Disclaimer: Don't own Kim Possible etc etc, or other series, just story. Written exclusively for the enjoyment of myself and others.

Alright, a few things happen in this chapter. This is the last time we will hear from Drakken for a long stretch, but I'll give you something to chew on about where he's going. While for him, my foundation for his personality manipulation is more or less complete, there is still a bunch left for Shego and the hero's. Also, I start setting up for more hints as to the crossover series.

Enjoy, and review of you see fit.

Chapter 4: Strange Sleeping Arrangements

There are certain places that seem to naturally lend themselves to deep emotional and philosophical thought. It is no coincidence that so many of history's greatest minds are all pictured lying amongst the trees of an apple orchard, or walking along a secluded rock beach on the Atlantic; causally wandering the worn streets of one of past imperial capitals, or sitting within the torch-lit halls of some ancient marble citadel. Such locations have an almost tangible atmosphere that encourages the sort of profound thinking which can change the world. This incomprehensible effect was as palpable to the likes of Sir Issac Newton, Galileo Galilee, Socrates, Albert Einstein and literally the entire society of men and women whose words are now forever linked to the very pinochle of human intellectual achievement, as it is to the farmer who dropped out of high school as he gazes out over his crops and feels a single tear come to his eye. Or, in this case, a gear head with an obsession with air guitar and making things go fast.

Unfortunately, Edward Lipski found himself out of the lands of fruit bearing trees, completely landlocked, and, needless to say, infinitely distant from the era of the Alexandrian Library or 15th century Venice. But there were other environments that had the same quality about them, and he sought to change only one mind rather than the entire planet. So he deemed the cliff side that he pulled up to off a scarcely defined mountain road under an endless blanket of stars to be sufficiently inspiring.

A silence had fallen over the car in the drive, Drakken lost once again in his own private musings, nursing another beer. This was part of what Ed hoped he would accomplish in the preceding phases of this program, a system of emotional analysis and diagnosis that was almost instinctual to the teeming masses of the hormone ridden male population, but that he had long ago developed into an almost exacting science. The basic principles were the same: drink, destroy, and then after a night of hooligan antics, break down and discuss what young men were incapable of discussing if they were not in a state of inebriated adrenalinic shock, their emotions. What defined Ed's method as an art rather than the natural form was all in the detailing and balance, just like any scientific procedure.

Alcohol was a must. Obviously not so much that the subject's words are indiscernible from the guttural intonations of a cow, but just enough to free up the tongue and to establish the foolhardy trust that enabled men to pick a fight with someone twice their size because of a casual "you can take him" from one of his buddies. The type of senseless destruction was also a more involved question than a phrase having the adverb 'senseless' seemed to imply. Do something too small scale, and the urgency to offload any regrets is not powerful enough to be used to help pry out details of something completely unrelated to the pointless chaos being enacted. And something too large will consume the entire night in a game of cat and mouse with the local officers of the peace, and all that will be exchanged will be the occasional whispered "Dude, we are so screwed." There was also the question of how easily the type of tom-foolery could be connected to the cause of the unspecified emotional difficulties. Ed found that the mail box approach was the most effective at dredging these thoughts to the forefront of someone's consciousness, followed by something involving paintball guns and livestock, or firecrackers and unsuspecting golfers.

Settling onto a flat area on the precipice, Ed killed the engine, leaving the radio on tuned to the Oldies AM station that was the only one he could find this far off the beaten track. The mulleted man climbed out of the car and obtained the second flat of beer from the back seat, finally opening himself one as he settled out onto the hood of his vehicle. He intentionally did not suggest his cousin join him, precipitating a test to Drakken's mood. His prediction that the blue man (both physically and mentally) was in a state of readiness to bear his soul was confirmed as, of his own accord, Drew stepped out of the passenger door and flopped down beside him, staring blankly up into the sky. Ed was about to prompt the conversation with a question, but displaying a desire to unload his unsettling feelings that surprised his cousin, Drakken beat him to the punch.

