A/N: It's been twenty years since So the Drama came out, and man, do I feel old now. To celebrate this milestone, I wanted to try my own take on the story. Not drastically different, but mainly changing a key element or two that will be more evident as the story progresses. Now, without further ado, on with the show.
Disclaimer: Kim Possible is owned by Disney and created by Bob Schooley and Mark McCorkle. I'm making no money from these characters or ideas, I just wanted to pay homage to a really great show and its lasting effect for two decades now.
beep beep be-beep
"Sitch, Wade?" Kim doesn't even spare the Kimmunicator a look from the notes in front of her, but her inner workings are still coming up for naught involving the matter of her latest focus.
"I'm digging on the Drakken Nakasumi plot, but so far nothing."
"I can't figure it."
"Yeah. I get why he'd take Nakasumi's automated toy-making technology, not why he'd take him," Wade puzzles before taking a drink of his soda.
"Right. I was actually talking about this geometry homework," she admits, holding the offending textbook up for the young tech guru to see.
"Oh, you want me to take a look?"
"Nah. I think super genius assistance is pretty cheatish. I'll ask Ron." She only receives a wry grin from Wade. "Any luck on number seven?" she shoots over her seatback.
"Mmm, very tricky." Hang on a sec, that's not right, she thinks upon hearing the strange voice reply from behind her.
"Ron?" A slight gasp escapes her lips as she finds not her best friend doing his math homework, but rather a large bearded man she recognizes to be one of the executives of Nakasumi Toys. Beside him, a skinny man with glasses types away on a laptop.
"Number seven is very tricky. I plan to come back to that one. How is that essay going?"
"I believe Stoppable-san will be pleased," the thin man replies with an accompanying thumbs up.
"Where exactly is Stoppable-san?" The gentlemen answer her exasperated query by pointing towards the rear compartment of the plane. Kim wastes no time heading towards what she assumes is probably just the baggage area. "Ron?" she voices upon entry, only to be greeted by the wizened visage of the man they most recently saved. He's sitting at a desk, his loyal assistant standing with a notepad at the ready on the other side. Okay, so not the cargo hold, her mind unhelpfully solicits. The most she can manage to salvage her dignity from barging in is a slight wave and a nervous chuckle and smile.
The eccentric toymaker whispers into Miss Kyoko's ear before she turns to address the new arrival. "Miss Possible, welcome. And thank you once again." They offer a slight bow in customary thanks.
"No big. Thanks for the lift back home. Have you seen Ron?"
"Rufus, I'm supposed to steer! Come on!" The cry rips from the previously quiet corner of the room, whereupon she finds the homework dodger in question futilely working an RC car remote.
Wow, five feet away and you didn't notice him? It's at this point she starts to consider maybe it would have been a little more worthwhile to catch up on sleep instead of homework. A tinny honking breaks her from her thoughts to a rather suave looking hat and scarf clad naked mole-rat zooming through the room in a blue toy convertible. Some slight scrambling to avoid the rodent driver leads to Kim catching Mr. Nakasumi before he fully trips. "Ron!"
"Yeah, talk to the naked driver," he deflects before getting an idea. A simple press of the power button on the remote halts the forward momentum of the car. Not so much the forward momentum of the driver thought. With a panicked scream, Rufus is launched into a collection of stuffed toys and sketch drawings.
After another exchange of whispers, the dark haired woman speaks again. "Nakasumi-san says not to worry. His business is to create joy. Your friend is an excellent customer, still filled with childlike wonder." The point is driven home by Ron's gleeful hopping as he drives circles around himself.
"Maybe a little too much," she posits with a playful smirk. A year or two ago, she probably would have leveled a disapproving glare at her friend with the statement. But she's come to appreciate and even rely on some of that childlike wonder when she gets way too focused on her crazy life.
"No way! Is this what I think it is?!" Ron's attention is drawn to one of the sketches from Rufus's makeshift landing pad. "Tiki-Boo rules!" He eyes another drawing on the wall and gasps in excitement. "Bun-bun!"
