DISCLAIMER - This is a work of fan fiction, and poses no threat to the global empire that is the Disney Corporation.

Thanks to all who took the time to review, I really appreciate the feedback and ideas. I apologize for taking so long to update. Real life has a tendency to intrude at the most inconvenient times. Beware – the story is taking a dark turn shortly.


After a brief argument with the waitress about the appropriateness of his non-existent tip, Drakken left the diner, and spent the afternoon exploring the wonders of Lowerton. Pickings were slim. Block after block of liquor stores, discount "Swap-Meet" retailers, porn emporiums, crack houses, gang "Members Only" bars, and occasionally, an incongruously well-kept house whose defiant owner was desperately holding his own against the relentless slide of societal entropy. Lost in thought as he passed the 37th or so liquor store, he heard someone shout. "Hey, buddy! You got a couple a bucks?"

Drakken looked down the decrepit alley and saw two equally decrepit men laying up against the crumbling, filthy side of the liquor store. They were lying in a pile of litter, and had obviously been enjoying a bottle of some mind-altering substance. Kerosene, from the smell of it. One was portly, with a scraggly beard. His friend was a little slimmer, dressed in ancient jeans and a grimy plaid shirt.

"Do I look like I've got anything?" Drakken snarled.

"Now that you mention it, no..." said the bearded one. He peered at Drakken through bloodshot eyes. "Hey – I recognize you! You're that blue guy what was on "American Starmaker!".

"Yeah! That's where I seen you!" The man in plaid thought for a moment. "Ain't you the funky – fresh guy?" he finally asked.

Flattered, Dr. D puffed out his chest. "Why yes, I am!"

"You're not so fresh anymore!"said the plaid one. The bearded one added: "But you sure got some funk on you – pheeeeew!" They smirked at each other, then laughed uproariously, holding their noses.

"Great, just great," thought Drakken, "Of all the bums around here, I run into Abbott and Costello." Despite himself, Drakken sniffed his armpit. They were right. He hadn't bathed in a few days and was a little ripe. Compared to them, however...

"Mmmmph. And that's a lovely fragrance you're wearing. What is it, vomit? Or urine?" he retorted.

The bums laughed even louder. "BOTH!" They shouted in unison. "You like? We're thinking of bottling it!"

Drakken thought a moment about the potential uses of such a powerful weapon. The profits from sales to third-world dictators alone would be tremendous. However, these flannel wearing hyenas were no threat to Ralph Lauren. Drakken sighed."I don't suppose either of you would know if there is anyplace to get cleaned up around here?" he asked the two as they wiped tears from their eyes.

Catching his breath, the one with the beard apologized. "Sorry about that, friend...I'm sure there is a place to get fresh..." he chortled. "Although it's been awhile since I have...things have changed..." He turned to his friend. "What year is it?" he asked his plaid wearing friend.

"March, I think..." plaid replied.

"Mrrgggg..." stewed Drakken, "It's November! You know, Thanksgiving, 'turkey day', 'gobble, gobble' and all that!"

"Thanksgiving, you say? I guess it has been awhile... All right, friend! We'll help you out. C'mon, Bob. Time for our holiday ablutions" With that, the bearded one staggered to his feet. He helped his friend up and addressed Drakken. "Sorry, pal...we didn't introduce ourselves, did we? I'm Charles B. Faversham, but you can call me Chuck" said the bearded man. With surprising dignity, he extended his hand. "And this is my good friend, Robert Weissman."

"Hi – I'm Bob. Pleased to meet'cha!" said the plaid flannel man.

Drakken shook hands with the two. "How do you do?" He paused. "I'm...Drew"


Shego was still staring into space, her mind in places she'd never dared visit before. A beep from the computer woke her.

On the screen her "New Message" icon blinked. She clicked it open and read. "Hmmm... interesting..." she thought. This new information called for a change of plans. She needed to contact the Seniors ASAP. Playtime was over. But before she could go back to work, she needed to clear her head, and get a few things out of her system.

And she knew just what the Doctor (D) would order.