"I imagined my own face on that last mail box, but at the last instant Shego's replaced mine..."

"This is a problem, dude?" Ed asked, his surprised voice masking the fact that he was in fact prepared for this answer.

"Well... I don't know. I mean, I'm the screw-up, not her..."

"Who says?"

"The facts, Ed." Drew replied evenly, and then he filled his cousin in on the particulars of his evening, including the conversation with Shego. Ed took it all in, thinking about the parts which likely did the most damage, and how he could turn the words against the sorrow they had inspired. Finishing, Drakken elaborated on how his mental faculties had interpreted what had been said.

"And she's right. I am a disgrace. Everything I do is at best a complete failure, and at worst? Well, let's just say the Titanic has nothing on me. It's no mystery why she's fed up with that, the only question is why she took so long to cut bait."

"Oh, I can think of plenty other questions." Ed replied, setting the plan of reflection on inferences and deflection of blame in motion. 'Why she decided that it wasn't good enough to just kick you out of a moving vehicle, take all your stuff and bolt, but that for good measure she figured she should off you is a good one. Where she gets off blaming you for tonight where it was her that wrecked the portal is another. But first of all, take a look at where this downturn your career started, man. Just a few years ago, you were the toast of the villain town. You were pulling in enough ransom money to rate for a seat on the G8 for Christ's sakes. Global Justice was basically put together to slow you down."

"That was all before Kim Possible, Ed. What separates the great from the forgotten is how they deal with new challenges, and we all know how that's been going for me. Like Shego said, I can't even beat a cheerleader and her klutz of a boyfriend."

"So you think it all changed when Red came on the scene?"

"That's basically when things started going downhill, yes."

"Actually, your wrong, cousin. I can tell you the moment that things went south. The first sign of trouble was Christmas dinner back in '02. Your mom was talking all about the fantastic new co-host you got for your radio show. Ed's sarcastic enunciation of co-host and radio show were of course in reference to the cover story that Drakken used to keep his mother out of the loop of his world conquering activities, that he was a radio talk-show Psychiatrist working in Denver. Ed was perhaps the only one in the Lipski clan that knew the actual truth about the farce. Decoded, his reference to the co-host was in fact an allusion to Shego. "Almost immediately after that, you started slowing down. Started screwing up. Why is it that you chose to hire only one person to run your stage crew? I never understood that."

"Well, one thing was it cost so damn much to keep a whole cadre of less skilful mercenaries on my payroll." Drakken replied after a lengthy moment. It had been so long since the time before Shego had taken up the role of his single woman shock force that he had to think rather hard about his initial reasons for doing so.

"Didn't you tell me just last month that she was costing you an arm and a leg just in spa treatments she had you write into her contract? Sure doesn't seem like your saving much."

"The other thing was, with those other mercenaries there was always the threat that someone could offer them a better deal to betray me. I hoped that if I focused on just one, treated her right, I could eventually trust her. I didn't mind paying more, granting those perks because I thought I had managed to gain Shego's loyalty."

"But we see how that went, didn't we?" Ed replied, and Drakken nodded sombrely before taking another long draft from his beer. "What I want to point out is that your 'downfall' began before you ever met Kim Possible. By the time you first clashed, you hadn't made headlines for months. Isn't it funny that your plans went from world infamous to bad jokes once Shego started working for you?" Drakken seemed taken aback by this question. He might have said that Shego was partially responsible for tonight's fiasco, but it was so foreign to seriously suggest that Shego was anything but the one great advantage he had that he misinterpreted Ed's clear meaning.

"What are you implying, Ed? That hiring Shego made me go soft? That trying to find a genuine ally rather than hiring a soldier of fortune made me lose my edge?"

