Disclaimer: if it was on TV, it's not mine. Otherwise, yeah, I own it. Soundtrack for this chapter: Living with the Ancients by Blood Ceremony; Hanna soundtrack by The Chemical Brothers; Best Of A Flock of Seagulls. Long live shuffle play.
Drakken was quickly reaching the point where concern becomes panic. He clicked switches over and over with no result. There had been no contact with Shego since that outburst at Hench's place.
The last thing he'd said to her was "Heroes don't act like that." Not to hurt or condemn her. To save her from public embarrassment. At one time he had sincerely believed nothing was difficult for her; he knew now that he had been sincerely wrong. Even in her Team Go days she had never been a model superhero. Stepping into the position vacated by her greatest rival was proving to be a struggle.
The last thing she'd said to him, in a sharp, stubborn whisper, had been "Possible and Monkeyboy are here. We'll talk about it later."
Then she'd turned off the suit monitors. He had no idea where she was, what she was doing, if she was alive and well –
He snapped the switches furiously back and forth, growling. Still nothing. He should have gone with her. Should have never accepted the position of "ground control." They were married. He should have put his foot down.
"Yeah, right," he resignedly muttered to no one. That would have led to nothing good, he knew.
But was this any better?
The blurting beep of the computer startled him. A hit on the website. Someone needed Shego's help.
Someone was out of luck.
He looked at the monitor: a live message.
Dr. Lipsky?
He typed a simple "Yes."
This is Gene Stoppable. Ron Stoppable's father.
He wracked his brain, trying to recall where he'd heard that name. When it came to him, he felt like kicking himself. Why did his genius refuse to store that simple bit of information?
Gene Stoppable was still typing.
Is your wife on a mission?
Wondering where this was leading, he again typed "Yes."
The typing hesitated. "Does the term Gesundheit mean anything to you, beyond the usual? Are my son and his wife with her?"
The words shocked him to his core. "What do you know?"
"My granddaughter had a bad dream. She has certain talents and abilities she inherited from her parents; the dream was so detailed that I had to check with you. I think they're all in danger."
He typed a single word in response. "Spill."
Gene Stoppable did.
Kim was in bed, trying to sleep, a task made impossible by her husband, who, for some reason, kept repeating her name and gently shaking her. "Kim…Kim, Kim Possible…"
Her response, repeatedly, was the age-old declaration "Not tonight, honey. I have a headache. A headache. A –"
"Headache," she said, looking straight up at the distant ceiling of the rocket repair bay, Ron kneeling beside her, apprehension in his eyes. No, it wasn't Ron; gradually she realized it was Drakken. Lipsky. Dr. Lipsky. He didn't call himself Drakken anymore. She sat up just a little, touched the egg-sized knot just behind her left ear gingerly, yanked her hand away.
The blue man examined the damage. "Somebody was trying to kill you, I'd say. Professional opinion."
She slowly got to her feet. "Yeah. I so inspire that in some people. This time it was Phobos. Or Deimos. Not sure which is which."
"With them, it doesn't matter. You might have a concussion."
"I don't have time for that. They got my dad." In the distance they could hear sirens, growing louder. Someone had alerted the fire department to the still-burning remnants of what had been the Sloth. One more reason to have insurance. They did. The Sloth would rise again, but not tonight. " – er – Lipsky –"
"You might as well call me Drakken. The only people who call me Dr. Lipsky are the scientific contingent. And Mom, of course. Usually when she's mad."
"How'd you find us? Homing signal in Shego's suit?"
"I wish. That's a long story. Short version: your father-in-law contacted me. Cinnabar dreamed about this."
"She's got Ron's power." Where was Ron? He'd taken off in another direction as soon as they arrived. "Somebody in the control tower," he'd shouted, as they jumped from the Sloth onto the roof of the rocket repair bay, leaving the vehicle to land on autopilot. "Caught a glimpse of them as we circled. I'll check it out." She hadn't seen him again.