Kim and Monique sat across from Ron and Rufus at Middleton's newly refurbished Bueno Nacho. Ron was elated when he learned that his beloved Naco was back on the menu. Out of deference to his new relationship with Kim, he made an attempt to improve his table manners. He wasn't very successful, but Kim appreciated the effort. Rufus made no such distinction. He gorged himself like a tiny Roman epicurean. Kim and Mo watched in bemused disgust.

"How can something so small devour so much? Has he got a tapeworm or something?" Monique asked.

"Ewwwww! Gross!" exclaimed Ron. "Monique, by now you should know Rufus has a healthy appreciation for the finer things in life. Carpe Diem, et cetera."

Monique glanced at Kim, turned to Ron and smiled. "Oooooh! I love it when you speak the Latin, Ron! Eres tu!" She laughed.

"Arrest me? What the...? Kim, decode for me, please!" Ron pleaded. Latin was not his friend.

Kim tried to hide her shock. "Monique wants to..." she paused, blushing, not knowing exactly how to explain it to Ron, "...she's just teasing you."

"That's right, Ron! I wouldn't ever CTL on you. Although you and handcuffs, hmmmm..." Monique shot a naughty wink to Kim. Kim blushed even harder, and elbowed Mo in the ribs.

Ron had the vague feeling he was the butt of some kind of joke, but he let it slide. "So, what do you two have planned for tonight? Are you sure Felix and I can't entice you with an all-night round of 'Zombie Mayhem 4 – Purely Gratuitous Violence and Gore'?" The new truth in advertising regulations on video games were strictly enforced in Middleton. Ron didn't mind. "We're sending out for szechuan and pizza!"

Monique blanched. "No, that's OK," she said, "You and Felix have a nice time scratching yourselves and getting indigestion. Kim and I are going to do girly-girl things, ain't that right, girlfriend?"

"You betcha!" said Kim. She and Monique hadn't been out and about shopping and talking and dining and talking and shopping and talking some more in quite awhile. Kim was looking forward to having some air-headed fun, and maybe picking Mo's brain for ideas on getting out of the rut she felt she was in. "You and Felix have fun and don't worry about us. Let's check in with each other about midnight to see if we're each still alive." Being a weekend night, Kim and Ron had permission to be out late.

"Sounds good!" Ron smiled. He kissed Kim on her cheek, scooped up Rufus, and added: "You two have a great time, and try not to burn my ears off" He guessed (correctly) what their main topic of discussion would be for the evening. With a cheery wave and a jolly saunter, he left.

Kim sighed and waved back.

"Girl, you sure can pick 'em," Monique laughed. "Took you long enough!"

"I know...he's the best. Sometimes what you're looking for is right there plain as day. I don't know why I took so long,... couldn't see the forest for the Erics, I guess..." Kim sighed again. Turning to Mo she asked: "You were just kidding about wanting to..." she paused, a little embarrassed, "...'do' Ron, right?"

"Of course, Kim. You're safe!" Monique laughed again. "But just so you know, if you ever leave him, I might be around to pick up the pieces. That ought to keep you on your toes." She laughed again, merrily. "Now come on, girlfriend, lets go get ready to PARTY!"


Chuck and Bob were upset to find out that Thanksgiving was still almost a week away. They had made themselves presentable ("presentable" meaning they splashed some water on themselves and combed their hair) for nothing. Drakken had managed to make good use of the library restrooms, and with some fresh clothes from the local shelter, he felt like a semblance of his former self. It was time to begin planning in earnest. First things first. A proper villain needed a proper lair.

"A lair? What the hell is a lair?" asked Bob.

Come now, my friend, surely you know what a lair is," replied Chuck, "A den, a nest, a refuge, resting place, retreat, sanctuary..."

"Thank you, Mr. Thesaurus. For my purposes, Hideout would be more appropriate," interrupted Drakken.

"Oh, well then, why didn't you say so?" said Bob.

"No offense to your charming little alley trash-heap, but my needs dictate a more private location," Drakken continued, "...to plan the final demise of Kim Possible!" He laughed dramatically.