"Not at all Drew. I'm saying that she is the one who is the failure. You didn't just suddenly get stupider when you hired her, but your schemes did almost immediately begin to break down. Think of it like this. You could have a quarter back that is an absolute genius with a football, but he couldn't even throw the ball without a good offensive line protecting him, no matter how perfect the play is. It's the same with you. No matter how meticulous the plan, if you keep getting blitzed without anyone to cover your back it will fail. Remember the 'Little Diablo Incident'? That was the first time I'd seen you on VNN since you hired Green. They did all sorts of analysis on the plan, the whole nine, called it a glimpse of your former greatness. And you know what was different about that scheme, what made it come so close to success? You didn't depend on Shego to protect it, dude. You kept her out of the loop, reached past her limitations in combating a direct threat by throwing all sorts of smoke and mirrors at Red and Blondie. Distracting and causing infighting between the heroes did a damn sight more for giving you time than just sicing Shego on them in a stand up fight ever did. Then made yourself another much more capable body guard in Syntho-drone 901. When the shit hit the fan, he managed to keep things under control, even when the greatest-mercenary-in-the-world Shego was getting laid out by that ditzy teenage girl she mentioned. When did all that work come crashing down? The instant your other support was killed. Shego couldn't even ensure your escape." Ed paused, allowing Drakken to respond. His cousin had sat up, and was shifting uncomfortably.

"But all my other plans didn't work..."

"That's because most of them never even made it off the ground. Now, I'll admit some of your plans have been pretty idiotic, but it's not interception or a fumble if you don't even get a chance to get the ball away. It's a sack. Think about how many of your schemes actually made it past the preparation stages before being snuffed out. You can probably count them on one hand since Shego started working for you. It's not your lack of creativity or intelligence; you've just been limited by sub-par help." Ed did not completely agree with this assessment of Shego's "lack" of skill or her "negative" effect on Drakken's career. To be completely honest, the entire line of reasoning he was putting forth glossed over the fact that indeed many of Drakken's plans of the last 5 years most likely would have failed spectacularly had they reached fruition. But the statements were near enough to truth, in that they were not direct lies, just acceptance of really, really long odds and ignorance of probability, to be believable.

However, Ed's allegiance was to his family bloodline tonight, not the truth. If a little bending of honesty at the expense of a woman who had just hours ago tried to kill Drew was what it took to prevent his cousin from deciding his fate was to be no better than a race horse in decline (a trip to the glue factory) so be it. And it was hard to argue with results, no matter how ill-begotten. His argument was having an effect; it was clear from his cousin's intent listening and the contorted forms his expressions were taking that he was seriously disturbing the submissive tone that Drakken's self-image had taken. He could deal with the damage control of Drakken's possibly violent new view of his partner once he was certain that Drakken would remain a living member of the partnership, so he pressed on in building his cousin up at the villainess' detriment.

"Let's not stop there though, cuz. She has a history of taking off when a better opportunity presented itself. I mean, when I broke her out she didn't suggest we take you with us. She make fun of you when we passed by for god sakes. And I hear that wasn't the only time she left you high and dry. Didn't she actually refuse to bust you out of the joint? How many times has she betrayed you, in action or inaction? How many times has she beaten up on you when she was pissed off, even when it had nothing to do with anything you've done? How many times was it her that hesitated when something clashed with her morals, while she called you out for having your own ethical system? And she had the audacity to say you are uncommitted to the goal of world conquest, that you aren't evil? She's not only inept, she's a hypocrite, she's the apathetic loser she accused you of being. You ask why she took so long to cut bait? I ask why you gave her so much rope to hang you with, when all she was doing was dragging you down, wasting your time and convincing you that her faults were your own." Switching from the passive pointing out of Shego's perceived flaws to the active conditional demonization of her past actions would be unfair to say the least if, once again, the fact that she had attempted the explosive elimination of her boss was omitted, but any sympathy Ed bore the young woman was supplanted in the hope that turning Drakken's self destructive tendencies on her would be sufficient to ensure his emotional stability. He could deal with the aftermath later. And now, with all his chips in, Ed could do no more than wait for the river card to be laid down, and see if his bluff had had paid off.