"You create all these characters yourself, Mr. Nakasumi?" Kim inquiries of the pile.
"Yes, he does," Miss Kyoko replies. She receives more whispers from the old man. "It is his personal touch."
"Oh, c'mon. You just doodle a face on and, boom, every kid on the planet wants one?" There's some slight incredulity in the blond's tone.
"Do not tell the shareholders it is so easy. They might take away my jet," Mr. Nakasumi casually jokes.
"Ahh, I hear ya, dude!" And then the implications of that statement actually catch up with him, his face morphing into the same look of surprise that Kim is already sporting. "Wait, you speak English?"
"Oh, quite fluently, but enjoy whispering to Miss Kyoko."
"Nakasumi-san is a little, would you say, wacky?" said assistant supplies.
"Okay… I guess it goes with the whole toymaker thing?" is the most Kim can posit from the quirky behavior.
"Stoppable-san. On behalf of the Nakasumi Corporation, accept our gratitude for your efforts in the rescue of Nakasumi-san," the bearded man says, having entered the office with his essay-writing comrade.
"Who works extremely hard on the whole toy thing, you know, by the way." The surreptitious wink and elbow that Ron jabs into Mr. Nakasumi's side only serve to confuse the old toymaker.
A feminine throat clearing brings his attention to the face of a very annoyed heroine. "Gratitude, huh?" The crossed arms and narrowed eyes do wonders for illustrating her irritation.
"Kim, I am appalled. Do you really think I would stoop so low as to shirk doing my homework?"
He is met by only a cocked crimson eyebrow in response.
"Okay, yeah, you're right, but not all of it! I only managed to finish the extra Barkin homework on the ride over while you were mission prepping."
"Wait, that's what you were doing in the cargo hold? You said you were sneaking away to watch The Fearless Ferret on the Kimmunicator."
"Eh, it was just a rerun. Good to have on in the background while trying to figure out those isolated triangles."
"Isosceles, Ron." Kim just smirks and rolls her eyes, refraining from pointing out that the show's been off the air for forty years. All the episodes are reruns.
"Ohhh. I was wondering why they were so lonely."
"Nakasumi-san, we approach Middleton Airport," the bespectacled man cuts into the conversation of heroes and homework.
"The pilot should have landing clearance shortly," the larger man adds.
"That's okay. Just drop us off here."
Five sets of eyes look at the redhead at this statement. Four with curious confusion, one that's a half mix of pleading for them to actually taxi this time and resigned acceptance that he's about to jump out of yet another perfectly good plane.
And thus, three minutes later, two teenagers (and a naked mole-rat) are once again surrendering to the sweet embrace of gravity high in the skies above Middleton.
"It's go time!" Ron shouts to his diving buddy, using every ounce of false bravado in his being to keep from freaking out. His mind is currently portraying a line of thinking much more in tune with what he's currently feeling.
Pull it pull it pull it pull it pull the chute Rufus for the love of all that is holy and all that is cheesy pull it pull it!
The smallest member of Team Possible makes good on the unspoken pleas as he pulls the cord from his spot harnessed to the front of Ron's pack. Unfortunately, it seems Ron might have put his school work in the wrong bag.
"AHH! My homework!" he yells in panic as the papers and textbooks rain down around him.
"Serves you right!" Kim can't help but chuckle. She doesn't have it in her to be completely irritated with him, at least he kinda tried. Maybe I can ask Mr. Barkin if he could lay off Ron a little. He probably wouldn't give me detention just for asking. Possibly wouldn't. Maybe would. Most likely would, she ruefully concludes as they gently glide towards her house.
Meanwhile, in said house…
"Good morning, Dr. Possible," a matronly redhead greets her husband with a kiss on the cheek while donning a lab coat.
"And to you, Dr. Possible," he counters, tapping away on his tablet with the stylus he occasionally uses to stir his coffee.
"Crazy day. Three procedures before lunch! And you?"