"Well, she has an oneiromantic talent, too." She stared at him blankly. "Dream premonitions. Visions." Suddenly he was all business. It didn't surprise Kim; she'd seen him switch gears like that quite often, back in the day. "Where's Shego?"
"She was here. We came in together."
"The jet's gone."
"Ron's gone, too. He said something about the control booth."
Drakken headed for the stairwell; Kim simply fired her grappling hook. "Showoff," grumbled the blue man, watching her ascend on the rope. Some things didn't change.
An instant later he heard her cry out. A terrible, ragged sound. A name. There was a time when that might have brought him pleasure. Victory. Now it sent chills down his spine.
He began to run.
At the top he saw Kim, kneeling beside the fallen body of her husband. She looked up at Drakken, tears streaming down her cheeks, her lower lip quivering. He'd never seen her so completely broken. Not even when he'd captured her back in the bad old days, at the climax of the L'il Diablo caper. "He's – he's –"
"No, he isn't." Drakken knelt down, checked the young man's pulse. A little fast, but strong and steady.
A small dart jutted from his stomach. If it had been anyone else, Kim would have seen it. It was Ron, and the fears she thought she'd left behind had risen up to freeze her in her tracks.
The doctor yanked it out, sniffed at it. Nothing deadly. Tranquillizer dart. Someone had come there intending to leave his victims alive.
Or capture his prey alive.
Drakken snapped open the pouch on his belt, snapped an ammonia capsule, waved it under Ron's nose. The result was immediate. "Great googly moogly!" He jerked away, slapped the capsule from Drakken's hand. "That's awful!"
"You bet."
He stood up, staggered, would have fallen if Kim hadn't caught him. He answered her shocked expression with a weak but sincere smile. "It's not that bad. Shot me right in the stomach. Man, it hurt. Hurts."
"Who?" Her eyes narrowed. "Who shot you?"
"I don't know. He was wearin' a mask. I hope it was a mask. Otherwise he won't be hard to spot in a crowd, that's for sure."
"They've got Dad."
Drakken finally voiced his fears. "I think they've got Shego too," he said.
Shego woke up in shackles. That didn't surprise her. In fact, it was a cliche. At one time she would have simply blasted her way out. It wasn't that easy any more. Chained like this, there was no way to activate the gloves.
The speakers in the ceiling crackled, popped, prelude to an announcement. She sighed. Must be time for the ultimatum.
"Up and at'em, sleepyhead," the voice cackled.
"That's the best you've got? Dr. D. could do better than that on his worst day."
"Dr. D's not in the world-domination business anymore. I am."
"Let's get this straight: he's Dr. Drew Lipsky to you, whoever you are. Inventor of the telepathic amplifier. A genius. Not Dr. Drakken, definitely not Dr. D. Comprende?"
Sardonic laughter resounded from the speakers.
"Spare me the yuks, Bozo. What's your diabolical plan, already?"
"Whatever it is," came an oddly familiar voice, "you won't get away with it."
By craning her neck to the left as far as she could, she was able to catch a glimpse into an adjoining room, where a man in a labcoat was also in chains. She recognized him immediately. Kimmie's dad. The rocket scientist.
"Hey, Dr. Possible! Stay calm; this guy's no professional. We'll be out very shortly."
Their captor's response was terse. "I doubt that."
"So how about that plan?" asked Mr. Dr.P. "Designs on the world's nasal spray market?"
She wondered what that cryptic comment was supposed to mean. Definitely intended as an insult, that was obvious.
"It is time for an explanation. I have obtained –"
"Stolen," she interrupted. Just to see what would happen.
With audible annoyance, the voice continued. "-Obtained the world's supply of the active ingredient in sneezing powder. Through certain holding companies, I have also gained control of the Kleenex plantations around the world. The entire tissue crop is in my hands."
Always assumed it was some sort of processed paper product, Shego thought, testing her bonds again. You certainly learn a lot in this business. Whether you want to or not.
The shackles weren't about to yield.
"With this silent, superspeed missile – "
"Spacecraft," Mr. Dr.P broke in.