Drakken was again lying down on the hood, his eyes glazed over, staring beyond even the infinity of the night sky. The new perspective of his and Shego's relationship, and the value of that said association swirled within his mind with the force of a Tornado Alley twister, tearing apart even what had been the most permanent of perceptions, breaking them into tinder to fuel a new fire which was building in his psyche. On the exterior the change was pronounced, Drakken seeming to physically grow back to his former size, shrugging of the irons that had earlier forced his posture to sag. The misty, broken look in his eyes flashed out of existence as the renewed tenacity forged a revitalized glare, this one as hard and sharp as a diamond bit drill. And when he spoke, the dissolute timbre that had marred his speech to varying degrees all night was gone, replaced with an imposingly strong tone that had not been there before, even prior to the emotional breakdown he had suffered.

"Ed... you're absolutely right... and, ironically, so was Shego. In a roundabout way. I have indeed been a complete fool. So much time has been wasted... both with her and with ethical considerations... But no more! Tonight has yielded more critical insights than I could have believed feasible given its rocky start... the clarity is positively refreshing, and I shall not squander it. Tomorrow, I start anew." Glaring out over the terrain, this time with a calculating gaze in which he seemed to be analyzing the very landscape as a hunter might take stock of his prey. "So many possibilities. Thank you Ed, I almost lost sight of it."

"No problem bro, seriously." Ed replied, yawning. His task more or less complete to his satisfaction, although the change seemed to have resulted in a slightly different Drakken than had existed before tonight, the late hour began to have its effect on Ed. As he had admitted before, the recovery from what had happened would not be complete tonight, most assuredly now as Ed noted the subtitle hints of building contempt in his cousin's voice when he mentioned Shego and his comment about the waste of ethical considerations prompting more than a small amount of concern. It would be fine if Drew bore her nothing but abject hate for the rest of his life, such was the right of someone who had been subjected to attempted murder, but it could not be allowed to become the focal point of his existence. It would also be prudent to seek some explanation for her action in any event, whether it be in confronting her for a direct justification or simply witnessing her at work with her assumed new employer, before the decision to exact any revenge was enacted.

But those were concerns for another day. Rising, Ed made his way to the back of the car and retrieved a blanket from the dark recesses of the trunk. It stunk of motor oil and gasoline, exactly the comforting fragrances that helped Ed sleep like a rock at night (whether it be from the familiarity of the scents or the effect of the fumes, Ed chose not delve into). He crawled over the front buckets onto the rear bench seat, sticking his shoeless feet through the window.

"Hey, Drew, you gunna hunker down? You can take the front seat." He called from within the car.

"I will, I'm just going to stay out here for a while longer." Drakken replied. Ed nodded silently, and began to drift off as Neil Young's 'Hey Hey, My My' began to play softly through the car's speakers. He was already asleep by the time of Neil's maxim on the preferability that burning out held over fading away, and thus missed the bout of maniacal laughter it provoked from his cousin.

(-) (-) (-)

The flight home from the cliff side that had held witness to another, much more blatantly disturbing series of events was a long and unenjoyable one for the teenaged Team Possible. Usually, the duo was able to rest easy in one another's company after the successful completion of a mission, but tonight, no matter the position Kim's head found on Ron's deltoid, physical comfort eluded her. This corporeal distress was a direct function of her mental unease. They had not heard back from Wade with any news concerning the condition of the soldier, who, barring an even greater catastrophe, should have long ago reached the GJ emergency medi-center. And her unanswered question still rang in her head, demanding an answer that was beyond the young woman. She had mercifully not been exposed to the sorts of horrors that would make suicide seem like the most valid, indeed, the only option, and as Ron had suggested, she hoped she never would be. So, shunned by the soft embrace of sleep, Kimberly Anne clung to Ron's arm, greedily extracting all the reassurance's it offered. The blonde, who seldom slept during the egress of a mission but never-the-less quickly wound down from his own combat high, was as affected as Kim was. He remained on edge, in a passive defensive state, gazing out of the side window of the helicopter at the developing rainstorm outside, his own uncertainties exacerbated by Kim's concerning body language. He tired to radiate a calming mien, but his BFGF continued to be agitated.