"The cheerleader?" Chuck and Bob asked in unison. They had heard and read about Kim's exploits numerous times, but never heard of a "Dr. Drakken." The two of them were vaguely aware of some inept blue clown she always battled, but were unable to make the connection between Drew and the heroic teenager. Instead, Bob took the direction his nature dictated, the gutter. "Isn't she a little young for you?" he asked.

"Errrrmmmmggghh – gross! Never mind!" Drakken growled, "We're getting off topic! Is there any decent hiding place around here? Because this place just isn't cutting it!" They had returned to the lobby of the Lowerton bus station, and were seated in some filthy chairs, the kind that had small black & white TVs attached. For a quarter you could watch 20 minutes of "People's Court" - at least that was the popular program with the station's only other occupant at the moment.

"Will you guys shut the hell UP?" the bum shouted at them, "I can't hear the Judge!" He cranked the volume to full.

"That's what I'm talking about! No privacy at all!" Drakken shouted back at the bum. "You shut up! Turn that down! We're discussing private business over here!"

Enraged, the bum got out of his seat. "You gonna make me make you shut up?" he threatened. He marched toward Drakken and his friends, when the door to the station burst open with a BANG. A group of unsavory looking types marched in. The largest, apparently the leader judging by the size of his muscles and tattoos, looked around the shabby lobby. His eyes settled on Drakken.

Drakken's girlfriend Trouble had woken up in a really bad mood.

Tattoos stomped toward Dr. D, his gang following. He shoved the angry Nielsen viewer to the ground and studied Drakken for a moment. He glanced at a paper in his hand and then looked him square in the eyes. "Are you Dr. Drakken?" he finally asked.

Chuck and Bob exchanged confused looks.

"Who wants to know?" asked Drakken with a malicious sneer.

"My FIST!" Tattoos punched Drakken in the face, snapping his nose, blood spraying everywhere. Drakken flew out of his chair, the TV case shattering, spilling quarters amongst the maroon splatters. Chuck, Bob and TV bum dove for the jackpot. Tattoos and the gang proceeded to mercilessly beat on Dr. Drakken. Lying bleeding and helpless on the floor, he pleaded: "Not in the face, not in the FACE!" Tattoo's friend Spikes obliged by viciously kicking him in it. Repeatedly. The rest joined in, kicking and punching, laughing all the while. Drakken faded into blissful unconsciousness.

Spikes ripped up a bench bolted to the floor and was about to crush Drakken with it when Tattoos grabbed his arm and stopped him. "Hold it!" Tattoos said, " That's enough, for now." He took another look at his now red-stained paper. "We're not supposed to kill him." As suddenly as they entered, they left.

Engrossed in grabbing as many quarters as they could, Chuck and Bob barely registered the approaching sirens. Chuck had a fleeting thought that it was odd that the cops would arrive so quickly, they barely answered calls in this part of town. Bob thought wisely that they would get busted for stealing, so he grabbed Chuck and they fled to the restroom to hide.

The cops entered and surveyed the mess. One walked over to Drakken and goosed him with his foot. Seeing that Drakken was still breathing, he muttered "He'll live..." and rejoined his partner, who was handcuffing TV man.

"Should we call the EMT's?" his partner asked.

"It's none of their business." His partner started to object when the lead cop snapped, "I said he'll live! Let's go. NOW!" They hustled "Mr People's Court" out the door and into the squad car, and drove away.

Chuck peered out the restroom door, and gave Bob an "all-clear". They entered the now silent lobby and went to Drakken's side.

"Hey, buddy..." Chuck gently slapped Drakken's cheek. "You OK there?" Drakken moaned softly. Chuck cursed himself. He couldn't believe he was so venal that he would avoid his new friend's plight merely for the sake of some pocket change. How low had he sunk? "C'mon pal, lets get you fixed up..." He and Bob hoisted Dr. D onto their shoulders and carried him out the door.

The setting sun outside was stunningly lovely. Chuck and Bob didn't notice. They were absorbed in carefully walking, sometimes dragging, Dr. Drakken's broken body back to their alley.

At one point, Dr. D slurred, "Why yes, mother...some cocoa-moo would be nice..."


To be continued