Ann Possible. Medical doctorate in neuroscience and head of the Middleton Medical Center Neurology Department. One of the greatest surgeons and medical minds this side of the Mississippi River, all while balancing her responsibilities as a wife and mother of three. Barely has a minute to pause most mornings, which is likely the main contributing factor as to why her spouse's face is greeting her from the ID tag hanging off the loose fitting garment she just donned.
"Down to the wire on the Hephaestus Project. Three years, $3 billion. Boy, I hope this works!"
"More coffee, Hon?" Ann offers, along with a muffin, after switching into the correct coat. Never one to turn down a fresh baked breakfast pastry, he doesn't really pay much attention to how he sets the electronic device down as he seizes the treat.
"Are you sure you want to delete File Hephaestus?"
James Possible. Doctorates in astrophysics and mechanical engineering. Tackles his roles as father and husband with complete and utter devotion. Which is probably the reason why he's completely tuning out the electronic voice asking if he would like to annihilate the long-toiled fruits of his labor while his wife is talking to him.
"Yes, please!"
Well, fruit salad is always nice.
"Dr. Possible voice print acknowledged. Deleting file now."
The frightened gasp is quickly accompanied by furious tapping of the screen. "No, no, no! Undo! Undo!"
"File delete aborted."
James sighs in relief while Ann just gives him a soft smirk and cocked eyebrow. "No worries, Hon. Got it all up here!" he reassures with a tapping of his temple.
"Kids eaten?"
"Jim and Tim are in their room working on some top secret invention." He's really not supposed to condone his sons' reckless tendencies, but he can't help but be proud they inherited his knack for invention.
"Like father, like sons," his wife confirms his thoughts.
"Haven't seen Kimmie." There's only the slightest concern in his voice, almost as if it was the location of the morning paper that was unknown, not that of his daughter. Now most parents would be pulling their hair out if their child was missing the entire night. Probably call the police, maybe even organize a search party. But for the elder Possibles, it's just another Thursday.
And, right on cue, the object of their discussion enters the kitchen after making a very graceful landing in the front yard. "Morning!" she quickly greets while heading to the cupboards.
The adults share a look before redirecting their attention back to the recent arrival. "Got in a little late there, Kimmie-Cub." It's a stern admonishment from the Possible patriarch, complete with furrowed brow.
"Yeah," Kim starts as she snags a cereal box from the cabinet and pours herself a bowl, "I know it takes longer when we pull our chutes as soon as we bail, but Ron's not really a fan of freefalling, and I don't like ditching him."
"Where exactly were you last night?" her mother adds to the interrogation in a slight scold, her narrowed eyes matching her husband's.
Knowing that it should probably be hitting the news by now, Kim turns on the kitchen TV before going to grab some milk for her breakfast.
"The Tokyo toy magnate was rescued by world-famous teen hero Kim Possible," the local anchorwoman extols from the screen.
The faces of the elder Possibles relax, both appeased that their daughter once again has a justifiable reason for missing curfew again. "That's my girl," her father lauds before returning to his work.
But the focus of his commendation doesn't really hear it, having visibly stiffened from the broadcast that brought reassurance to her parents. The feed is cut as Kim jams the power button a lot harder than needed.
"They didn't mention him," she bristles, her increasing grip beginning to squeeze the life out of the poor carton still in her hand.
"Who?" the older redhead inquires.
"Ron! They didn't say anything about him, and that's just so ferociously wrong! He creamed a posse of ninjas coming my way, helped me rescue Mr. Nakasumi, he even got the Sumo Ninja to take himself out!"
"Sumo Ninja…" her father muses. Double checking some of his calculations, he chuckles as he recollects his youth. "I never had to worry about Sumo Ninjas at your age!" A thoughtful look crosses his brow. "Or Sumo anything, for that matter."
"Kimmie, it's not the first time Ron's been ignored in the public eye, and it never seems to get under his skin much. Why are you so bothered this time?"