There were few things that Ron was willing to attribute to himself as a solid and unique talent, he was simply too humble a person, but one of them was his latent ability to provide solstice for his oft hyper-tensile best friend. He readily accepted this responsibility, in fact believed it to be his highest purpose in this life, and it seemed it would require more proactive measures to sooth her perturbed mindset. And while he may not have been a whiz at prescribed book-knowledge, when it came to Kimberology, he had a triple doctorate. He nudged her out of her artificial slumber on his arm, and cocked his head slightly when she looked up into his eyes questioningly.

"Why don't you call Wade to find out about our friend?" The suggestion was a gutsy, but calculated one. As it often was with stress, Ron suspected the majority of Kim's discomfort came down to not knowing what the result, either way, of something that was now out of her hands. She probably felt responsible for what she believed to be sub-standard measures she took to protect the well-being of a de facto victim of Drakken's latest scheme, and in that she would retain self-imposed accountability until there was some resolution. The risk came, obviously, from the possibility that the man did not recover from his injuries, which would surely take Kim's self-recriminations to the nth power. However, there was no reason to prolong unawareness of an inescapable reality if no comfort came of that disinformation, and despite the severity of grief that blame for the death of another human being might bring her, Ron felt better equipped to combat that sorrow than the sting of ignorance.

Nodding in agreement, Kim straightened up, momentarily lamenting the fact that she had to surrender contact with him in the process. As uncomfortable she had been before, even the insignificant increase in distance that leaning away from her boyfriend created multiplied that discomfort by several degrees. She activated the Kimmunicator, this time allowing Wade a few moments to compose himself before interjecting her interrogative.

"Hey Kim. How's the flight home going?"

"I've had better Wade. The ride is fine, it's just... I need to know, is there any news about our mystery soldier?"

"I'm sorry Kim. The last information Global Justice was able to give me was that he was going into emergency surgery. I haven't heard from them sinc... well, speak of the devil. I just got an update." Wade opened the new email from his side of the connection and quickly digested its content. When he turned back towards his web-cam, his face displayed a look of cautious optimism. "Well, the good news is he's out of surgery and stable."

"And the bad news?" Kim prompted, her guilty conscience still focused on the negative.

"Well..." Wade stalled, trying to find the best way to put as positive spin on the particulars of the soldier's state. As she was the daughter of a skilful surgeon, Wade knew that Kim was probably aware of a fair amount of statistics concerning likelihood of recovery from the condition he was about to convey to her. "The fall cracked his skull cap. GJ's medical-staff was able to prevent any long term physical damage, but he's slipped into a coma. The doctor says it's natural considering the severity of the trauma that his entire body has suffered, but that he has a high degree of brain activity, and excellent reflex action, so they don't think there is any physiological or psychological damage. That means he stands a good chance of waking up."

"Wade, a good chance of waking up from a coma is 1 in 20 cases. And they won't be able to tell if there is functional damage until he does." Kim replied, crestfallen. Wade had called the spread wisely, all he could do was re-assure her.

"I'm sorry Kim, but that's all there is about him here. It's a waiting game now. One other thing though, Global Justice also wants a report on what happened tonight. Procedure whenever there's a casualty of a coincidentally involved 3rd party."

