mine for other impulses…say, the fighting instincts copied from another via my Mind Reader ray?"

Her shock hardened into a new scowl. "The beam at the Evidence Locker."

"Your skills are my skills now, Kim Possible," he said in a low voice.

With faltering confidence, Kim retorted, "So what? You're middle-aged and overweight. Do you really think you can take me with some borrowed moves and a spare tire?"

He shrugged, and thrust his hands into his pockets. "I suppose you're right. Maybe I will give up now."

When he drew his hand back out, gold glimmered in a band around his finger. The sagging lines of his lab coat began to swell as Drakken's muscle structure reinvented itself with a steady hiss. As he rose to new heights, he said, "Or maybe I'll use one of those old muscle rings of Hench's that Shego stole from the Evidence Locker."

Kim watched him grow with sinking horror. "Hoo boy," she mumbled.

Ron burst through the door and into the cavernous room. He stumbled, bare feet slapping on the wet floor, and cursed. "Stupid monkey magic," he grumbled, wriggling the hideous, freakishly long digits that hung from the ends of his busted boots. "First chance we get, we're going to find hedge clippers and fix your wagon," he told the offensive toes.

"Mwoah," Rufus groaned in sympathy from his pocket. "Painful."

"You aren't helping," he said to his pocket. Lifting his feet, he watched them drip onto the tepid puddle that glistened across the entire floor, and he noticed that it was raining indoors. His eyes swept up to the gaps in the ceiling, and then caught sight of movement on the upper deck. "What in the hell…Kim?" Ron watched a sodden ribbon of red swishing in the shadowy haze of the rain, dancing around a mammoth of a man he did not recognize.

A cry of alarm tore Ron's eyes from the battle. When he caught sight of Drakken's hostage pinned to the wall next to his own painting, he was torn; he felt a desperate need to rush to Kim's aid, compounded with an intense distaste for helping Kim's old/new boyfriend out of any predicament. But he knew what Kim would say, what his responsibility as a hero and an all-around good guy would require of him. And what's more, he could picture the roll of her eyes at the notion that she needed him to come charging to her rescue.

Ron hydroplaned to a stop in front of Josh Mankey, eyeballing the frightened teen and his metal bonds. A small, unworthy sliver of disappointment mingled with his relief as he examined Josh's unmarred form. "Easy, artsy-fartsy. We'll have you out of there in a jiffy…I think." He pulled at Josh's bonds to no effect. His muscles felt like jelly, and nausea swam in his stomach still.

Panic twisted Josh's handsome face. "Ron, forget about me. Kim needs you! She's fighting that green lady, Shelia, or whatever."

"M'kay, first off, it's 'Shego.' If you're going to date her, you could at least take an interest in what she does." Rufus joined in, helping Ron try to pry Josh from the wall.

Josh's eyes drifted above Ron's unruly crop of hair. "Ron!"

"Dude, it's okay. We'll get you some flash cards, and—"

"Behind you!"

The warning came too late to save Ron from a devastating blow to the back of his head. His forehead slammed into the wall, lighting stars behind his eyes as he fell to his knees. Dazed, Ron managed to roll himself against the wall and slump onto his backside, staring up at a walking, waking nightmare. "Oh, son of a bitch," he moaned.

"Hey, buddy." Erik loomed over him with hands on hips. He wore the same red and black scheme Ron remembered, as though pulled straight from memory. "You don't look so good. Need a hand?"

Ron wiped the spittle from his mouth, spreading rainwater there instead. "The tweebs told me you were the one that busted them up. I half-wanted to think they were just seeing things."

He swept his legs out and caught Erik by surprise, knocking the syntho-drone to the floor with a splash. Rufus leapt from his pocket with a war cry and careened into the drone's chest. The tiny pink terror's teeth tore across Erik's pecs. Green biogel bubbled to fill the gash.

"And the other half is glad I get the chance to watch your bubble burst again," continued Ron, catching Rufus on the rebound. The mismatched partners wore identical smiles that faded simultaneously; the gash in Erik's chest pinched shut, ceasing its green dribble as the drone rose back to his feet. "Or maybe not. Not good," Ron quipped, scrambling up.

Erik's arm stretched, bridging the gap between them at impossible speed. Ron had never seen anything—magical, technological, or natural—move so fast, and couldn't react in time to save Rufus from his grasp. The drone snatched Rufus out of Ron's hand and whipped him against the wall hard. Plaster cracked as Erik drove his pray into the wall, creating a massive pink smear that hung with a dazed look before sliding to the floor.