"Rocket," the voice compromised, "I will saturate the upper atmosphere with activated gazuntite. The sternutatious cataclysm that results will drive Kleenex sales through the roof. And the world will have to come to me for it." There was a pause. "The nasal spray idea's not bad, either."
Shego gasped in awe. "That's brilliant."
The voice brightened. "Do you really think so?"
"No. I'm lying. It's asinine. Even Dr. D. couldn't find a pole long enough not to touch it with."
"Your husband's opinion," snapped the voice, "is not important to me."
"So where do we fit into all this? I'm guessin' Dr. Possible's just Kimmie repellent." She glanced at him again, trying to catch his eye, to show him everything was going to be all right, but the scientist was looking down at the floor, the picture of defeat.
And suddenly a horrible possibility came to her.
"He was a fortuitous discovery, yes."
"So Kim's ok?"
The voice disregarded her question. "As for you, well… if I took over the power grid of the whole eastern seaboard, it wouldn't be enough to weaponize all this gazuntite. It would take forever. Dishonor House has the world's biggest gazuntite processor, and it can only activate a few grams at a time. Making sneezing powder is difficult business."
"Then your plan's a bust." Shego shrugged in the shackles. "So why not let us go and turn yourself in?"
"Because I have a power source that can get the job done."
"What?"
"Not what. Who."
A holographic projector came to life; she instantly recognized the satellite footage projected before her. A plasma vortex that filled the sky, with a tiny green and black figure at its center.
She laughed bitterly. "That's what this is about?"
"Your plasma energy opened a trans-dimensional gate for your friends."
"They weren't my friends." Anger twisted her features. "They forced me to do it. And it almost killed me."
"That doesn't matter. If you can produce that much energy, weaponizing my gazuntite should be child's play." Silence. "Do it and I'll let you both go free."
"I can't."
"You will."
"No, I can't. Understand? It's impossible." The confession came hard. "I – I don't have that power anymore. All right? There, I've said it. Satisfied?"
"Do you think I'm a fool? I watched you fight in the Space Center," roared the voice. "I saw you smash Deimos with a plasma blast. I've seen you fighting other crooks on the news. Don't lie to me."
"It's just gloves. These gloves. They're plasma generators. But they can't do what you want. And neither can I."
"You can do it. You will do it."
"Look at the gloves. Examine them."
If he heard her at all, he gave no sign. "Ever heard of Bortel's compliance chip?"
"I've worn it. Bring it out, if you don't believe me. Use it. You'll see."
"I have no intention of using it on you. I plan to put it in you. If you can weaponize my gazuntite, you will. If you can't, then I have a new flunky in my ranks. One less enemy to concern me. It's a win-win situation. Twins!"
Phobos and Deimos entered the room.
"I'm not afraid of you," she snarled defiantly, and knew it was a lie.
"You should be," one of them purred, running her finger along Shego's cheek. She nipped at it, but missed. Without warning the other twin slapped her. "You're cruel. Brutal. But we'll fix that." They smiled their crazy smiles. "We'll fuse the chip circuit –"
"-directly to your frontal lobes."
"No removal."
"No escape."
One of them produced an electric carving knife; the other, an eight-inch hand auger. "We like doing –"
"- brain surgery. Look what –"
"- a good job –"
"-we did on each other!"
They giggled.
Shego violently struggled against her bonds. "Y – You're joking."
"Really?" thundered the voice of her captor. "Do you feel like laughing?"
"They – they can't –" She looked into their dedicated, eager, insane faces and knew they could. And would.
"Using real surgical tools –" Deimos began.
"-takes all the sport out of it," finished Phobos.
"Don't worry –"
"-the human brain can't feel pain. Did you ever see our video?"
And then, in that frightful unison: "When he's done with you, then you can be ours for a while. You won't be mean anymore. We will pet you and feed you and teach you to fetch the newspaper." They looked at each other in excitement. "And maybe some other tricks as well."
Sweat ran down her brow, into her eyes.
Their unseen, unknown captor pronounced the ultimatum she'd been waiting for. "Weaponize the gazuntite. Or I let them go to work. Your choice."
But it wasn't. Not at all.