"Wade, its one thirty in the morning." Ron exclaimed glancing at his watch. "Dr. Director may not need sleep, but the rest of us mere humans certainly do. I for one enjoy it even. She can't order us around like this; we don't work for GJ, and even if we did, doesn't the constitution have something guaranteeing protection from cruel and unusual punishment?" In agreement with his master, Rufus made a series of aggressive but inaudible squeaks that obviously mirrored the sentiments of his human friend. But Kim touched his shoulder softly, silencing his protest before it got too far out of hand.

"No, Ron, I called on them for help. I'm responsible for explaining why I didn't do a good enough job protecting an innocent bystander. I'll have them drop you off first and then..."

"No way am I letting you take the blame for this KP. It wasn't your fault. How could you have known that he'd decide to jump off a cliff rather than listen to reason? He's still alive because you were there, and willing to risk your own neck to snag him!" Ron interjected. However, Kim, her face set with a look of grim determination, seemed not to hear him. Ron looked to Wade pleadingly. A ghost of a smirk adorned the younger man's mouth as he continued in the renewed silence.

"If either one of you would care to let me finish my sentence before deciding to bite my head off or resign them self to Leavenworth, Dr. Director requested the report at your convenience, meaning you are still going home tonight. She would like them by the end of the weekend if possible. And Kim, she wanted me to extend Global Justice's commendations for your quick action in saving the life of the patient. She states that she's certain that without your presence, they would be placing that man in the morgue rather than the recovery ward." It was Kim's turn to protest, but Wade's turn to cut her off. "She was very explicit about not allowing you to think you had failed in any way. There isn't much that can be said to someone who is delusional to make them see rationality. This may well have been the best case scenario. So, go home, get some sleep, and for god sakes Kim, do something about your hair." And with that, Wade signed off. His closing lines shattered the tension in the passenger section of the helicopter, Ron bursting out in laughter as Kim's mouth fell agape.

"Wha... you little... I... He is really starting to get lippy..." She said to the blank screen before turning to the snigger-seized male who had fallen from his seat and fixed an ice cold emerald glare directly into the brown eyes of her boyfriend. "And just what are you laughing at, mister?" She asked, taking a handful of the still moist sap from her hair and smearing it into Ron's own blonde locks. Ron, who had ceased laughing upon being beset by Kim's 'serious' face, sat shell shocked; Kim managed to maintain her faux-anger for only a few seconds more before falling into her own fit of giggles. Once he realised he was not moments from the beating of his life, Ron began laughing again and climbed back up into his seat. Kim resumed her former position clutching his bicep, resting her head on his shoulder. Ron in turn tilted his head to lie against Kim's, and, their souls a great deal lighter, both fell asleep before their laughter had died out.

(-) (-) (-)

Dr. Betty Director sat rubbing her forehead behind the stacks of paperwork that hid the vast majority of her desktop from view. Anyone who thought that being the founder and supervisor of an multi-national crime fighting organization would be a collection of cocktail parties and exciting adventures in exotic locations did not know the first thing about international affairs. Every operation had to be Okayed with the governments in which she was to send agents, every document filled out in triplicate and then repeated in the language of the foreign nation, read and dedicated to memory. She consistently spent 12-14 hours a day behind this desk, either entangling herself in the noose of bureaucratic red tape, or talking to some pompous foreign (or indigenous) delegate who would on one day berate her for the impudence of questioning his government's motives, and on the next be begging her for assistance as one of the world's super-villains threatened their parliament. And this was when things ran perfectly smoothly.

It did not help that Betty was not a delegator, but a consummate perfectionist who had to have a handle on each and every activity her brain-child took part in. The staff psychiatrists that she had hired to care for her agents made almost weekly pleas that, for the good of her own health, she hire at least a secretary (although a whole management team could easily find itself kept busy by her workload) to remove some of the stress from her life, but the doctor would not be any less high strung if someone else was managing her affairs. If anything, it would make things worse.