"I've had some changes for the better," said Erik, pulling his arm back to its original length. He rolled his arm, loosening nonexistent muscles while Ron scraped his insensate friend off of the wet floor. "I hear you have, too. But if some creepy toes are all you've got to show for the last two years…"

Ron poured Rufus's syrupy body into the pocket at his thigh. A dark look infected his friendly, freckled face, spreading from eyes that crackled with fury. He stood slowly, clenching his fists until their knuckles cracked. "You wanna see what I can do, Goo-Bot?" he asked. "Let's play."

Wild, frenzied bucking couldn't loose Monique from Killigan's shoulders. She wrapped her arms tighter around his neck and clamped her eyes shut. "Hey, Look-alikes!" she cried, yelping as the mad golfer tried to shake her off. "Get that cage open. I can't keep Miniskirt McGee busy forever!"

"I's a kilt!" Killigan howled.

Across the basement, Jim and Tim knelt in front of the makeshift cage's door. Their parents pressed into the bars from the opposite side, along with the rest of the frantic Observatory staff, as they examined the lock.

"Boys, get us out of here!" one lab technician cried, rattling their cage.

Mister Possible pushed the panicking man back and knelt down. "Belay that, boys. Get Monique and get out of here. It's too dangerous—"

"Mom," Tim said impatiently, trying to see the lock over his brother's shoulder, "Could you please tell Dad to shut up so we can save everybody?"

She was only half-listening, paying more attention to the butterfly patch on Tim's cheek. "Sweetie, that looks nasty. Did you put an antiseptic on—"

"Mom," shot Jim, clutching a fistful of hair, "Seriously! I'm trying to think, and you're mom-ing up my concentration."

Tim blew a frustrated breath. "Uh, hello? We're Tee-Pee now. That means we've got the gear." He pulled out his Timmunicator and thumbed a control. A small, multi-adaptive tool extension blossomed from its top, ratcheting through a plethora of tools in the blink of an eye.

"Duh!" Jim brightened and pulled out his Jimmunicator, activating its multi-tool. "The utility lasers should be able to cut through this stuff no problem. Hoo sha!"

Red light shot from their multi-tools in pencil-thin beams, throwing sparks from the cage's bars as they burned through the lock. The light show caught Killigan's notice through his struggle with Monique. "No!" he howled. He ran backwards and leapt, crushing Monique against the wall, dazing her enough to let go. Then he stuffed a hand into a pouch on his belt and whipped out a barrage of blinking golf balls.

The frantic parents stumbled back from their cage door, dragging their fellow prisoners with them. "Boys," Missus Possible cried, "Look out!"

Her warning saved their lives, but only just. Jim and Tim leapt away to escape the worst of the blast, and then squalled as concussion waves blew them into the air. Ringing filled everyone's ears, masking the thud of the twins' insensate bodies striking the concrete.

Monique rubbed her ears as she rose to her feet. Her rattling eyes fell upon Killigan's back swaggering toward one of the twins. She watched him draw a club from his bag and swing it down at the teen's head in slow motion. Malevolence torqued his features as he shuffled the club's components around, transforming it into a rifle.

"I wait through Drakken's foolishness, and all I get is th' B-team?" groused Killigan. He jabbed Jim with the barrel of his club-rifle and snorted. "Y' may be brave, but y' aren't ready for th' big leagues."

A lilac missile struck Killigan in the head when his finger mashed the trigger, sending the shot into the floor next to Jim's head. Killigan snarled and stomped blindly on the projectile, and then lifted his foot to find the broken remains of a Kimmunicator underfoot. Tracking the shot back to its source revealed an unpleasant surprise.

"All this 'big league' talk coming from a hairy guy in a skirt," crowed Monique as she walked forward on unsteady legs. "I gotta tell ya, it's not all that impressive."

Killigan snorted and swung his club-rifle around. "Ye can nae be serious," he grumped.

She flipped the hair out of her eyes, feeling her stomach lurch as the barrel of Killigan's gun zeroed in on her. But she would not run. "I can," she said, and squared her shoulders. For the first time, she understood what Kim felt, and voiced it proudly: "I can do anything."

A decade of martial arts guided her hands. Hundreds of missions and battles put confidence in her stance. Panic fueled her exhausted body. And all of it wasn't enough.

Kim Possible spun through the air at the behest of a fist wrapped in black latex. She rolled with the punch all the way to the ground, landing on all fours. The world around her continued to sway after she touched down, spiraling on a smiling blue axis, and then lurched as a boot caught her mid-stomach.

