Disclaimer: I don't own any Kim Possible character, The Disney Corporation owns them all. Since I'm not doing this for profit, maybe they'll let me slide.
This story was inspired by Marvel Comics who occasionally publish a one-shot comic with titles like The Last Hulk Story, The Last Avengers Story, The Last Punisher Story and so forth. The premise is pretty self-evident I think.
This story takes place approximately 9 years after the end of the series
The Last Dr. Drakken Story
By TU160
Transmitting communicator signal…no reply
Searching for tracker transmission…no signal detected
Transmitting communicator signal…no reply
Searching for tracker transmission…no signal detected
Transmitting communicator signal…no reply
Searching for tracker transmission…no signal detected
Transmitting communicator signal…no reply
Searching for tracker transmission…no signal detected
Transmitting communicator signal…no reply
Searching for tracker transmission…no signal detected
Transmitting communicator signal…no reply
Searching for tracker transmission…no signal detected
Drew Lipskey sat alone in his darkened laboratory and watched, without really seeing, as those damning words scrolled endlessly across the computer monitor; as they had nonstop for the past eight weeks. He was barefoot and wearing only a pair of boxer shorts and a t-shirt, the same clothing he had slept in and the same garments he had worn yesterday. He hadn't shaved in a week and four days had gone by since his last shower. He knew he had let himself go but he couldn't bring himself to give a damn one way or another. He simply slumped in his chair in the darkened room and stared unseeing at the monitor, contemplating the ruin of his life while black waves of depression rolled over him. He knew he was obsessing on the subject, and if he had cared to he could have pinpointed the moment he had started down this dark road. But he didn't care to; he didn't care about much of anything. Except Grandpa, he did care about Grandpa, and a few of Grandpa's friends. Because Grandpa dulled the ache and helped him forget.
Oh he had tried, when the plane she had been flying had vanished over the Himalayas he had immediately called her on the specially designed world-wide, work anywhere (and I mean abso-friggen-lutly anywhere; even on the seafloor, even, once, when she had been on the friggen moon for Christ's sake he thought) communicator – but there had been no reply, not even the automatic response showing that the communicator had received his signal. Nor was her tracker chip emitting so much as a single electronic peep (which worried him more than he could say, because it was implanted in her and powered by her body heat – as long as she was alive it should have continued working). "Alive being the operative word here"; that treacherous little thought tickled the back of his mind. He had hacked into GJ, INTERPOL, The New Scotland Yard and a hundred other secret databases; no clue. He had sent out inquiries through the underworld info-net, offering rewards of money and technological assistance for any substantial lead; to no avail. He had hijacked top secret military spy satellites from half a dozen countries and scanned the area; nothing. He had sent his henchmen on searches, but they had found nothing. He had gone himself and spent three grueling, exhausting weeks searching; and turned up absolutely nothing. So yeah, I tried, he thought bitterly. I gave it my best shot, but like everything else in my fucked up life my best shot just wasn't good enough.
Two months ago the woman whom, despite their age difference, he had come to think of as a friend, the friend who had stuck by him through thick and thin for thirteen years, the woman whom he had actually begun thinking of as family, had disappeared. And he knew, deep, deep down in the recesses of the mind that spawn those midnight doubts, regrets and anxieties, he knew that he would never see her again.
Shego was gone, he had no friends, and now his only family was a cousin he hadn't spoken to in years. Thanks to the outstanding warrants for his arrest he hadn't even been able to attend his own mother's funeral he thought morosely. Even now, almost a year later, he still didn't dare even visit her gravesite. He was fifty years old and he had nothing; he had no one to love or to love him, he had no life, he had no achievements. He had nothing, he thought bitterly, nothing but depression, failure, and an overwhelming sense of loss and sorrow for a wasted, useless life.
His henchmen had deserted him too. As he had grown more and more sullen and withdrawn they had quit one by one until only himself and one of the Bebe robots remained in the hideout. He didn't care about that either, really, being alone suited him right now. The hideout was well stocked with the necessities, and if he needed anything he could order the Bebe to go get it
But I have Grandpa, he thought with dark humor as he prepared to take another swig from the bottle of Old Grandad he held in one hand. He and his friends Johnny and Jack are seeing me through my times of troubles.
But Grandpa had betrayed him too, the bottle was empty, which was kinda funny because he didn't remember drinking it all. With a half-hearted curse he dropped the bottle on the floor with the other empties and went to get another. There was plenty, a week ago (or was it two weeks, he had trouble remembering) he had finished the last of his henchmen's stash and in response to his half-drunken command of "Go get me a lotta booze" the Bebe robot had gone out with an aircar and pretty much emptied out a liquor store. Now, if only he could remember where he had told the robot to put it.
He was shuffling down the hallway peering into various rooms when something on one of the work-tables caught his eye and he went over to take a closer look. Slowly he walked over to the table and picked up the pistol-like device and stared at it as his alcohol soaked brain tried to remember just what it was. Then it came to him, sonic stunner. Supposed to stun the nervous system or cause disorientation or something like that he vaguely remembered.
"But I'll bet if I turned it all the way up and placed it just right it'd kill somebody" he thought to himself.
"Wait, why did I think of that?" he asked, aloud this time, although he was unaware of that.
"Because it would be so easy, so simple and then I wouldn't hurt anymore" he thought in reply.
"Me?" he said
"Yes, me." He thought. "Really simple, really easy and it would all be over. No more pain, no more nothing"
"All over" he whispered
"Yes, all over" he thought
He stood there for a long time, thinking and talking, before turning and walking out of the room, the sonic disruptor still clutched in his right hand.
He stumbled on down the hallway, still searching for the booze, when he turned a corner and saw the most amazing thing, people were running down the hallway toward him. How odd, he could have sworn he was the only one here. They were shouting something, it sounded like "Droppdagunnow" but he couldn't really make it out; and anyway who cared, it probably wasn't important anyway. What was important was the bright lights they were now shining in his eyes, it blinded him and so he raised his right hand to shield his eyes.
There was a loud noise and several somethings hit him in the chest; he had a brief sensation of being thrown backward.
And then there was nothing.