Beginnings

Drakken spun his triangle ruler on his workspace for what had felt like hours. He was looking at his new plan to take over the world. Or rather, his revised 22nd plan, but who was counting?

…His last assistant, that's who. He rolled his eyes. Peters, Pauls, whoever… He forgot their name now. Assistant number four was a total bust, and making a robot to do his work hadn't gone over well. He rubbed the scar on his eye—no not well at all. He'd put an ad in Villains Weekly, but the reality was, good help was hard to find. He'd given thought to just hiring a mercenary, but he didn't like the idea of competing with other villains and most mercenaries weren't exactly secret keepers, contract or not. Besides, all the good ones were always booked.

He spun around in his chair. He supposed attempting to get the things he needed on his own wouldn't be the worst thing. In his beginning of villainy, he'd been able to scrape by.

"Yeah, no," he grumbled to himself and grabbed Villains Weekly's new issue and flipped through it. It had all the latest successful schemes and failures. He'd managed to get in the magazine once or twice, mostly just mentions and shade thrown by Dr. Dementor.

Drakken glared at a picture of said villain and grinned. He'd been defeated by some teenager. The humiliation brought a little joy to Drakken.

He flipped to the ads again and stopped as he glanced past the 'Featured Hench' section—yet another mention of the up-and-coming Shego, who got a whole page this time. Drakken glanced over it. This person had more mentions in the magazine than any other mercenary, hired hand, or henchman than most had had in the last year or so. Whoever they were, they were no longer listed in the 'Hiring' group—probably booked for the next few years. He found his own article and re-read it.

Assistant Needed

Looking for a Full-Time Assistant.

Competitive Pay and Benefits.

Looking for general villain assistance; combat, stealth, theft, and general villainy.

Short-term or long-term acceptable; one-year contract required.

Vacation Pay for longer terms.

Negotiable.

Drakken kept reading. Perhaps he should have spent the extra and just made it more detailed. He only had a few more sentences, mostly talking about himself in a briefing and then his contact information to send the resume.

He noticed an asterisk near his name and frowned as he flipped back through the magazine. He growled and closed it. Of course, Dementor had to throw shade at out-swindling him in getting the graphite laser he needed for his latest magnetization plan.

He grumbled. He needed to figure out something else for his hovercraft in the works. He tossed the magazine and looked around his lab. Several unfinished projects lay around, and he'd started looking more and more at Henchco products—speaking of which, he should go get the mail for his latest recipes.

"Something to look forward to, at least. I hope it's banana nut muffins this week. I need a better recipe," said Drakken. He was used to talking to himself or to his tools. Perhaps he should make something that could respond.

As Drakken mused he was even more excited to see he had been sent resumes for two new applicants in the mail. His excitement turned to bitterness rather quickly. Just two henchmen trying to find work, one a former agent of Dementor's. Drakken tossed it in the trash. Dementor would find a way out of lockup and that henchman would most likely run back squawking all the details about Drakken's devices.

He stopped as he came across a package with a signature request. He hadn't ordered anything, and he had a P.O. Box for anything from his mother. And he was not dealing with her with the mood he was in—it was bad enough he spent his Sundays mocking-up fake clients and radio static. He then remembered this week was a theme week for that. He groaned; why had he done this to himself? He could have simply told his mother he was working with orphans or something in a country far away. She wouldn't have known.

He picked up his phone and dialed the number for the package.

"Are you sure this is mine?" asked Drakken as the delivery person handed him a clipboard. A large box sat in his entryway now.

"You're Dr. Drakken? This is your address?" asked the delivery man. Drakken nodded. "Then, yes, it's yours."

"Thank you for your astute observations," glared Drakken as he shoved the clipboard at the man as he left. He turned and looked at the box. "What is it?"

Drakken shrugged and opened it. There was no return address on it, nor any note. He watched as the cardboard fell away and just stared. He felt like this was some sort of joke, or... He was so confused. There stood the graphite laser that Dementor had taken out from under him.

Drakken was a mixture of excited and nervous. This seemed like some sort of trap. What if it was a trick from Dementor or another villain? He walked into his lab and froze at yet another surprise.

They're sitting at his lab table was a woman, her legs crossed and her face looking a mixture of bored and smug. Drakken had a series of questions filter through his head as he stood there. Where did that laser come from? Who's she? How had she gotten in? Is she green? What do I say? His mind ran a mile a minute, and he kept his face as neutral as he could.

"May I help you?" asked Drakken, keeping his distance as he walked around his lab.

"I believe you're looking for help?" asked the woman as she held up a torn-out page of Villains Weekly.

"I am," said Drakken, and he took a few steps closer. The woman was, in fact, a pale green. "Did you send in a resume? How did you get in here?"

"It's kind of my thing," shrugged the woman. She took a drink of his coffee. "Is this Colombian? I think a resume never does a person justice; actions speak louder than words. Did you get my package? First one's always free."

"You... You sent me the laser?" asked Drakken with a raised brow, and she shrugged. "Why?"

"Well I saw Dementor's little statement about it, and he's not using it. Honestly, it was like taking candy from a baby." She shrugged and stood. "That is the graphite laser you need for magnetization, correct?"

"Yes, it is," said Drakken. He wanted to thank her for it, but he was well aware he had to be skeptical of gifts in the villain world. "How much?"

"As I said, the first one's a freebie," said the woman. "After that, I'm rather fond of green."

"I see that," he smirked, as she indicated to herself. "I usually require a paper resume...but, terms?"

"I don't do long term, normally a standard one-month, one-job deal. But depending on the benefits I may be swayed," said the woman.

"Health. Vision. Three paid sick days. One week vacation, depending on term length," said Drakken. He moved around the desk and opened a drawer and pulled out a copy of his standard contract. "In case you care to read it over."

"Always," said the woman. Her eyes were fixed on him as she took it. Drakken noticed her gloves had claws on them.

"Titanium?" he asked, and she smirked. "Combat?"

"Fashion," she grinned in return. Drakken raised his brow, but by her expression, it was a joke.

"Experience?" asked Drakken, and she rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry, did you send a resume?"

"You expect me to steal a laser, ship it, break in here, and type up a resume in the five hours the magazine has been out?" asked the woman. Drakken opened his mouth to agree that was a bit much, but she spoke first: "Because I did."

"Really?" asked Drakken as the woman handed him a thin black folder.

"Hope a functional-grade resume is what you are looking for. I find my skills to be more of an attribute than who I may or may not have worked for," said the woman. "Just to make sure we're clear—I have worked for Dementor in the past. Unfortunately for him, he's a leech, and I don't work for pond scum."

"Hmm?" Drakken looked at the woman and then at her resume. He thought about the laser, and then his eyes fell to her name. "Shego? I'd assume someone of your caliber would be booked with mercenary work."

"I'm very picky," said Shego. "Meaning, I choose who I work for. No one calls me."

"How did I get so lucky?" asked Drakken. He was skeptical, but a part of him wanted to re-read that article in Villains Weekly again.

"I happened to be free, you made a post, I had access to a laser," said Shego. She raised a brow. "Also, I hear you're a stickler for contracts. Not many villains are."

"There are guidelines for a reason..." Drakken glared. He'd been getting crap for his contracts for years, but a written contract, unless amended... He shook his head. "Contracts are often ignored nowadays. We are villains, but we are not savages."

"Six months," said Shego after a minute. Drakken raised a brow. "I don't do a year contracts. In fact, it's normally a month. But I would be willing to do six months."

"I suppose I could work something out," said Drakken. He tapped his fingers on his desk where Shego still sat in his chair. "If I could get to my papers, Shego?"

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