"Now, you might be asking yourself, 'Why doesn't Drakken use his giant cannon to take over my drab, suburban dump of a city?' And it's a fair question." Drakken smiled and strolled after Kim, rolling his shoulders. The thick, powerful muscles stretching his lab coat made him feel good. The sounds Kim Possible made as she gagged up her stomach's contents into a puddle made him feel spectacular. "You see, I had an epiphany during my last stint in prison. You may recall, you were the one to put me there."

The grounded girl lashed out with a sweep kick aimed at Drakken's thick legs. Thanks to his Emulator Chip, her own fighting talent guided him over her leg in a casual hop. He took the fight out of her with another kick. As she lay doubled over, he bent down and patted her cheek, grinning ear to ear at the wheezes rattling in her throat.

"Do you mind?" he asked. "Rude. Now, where was I? Epiphany. You see, I realized something while working on my next brilliant plan. I could plan for every eventuality, work through every detail, and it would mean absolutely nothing."

"You…" Kim rolled away, and kept rolling from Drakken's easygoing gait.

He gave her little concern as she clamored to her feet. "It would mean nothing because you would stop me regardless. Take this cannon, for example. Sure, it's a great plan. But if I had put everything into the cannon plan, you probably would have taken it out with some cheerleading move, or that weasel thing that lives in your sidekick's pants."

Kim staggered in, throwing a one-two combination that usually threw Shego for a loop. Drakken slapped her fists aside like they were balloons caught in the breeze. Then she ducked, barely avoiding the very hook kick she would have used to counter that combo. "This whole ploy was a trick?" she said, flipping back to escape his haymaker punch.

Drakken flipped after her with perfect form. "What's the one flaw in every one of my plans?" he called after her.

"A rich, gooey center of stupidity?" She landed and sprang at him, hoping to catch him off-guard with her classic flying kick."

Her plan went sour in an instant; Drakken caught her against his massive chest and swung her by the foot, tossing her. She skidded through the water and slammed against the upper deck's railing. The world around her left without warning, leaving her to flounder in dark nothingness, returning in increments with the throbbing pain in her head.

Rough, huge hands grabbed the front of her battle suit and hauled her into the air. "You are," he said. The cold rain pelting her face helped jolt the world around her into focus. Unfortunately, all she could see was his ugly, scowling face atop a ridiculously broad neck. Veins bulged in his face as he said, "You're the x-factor that's always bringing me down. So, if I eliminate you, then the world is as good as mine."

No matter how hard Kim pounded, she couldn't break Drakken's iron grip. "You're kidding," she slurred.

"Without you, there'll be no one left to stop me. Without that x-factor, I cannot fail."

Drakken hefted her with one arm and tossed, throwing Kim back across the upper deck and into the wall. She bounced and splashed to the floor, making the most delightful whimper as her face plunged into the grand puddle covering everything.

"Look at you. You're exhausted. Your weapons are tapped out. Your sidekicks are gone. You're terrified." Crisp, splashing footsteps carried Drakken through the downpour, kicking waves into Kim's face. "And when the world finds out who broke the mighty Kim Possible, they will beg me for mercy."

Kim struggled to pull herself up. "I…I'm not…"

Steely fingers wrapped around Kim's wrist and yanked her arm behind her back. She fell back to the ground with a splash, half-drowning as Drakken pressed her into the floor with her own joint-locked arm, bubbling helplessly at his vicious laugh. "But you won't be there to beg with them, Kimmie."

Ron felt his ribs give way one by one beneath a lightning-fast snap kick that lifted him off his feet. An addled part of his distant, dizzy mind scoffed, noting that his ribs always broke at the slightest repeated pummeling, and that he should think about replacing them. The rest of him fell back to the ground in a ball of pain in no condition to block the black set of knuckles from pounding him in the breadbasket.

Hands that smelled of latex caught Ron by the jaw and kept him from collapsing. His eyes lolled about, eventually centering on Erik's smile. "Hey, c'mon, Ronnie. Don't crap out on me yet," Erik cooed, squeezing Ron's cheeks together. "We've got a lot more fun to have."

Air wheezed in and out of Ron's puckered lips, setting his broken chest on fire. "Just…just getting warmed up," he said in a labored voice. "When I get my second wind…all five of you are toast." His entire face throbbed and swelled, cutting into the edges of his vision with shades of purple.

Erik laughed and let Ron drop to his knees. "Y'know, Doctor Drakken brought me back to mess with Kimmie's head. Don't see why, since he's already got the other guy there," he added with a nod in Josh's direction.

"J…Josh?"