There was only one exception to this overbearing worry for the correct direction of world order and justice, that being Team Possible-Stoppable. Where young Miss Possible and Mr Stoppable were involved were the lone examples where Betty would trust things to go right without her guidance, and it was because of this that she lent her support to the teenagers by taking care of the diplomatic faux-paux's they routinely aroused. Their file was huge, no doubting that, but Betty would rather put a few extra hours in keeping them from being labelled extremist vigilantes the world over, than risk losing their skill and ability by taking action against them. And as much as Wil would be loathe to admit it, he knew as well as she did that their prodigious crime-fighting capabilities had saved the reputation of GJ more than once, either in helping them directly or simply covering for them while they were otherwise occupied.

Tonight was another late one for the Global Justice administrator, and despite Ron's unheard statement in the helicopter, Dr. Director did need sleep, and she needed it now. In a manner the afore mentioned blonde would be very familiar with, as he was prone to doing the same thing in his high school math class, Betty's un-covered eye struggled valiantly to stay open as she skimmed the monotonous lines of financial jargon, but, her reading material far from just mildly brain-numbing, the struggle was futile in the end. Had her intercom not sounded at that exact moment, the woman would have found herself lying face down in a pool of her own drool the next morning atop what would be a ruined stack of budget reports. Luckily, however, the high pitched tone startled her to alertness before her semi-conscious form gave up on holding her body erect. And, just as Ron reacted when Barkin inquiredas to what the class had been discussing from directly overtop the blonde's slumped body, she jerked herself up, banged her knee on the underside of her desk, and fell out of her chair in a shower of loose-leaf and full-scaf. Muttering a few choice phrases that would have gotten the klutzy teen a month of detention, she climbed back up and answered the page.

"Dr. Director here." She said, stifling embarrassment, even though no one had witnessed her own momentary employment of the Ron Factor.

"This is Arnold Mason from R&D. Sorry to disturb your paperwork, ma'am, but I need to make a request of you."

Arnold Mason... Betty thought, scrolling through her mental rolodex of names. WestPoint graduate, majored in armament and munitions development, came on board in 04', exemplary researcher, very hard worker, but family at home. Guessing at what he was calling about, Betty responded.

"I appreciate you staying on later tonight, Arnold. I know you have a new daughter at home, but this is of top priority. I need your expertise, at least until you complete your preliminary report. As soon as that's done, I have no problem with you taking off. In fact, you can have tomorrow for yourself."

"Thank you doctor, but actually... the initial overview is already complete. I was calling to ask if I could get an overnight extension in the lab."

That's interesting.Betty thought, her assumption turning out to be an about-face from the truth. He's a committed technician, but he's never tried to needlessly impress. Maybe I overstated the significance of time in this assignment.

"That won't be necessary, Captain. The importance of examining this equipment aside, you don't have hard deadline. And I know you aren't prone to wasting time. Double overtime is not required." She said kindly.

"Ma'am, I don't need the extra pay. I'll do this on my own time." Mason replied, a note of excitement in his voice

He found something big. The director thought.

"What is it, Arnold?"

"Well... doctor... there are some aspects of this kit... that... well, if you have a moment, could you come down and see this in person? I'd explain here, I don't want to impede your schedule, but you really need to see this to believe it."

Something very big.

"Mr. Mason, you do realise I've overseen an operation to stop a man from turning the entire planet into a golf green. You will be hard pressed to tell me something I won't consider possible." Betty said with a mock intonation of offense. She had already decided to make the trip; a while out of her chair would do her good. They always had a harsh pot of coffee on the research and development sublevel anyway. Not keying on her subtext of humour, the former US Ranger replied sombrely.

"I realise that, director. So, extend that dictum when I say this makes Killigan's scheme seem like a parking violation."

"Okay, Captain, you've peaked my interest. Let me finish the paperwork I'm on now, and I'll be there in half an hour."

Hopefully my about-face for Drakken outlook wasn't too abrupt, but I felt I might start repeating myself if I took it longer, since when it comes to experiences, his are done for now.