"Why else would Drakken have Shego steal a stupid painting?" said Erik, laughing. He turned Ron's eyes toward the portrait hanging next to his hostage. It was wasted effort, as Ron couldn't focus on the end of his own nose. One eye was almost completely swollen shut, and the other could only grasp a glimpse of color before Erik turned their faces back together. "I mean, look at it! He's obviously head-over-heels for her. And who else would he call when his precious little portrait went missing from Middleton?"

Ron felt the last piece of a mystery fall into place, and felt a strange sort of peace. If he was going to die, there was at least one less loose end to carry with him. "Oh," he said dizzily.

"But I am just tickled pink that we ran into each other," continued Erik, giving Ron's cheek a playful slap. "I'm just…there aren't words, man. Really."

His knee pounded into the bridge of Ron's nose, blinding him as he toppled back in agony. Erik's hand shot forward and snagged his suit to keep him aloft. He lifted Ron into the air, and then slammed Ron back into the ground. The sopping tile sprayed water and shards as Ron flopped still, groaning at the boot Erik planted at the small of his back.

Erik leaned over with a grin spread across his sculpted features, and said in a friendly voice, "Did you know that I could think in that little jar GJ had me gathering dust in? Two years I spent, just sitting there, thinking. I thought a lot about that tasty redhead holding your leash." At that, Ron growled, and tried to stand. But Erik's boot crushed into his spine, turning his growl into a groan. "But I spent some time thinking of you, pal-o-mine." Erik's face twisted, loosing its smile. He ground his boot harder into Ron's back and snarled, "How you beat me with that bucktooth rat-clown. That wasn't cool. It hurt. And you know what they say."

Ron's vertebrae popped underfoot, and he screamed.

"What goes around comes around."

Erik pulled his boot up and drove his heel into Ron's side, rolling him over. Ron couldn't even cry out anymore. He scraped against the floor with shaking fingers, trying to rise to his hands and knees. Another kick brought him there. Doubled over, he let his head drop into the pooling waters and settled for just breathing.

A spiteful chuckle filtered through the ringing in Ron's ears. "The more things change…" quipped Erik, toeing Ron's cheek with his boot. "You were a loser in high school, and you're a loser now."

"Least I'm real," heaved Ron, unable to look up.

"And that matters…how?" said Erik. "If being 'real' means I have to have goofy ears, brown speckles, and a cowlick, I'll stick with my exoskeleton." He rapped his chest, grinning at its hollow knock. "Kim never seemed to mind, anyway."

Memory rushed back to Ron. Eyes closed, he watched as every moment he ever saw Kim and Erik spend together replay in high-definition surround sound: every soft sigh she gave him, every touch they shared, every longing look her emerald eyes gave Erik, and every gut-wrenching second she looked through Ron to do it.

"I gotta tell you, I'm looking forward to picking apart whatever Drakken leaves." Erik's voice grew clearer through the ringing and the pounding sheets of rain. "Even softened up, I gotta imagine that's a sweet ride." He watched the fallen hero tremble, sending ripples through the watery floor, and knelt down to speak directly in Ron's ear. "I saw the way you looked at her, Ronnie."

Water sloshed up into Ron's face at Erik's approach. As his face dripped, Ron felt the wetness under his eyes burn. He tasted salt as his lips parted and his breath quickened.

Erik's chuckle deafened him. "I'll tell you what, Ronnie. When I catch up with Kim, I'll tell her to pretend that it's you doing it and not me. It won't be easy, mind you. I mean, a girl like Kim? She'd nev—"

Ron's eyes snapped open to a whirling world blurred by his tears. Force hammered into his swinging knuckles as the dark shape that was Erik stumbled back. His body acted all on its own, lifting him back to his feet and wiping his eyes clear even as Erik splashed to the floor.

"I'm sorry," Ron said, flexing his fist. "You were about to tell me that Kim's never gonna love me." Erik couldn't respond. His head hadn't settled back into its original shape yet. Looming over the drone with folded arms, Ron shot, "Y' wanna finish?"

Drakken twisted Kim's arm hard, savoring her scream and the creaking of her joint. He leaned over, pressing her face into the floor. The rain swept his raven hair down into his eyes as he said, "Do you know the best part of my epiphany?" He twisted, and she screamed, so he answered for her, "It was figuring out what to do about you. Breaking you down, stripping away your layers."

One last sliver of rationality in Kim's mind isolated itself from her pain. 'Drakken knows all your moves, girl,' that hauntingly calm voice told her. 'And that ring makes him stronger than you.'

"I'm not giving up," Kim mumbled into the water.

"No, of course not," Drakken said gleefully, never realizing that she wasn't speaking to him. He plunged her face into the floor, watching her bubble, and then let her back up to cough and gag. "Little Kimmie can't give up. It's not in her nature."

'He knows everything you know,' the voice insisted. 'He can do anything you can do. He can do it better.'

Kim felt something pop in her joint. She bit back a scream, and muttered, "Shut up," to the voice.

Drakken laughed. "Why am I telling you? You already know what I found out. I've seen through the straw giant. There's nothing holding her together but a scared, sniveling little girl."

'He won. He finally won.'

"That little girl's spent her whole life crying out for love and attention," Drakken purred into her limp red hair. "She's done everything she can to prove herself to her parents, to her sidekicks, to complete strangers…Filling her pathetic void with hollow accolades so nobody would notice how empty she really is."

'He's right. You are nothing.'

Drakken's lips were practically in her ear. Kim shivered, disgusted, as he said, "So all I had to do was take away those accolades. Take away the mommy and the daddy, keep her pet blond and his weasel busy, and stretch poor Kimmie to her limit."

Kim's eyes snapped open. All of the anger in her trembling body drained away. Hot breath rolled off her ear with words ignored as she ceased her struggling. Her muscles fell limp. Her mind cleared, making way for a single face and a thousand voices that spilled into her body, forcing away the cold and the hurt.

"You think you're all that," Drakken said with a sneer, "But you're nothing without them."

Agonizing pops ran down Kim's spine as she arched her back, bringing her ankles up and over Drakken's shoulder. His boast turned into a yelp at the irresistible pull of her legs. Water blasted around his bulk as he struck the floor. Kim rolled, cringing as her injured arm flared beneath her, and rose in one smooth motion. Gasping breath rolled her shoulders while she waited for Drakken to lumber to his feet.

"Very cute," snapped Drakken, no longer smiling. He plowed forward with fists raised, and bellowed, "But cute tricks won't save you from—"

Kim's silent prayer evaporated alongside Drakken's bluster as she caught his fist in knuckled palms. "Monkey grip!" she called out in an uncertain voice. Her body twisted at painful angles, forcing Drakken to do the same. He flipped upside-down to keep his elbow intact and fell back to the floor, thundering with another wave and losing his breath.

He lay there a moment, blinking through the pelting rain. "What was that?" he uttered in a breathless groan.

A smirk cracked Kim's concern as her suspicions were confirmed. "Monkey Kung Fu," she said.

After another long pause, Drakken said, "You don't know any of that!"

His accusatory tone broadened her smile. "No. That's what makes it so much fun. I get to fake it."

Hurricane fury gathered itself onto red, swollen knuckles and plunged into Erik's midsection. His exoskeleton warped, rippling around Ron's fist. Biogel leaked from his joints and out his nose. His eyes bugged as he flew back through the air, too stunned to catch himself against the slick, soppy floor. He could only stare up at the silhouette looming over him.

A halo of water bounced off Ron's body. He couldn't feel it dripping down his scowl, or seeping into his suit. He didn't feel his ribs grind with each labored breath he drew. All that existed for Ron was the seething ball of hate where his heart used to be, and the thing at his feet feeding it. "You only spent two weeks as Kim's new flavor. So let me clue you in to a little fact." Erik tried to roll onto his knees, and bounced back with a splash at Ron's curled foot. As the drone pulled his outsides into their original shape, Ron bent down and told him, "Kim Possible is probably the worst girl on the planet to fall for."

Folded in half, Erik forced his form back to normal. His eyes narrowed. "No more games, freak," he bellowed.

Ron leaned back, feeling the wind and water spray from Erik's kick as it missed his nose by a hair's breadth. The furious expression on his face remained, though his voice kept low and even. "Her head is permanently in the clouds, or looking to the stars…pretty much anywhere and everywhere the rest of her isn't," he explained. Erik's foot returned, pounding into Ron's block. In his moment of imbalance, the drone could not escape Ron's fists as they punctuated his words into Erik's face. "And the only thing that brings here back down to us mere mortals is pretty boys like you."

A garbled snicker escaped Erik's squashed lips. "Your little girlfriend really—"

He lost his mouth somewhere in the folds of his face as Ron spun and drove his heel into Erik's head. The drone stumbled and fell. "I'm gonna spend the rest of my life watching Kim go on to bigger and better things," Ron spat, glaring at Erik with his one good eye.

Unable to see straight, Erik thrashed blindly. He drenched the rain with its own water, throwing the puddle into the air as he struck empty space. "You're a loser, Stoppable," he shrieked. "You're nothing!"

A kick to the face silenced him. "And do you know what?" Ron asked as he rolled Erik over with his foot. "I'm fine with that. Because I know she'll always be there when I need her."

Monique gripped the shaft of her stolen club and circled with Killigan step for step. Quaking terror shook her whole body. It was all she could do not to throw up, but she kept her face hard, and ignored the bruises barking at her every time she moved. "You're pretty tough," she said, waving the broken end of her club at him.

"Like I care wha' you think," snapped Killigan. The cut across his face throbbed. It was his only injury, and the price he had paid for underestimating this newcomer. Twin clubs spun in his hands, flashing in the dim fluorescent lighting. He continued their circle, dissecting her body for choice targets to crush with his clubs.

"Probably smart," Monique said, "'Cause I also think you're the ugliest transvestite I've ever seen."

The thick red shrubbery over Killigan's eyes dropped. "You're out o' your league, lassie."

She met his eyes with fire in hers. "No argument here. But you're as crazy as you are tasteless if you think I'm backin' down."

Killigan attacked. Metal sang against metal as Monique high-blocked Killigan's double swing, holding the clubs' heads just inches from her brow. The clubs disappeared in a flash, leaving Monique off-balance for their return. A club head crashed into her side and dropped her to one knee.

Her cry fell silent as he brought his knuckles across her face. She rolled away, unable to hear Killigan's laughter. "I don' need you t' back down. I jus' need you t' break."

He swung a club overhead again. Monique reacted on instinct, raising her arm to stop the swing. The head struck with a vicious crack. She collapsed with a shriek, folding herself around her arm, and sobbed.

The barrel of Killigan's club-rifle pressed into her neck. "Guess wee Kimmie should've chosen her help better. Too bad for you."

A pair of pile drivers dove into Killigan from behind, sending his shot wild. They drove him to the ground and rolled off as his gun skittered away. The golfer tumbled, coming back to his feet in a tizzy, and drew another club from his bag.

The putter produced a long, nasty foil with a twist of its grip. "Tha' was a bad mistake, laddie bucks," he growled.

Jim and Tim spread out, separating Killigan's tempting target in twain. Jim gave Monique a quick look, and then nodded to his brother. To Killigan, he said, "Seems like an even trade."

"Monique saves us," Tim shot, "We save her." His steps kept in time with his twin's, though his eyes never left the hatred roosted in Killigan's gnarled beard. With no Timmunicator and no element of surprise, the blade flickering before him seemed that much more daunting. "You clobber us…"

"—and we clobber you back," finished Jim.

All three combatants sprang into action as one. Jim rolled back, wincing at the wind buffeting him from Killigan's upswing, while Tim rushed in. His clumsy kick caught Killigan's kidney, collapsing him with a cringe and a cry. Tim jumped over his wild swing and backpedaled, while his brother charged and leapt onto Killigan's shoulder.

"Ye wee li'l bairnes can nae beat me!" growled Killigan.

Jim realized his mistake a moment too late as the golfer's enormous grasp clamped around his arms. With a roar, Killigan swung the wailing teen up and around, rocking his feet into his brother's mouth. Tim went down hard while Killigan slammed Jim against the wall.

Air rushed from his body as Jim struck the floor. A rough foot dug into his shoulder and forced him against the wall, pinning him where he sat. As he gasped for air, blinding pain opened his cheek beneath Killigan's sword. He screamed, and then fell silent as the sword point pressed into his neck.

"Look a' that," Killigan said, admiring the wound. "Tha's a beaut."

A dark shape slithered across the floor, drawing Jim's notice. He watched Monique hobble on all threes and reach the discarded club-rifle in the corner, still cradling her broken arm. Her eyes caught his through her tears. She shoved the gun across the floor.

The skittering sound turned Killigan's head and guided his foot. Jim's hand stretched out to catch the gun, missing by a fraction of an inch as Killigan kicked it away, all without letting the tip of his foil waver.

"Weak effort, boy," he said with a snort. Jim's sneer only broadened his smile. His sword point drifted back to the teen's cheek. Jim squirmed and whimpered as the point dug into its handiwork, while Killigan said, "But look on th' bright side. At least you're twins again."

A shadow lurked behind Killigan, collecting the club-rifle beneath the golfer's notice. Jim forced his gaze back to Killigan, and he spat, "Being a twin isn't about looking alike."

Killigan felt pressure behind his knee. He looked back, and swallowed his heart as he saw the other Possible lying prone on the floor. His own rifle rested in the crook of the boy's arm, with the business end pressed into Killigan's leg.

Tim glared at the golfer. "It's about thinking alike," he said, and pulled the trigger.

"That's a neat toy you've got, I gotta say," Kim called. She forced away everything she knew about tumbling and gymnastics, and flipped through the air with a joy for movement she'd never felt before.

Drakken's fists couldn't follow, and neither could his eyes. He searched around wildly, and then felt something tapping his back. Whirling around, he caught sight of Kim pulling faces at him before her foot filled his vision with stars. Drakken reeled back, cursing incoherently, forced to listen for Kim's presence as his eyes clamped shut.

"I mean, it must have its limits, sure," she said, curling up and rolling between his legs to dodge his kick. Coming out the other side, Kim gave Drakken's muscular buttocks a slap. When he whirled again, she was already gone, airborne again and knocking on his head like a set of bongos. "But it's still neat."

"Hold still, you little…" he snarled.

Drakken punched again. Kim sidestepped and let the blow pass over her shoulder. Then she gave his bulging bicep a squeeze. "And the ring? Great touch." Tilting her head, she asked, "Does the chip let you do anything I can do? Or anything I 'normally' do?"

A bough-sized backfist swung to split Kim's skull. Kim bounced up and rolled over his arm. He tried to snare her in a gorilla grasp. Kim melted like butter and slipped through his fingers. With a furious roar, he launched into a frenzy, throwing every one of Kim's best moves at her.

"Just the normal moves. Gotcha." Kim went up. Down. Left. Right. Over. Under. Sideways. Anywhere Drakken's blows were, she wasn't. She forced herself away from every iota of her training, recalling instead all the idiotic antics Ron had ever annoyed her with. Those antics carried her away from certain death, turning her into a careening blur and putting red in Drakken's blue cheeks. "Wha! Whu-tah!"

He swung his fist down, shattering the floor. Kim disappeared in the spray, ending up perched atop his shoulders. A yank to his pony tail sent him toppling back. Kim landed atop his chest, driving her heel into his solar plexus. "Clever stuff, Drakken. Top drawer. But see, that's what confuses me." Crouching down, she looked into his beady eyes as the massive chest she sat atop heaved. "How can someone smart enough to make that copycat chip be so stupid?"

"I've spent my life jumping from one screw-up to the next," Ron said.

Back on his feet, Erik drove at Ron in a frenzy. He swung with unnatural strength and speed and struck nothing. Ron backed across the floor, calm, collected, slapping Erik's blows aside. For every death stroke Erik failed to land, Ron struck back, keeping the drone enraged.

"Kill you!" roared Erik.

Ron dragged his foot across Erik's face and then stepped back to avoid the retaliatory swing. "And I did it with a smile. It didn't matter how many people laughed at me. She never did."

The wall ended Ron's retreat. He ignored the terrified cries of the hostage held fast next to him. Erik's fist crushed the wall by his head, so he sidestepped. Something bumped into his elbow, drawing his eyes to the missing piece of artwork that had started this whole mess. Ron snatched it from the wall and spun away.

"Kim's done nothing but have my back and save my life since we met."

Splinters exploded from the lacquered wood frame as Ron swung it into Erik's head. Erik collapsed, yowling, until the seeping biogel sealed the cut along his skull. The loosed canvas flapped between the two pieces of frame clutched in Ron's hands as he brought their jagged edges to bear.

"She's been there for me. She was my friend when no one else would be."

Ron slashed Erik's chest open with the broken frame. Then he cut a long line across Erik's forearm as the drone tried to block him. The puddle beneath them turned green with spillage as Erik howled, trying to hold himself together.

"And no prissy pretty boy," Ron said in a rising voice, raising his weapons to strike again, "Is gonna change that."

"I've never needed anyone's approval."

Kim jumped off of Drakken just as he regained his breath. He labored to his feet to give chase, but the colossal bulk that had made him the superior fighter slowed him to much for him to keep up.

She ran with reckless speed at the wall. Then she ran up it, feeling the surface shudder with Drakken's impact before she soared overhead. Kim touched down behind him, and gave his rump a swift kick that cracked his skull back into the wall. "And do you know why?" she asked while he shook his eyes back into place. "Because I've always had it. My family has always backed me, win or lose." Watching him stumble dizzily, she couldn't help but laugh. "And as if that wasn't enough, I've had the nicest, sweetest, coolest guy ever who's never let me down."

Drakken lunged drunkenly with claws outstretched. The clumsy attack didn't even come close; Kim ducked underneath and dropped onto her shoulders, driving both boots into the pit of his stomach, and then into his face. Blood gushed onto her soles as his head sailed away, followed close by his massive body.

"By the way," she said, rolling back to her feet, "You stole his brain too, but you didn't download his moves, did you?" Kim cartwheeled around Drakken while he flopped in helpless agony. "Bad move. He's the one kicking your ass right now, not me."

The twisted, purpling ruins of his face fell into confusion. "You…can't…" he gurgled.

Waiting until he tried to sit up, Kim plowed a fist into his side, feeling something give underneath her knuckles. "I've done terrible things to him, and he still loves me."

While he writhed in agony, Kim reached through his mess of a pony tail and patted down his neck. Her face lit up as she discovered a tiny lump and plucked it from his flesh. Drakken's whole body seized up as she tore her skills from his mind and waved them under his nose.

"One day, I'll understand why," said Kim, crushing the Emulator Chip between her thumb and forefinger. Then her smile became a scowl leveled at his horrified, bloodied mess of a face. "But a waste of a person like you never could."

Erik's scream echoed through the cavernous complex as a spear of broken wood plunged through his chest. Thick, viscous goo poured out onto the hand that drove the frame through his front and out his back, but its owner never noticed.

"Never love me?" Ron barked into Erik's anguished face. "Kim's the best part of me."

He used the frame as leverage and lifted Erik back to eye level. The wound sealed itself around his weapon, so Ron twisted it to keep the flow of biogel steady, and sap the syntho-drone of his strength.

"You've got it all backwards, Pinocchio," he said. "Kim and I have something that people like you can't touch."

Drakken managed to stand with the help of Kim's kick. He staggered back, striking the railing with a grunt, and swayed dangerously on shaking legs. "But I was winn—"

She brought a foot up between his knees as hard as she could. His plea trailed off in a shriek pitched too high for human ears to hear. "Nothing without him?" Kim barked in his anguished face. "I'm everything because of him."

Rubbery hands were helpless to stop her as Kim slipped the ring off of his glove. The Adonis build stretching his lab coat fell away at once, deflating at an alarming rate that put a dark smile on Kim's face. With no martial prowess and no muscle power left, he collapsed onto his knees, and tried to find a voice to beg for mercy. He could only squeak as she grabbed his lapels and held him aloft, glaring into his swollen eyes.

Kim bellowed, "I will—"

"—never deserve her," Ron bellowed to Erik's lolling head. "And I—"
"—will never stop trying to live up—"
"—to the faith she puts in me, or the—"
"—strength he gives me to stand—"
"—up against pretty-boy nobodies like you."

"No!" the shaky syntho-drone squeaked.

Ron brought the other piece of frame across Erik's chin. A gushing wound opened up, then widened as Run plunged his fingers into the lime green mass beneath it. As Erik fell back to the floor, Ron yanked his hand upward, closing and averting his eyes. Warm liquid poured over his hand as its burden grew lighter, but he couldn't bring himself to look. Only when he felt the last of the biogel filter out of the rubbery exoskeleton did he let it flop onto the floor.

Rain washed Ron clean as he cracked an eye. Fresh bile bubbled into his throat at the sight of the deflated drone and its flap of a face floating atop a watered-down puddle of its own innards, but he forced it down. After a long moment of staring, he could only think of one thing to say.

"Guess you're not so pretty after all."

Drakken shrieked as Kim pulled him around. She kicked a section of the railing out, and then swung him over the edge. A distant clang of the broken rail hitting ground drove home to Drakken the truth that Kim's tired, trembling arms were all that separated him from certain death.

"The people that love me make me what I am," she said with eerie calm. Her grasp slipped an inch, eliciting a screech from Drakken that she ignored. "So what am I?"

"Please," he sniveled, feeling himself drop another inch. "You can't."

"What am I?" she asked again in a deadly voice.

Dripping, shaking, Drakken stared into her hard eyes and knew he could never win. He could not break her, could not beat her, or outwit her, or overpower her. NO matter what he did, Kim Possible would never fall to him or anyone like him. The strength in her eyes went on forever.

And he realized this as his life hung in her hands, which he had spent the last week exhausting as he had given her every reason to kill him.

In a small, stammering voice, Drakken answered, "A-all that?"

Kim's face twisted as she spun at the hips, throwing Drakken over her shoulder. He screamed and thudded into the floor, kicking up a powerful spray as he tumbled to a halt next to Shego's insensate body.

For a moment, Kim stood there, heaving, trying not to pass out as the last of her adrenaline ebbed. Every raindrop that struck her felt like a hammer's blow. She felt cold, and longed for rest in the one set of arms that could warm her and comfort her like no other. Instead, she just glared at Drakken's battered, unconscious face.

"Damn straight," she snapped, and fell to one knee.

To Be Concluded