Before she can answer her mom, an out of control rocket makes a sudden appearance in the kitchen, roaring through the air in an uncontrolled fury. Usually more of a typical Tuesday event for the Possibles, but they adapt. Well practiced in the art of dodging out of control science experiments, James lifts his coffee mug and Ann ducks her head to avoid the missile, neither diverting any attention from their notes and newspaper, respectively. Kim, on the other hand, loses just the tiniest amount of grace in her avoidance techniques as she tries to vocalize her concerns simultaneously.
"It's just that-" Jump "-people always-" Juke right "-overlook him-" Left knee up "-and what he does-" Duck "-in the field! Hold on."
Grabbing the fry pan from the stove, Kim lines up for the next pass of the rogue projectile. A solid hit right to the nose cone promptly ends the mini machine's mayhem, dropping it to the floor in a crumpled heap.
"Sweet backhand, Kimmie."
"Not yet, Dad."
Sure enough, a second rocket comes screaming in intent on carrying on the legacy of its fallen brother's rampage.
"Plus, he's-" Twist left "-been doing better-" Hop back "-in school and missions-" Duck "-and should be-" Smash Tweeb terrorizer number two into oblivion "-recognized! TWEEBS!"
Said objects of her most recent annoyance excitedly dart into the room.
"Mom!"
"Dad!"
"Did you see our…"
What could best be described as a growl erupts from their sister as she glares at them. Jim and Tim then spy the wreckage in front of the stove, exhaust leaking out of the now dormant engines. They turn an accusing eye to their older sibling.
"You did this."
"Why can't you Tweebs play with video games like normal kids?" Her question is an interesting mix of irritation, exasperation, plea, and just a hint of genuine curiosity.
"We do!" Jim admits.
"We use them for parts," Tim follows up.
"It's true," their father confirms, recalling the fate of the Z-Boy the boys received two Christmases ago.
Handing the totaled rockets back to their creators, Ann reminds them, yet again, "No missiles in the house, boys."
"Fine," they begrudgingly conceded as they exit.
"This is what happens when a rocket scientist and a brain surgeon reproduce," the teen heroine dryly comments to her folks.
Meanwhile, sleek a green and black plane finishes its landing sequence, the pilot silently fuming at her most recent loss. Her irritation isn't helped by the nearby lab tech awaiting the results of a successful mission. "Brain-tap machine ready for prisoner!" he proclaims.
Okay, I'm twisted, but this freak is a little too excited about poking around in some old guy's head, she thinks before tossing a black suit jacket, the only spoils retained from her mission, into his face. "There is no prisoner! Go tap yourself." She stalks off towards her quarters, ready to just take a bath and forget the ordeal. "Dah!" Or, she would have, had not the ground opened up to swallow her whole. She lands in a darkened room, poised and ready for combat.
"You have failed me for the last time, Shego." The deeper voice modulation doesn't really achieve its desired effect of invoking any sort of fear or shame in the villainess. If anything, she has to keep herself from laughing. Spotlights then start illuminating the room, each highlighting a burly form in a red and black full bodysuit.
And the fight begins as they charge her. A kick, a dodge, a redirect. Three down in less than five seconds. The fourth one actually surprises Shego with a bearhug from behind, pinning her arms to her sides. Of course, a near inhuman amount of flexibility allows her to kick her captor in the face and send him to the floor. The last one charges her and actually puts up a pretty decent spar, effectively dodging and blocking her moves.
"Your Synthodrones are improving. They might actually win in a fair fight," she lauds mid-parry. Her hand then ignites in a vibrant glow of green plasma. "Too bad that's not my style." Her point is driven home when she sinks her fist deep into her opponent's gut.
Viscous chartreuse goo spills from the wound as the foe slowly deflates from a straight standing position. "Synthodrone 842 will terminate operation." The robotic voice emanating from the construct warbles before it ceases function completely.
"843," the green villainess beckons, hand still aglow. The remaining enemies charge again, before suddenly halting mid stride, the main lights in the room finally activated.
"Shego!" an annoyed voice calls from her right. She looks to see her employer rise out of the floor a few feet away. "Must you always break my toys?" His admonishment ends up sinking from anger to more of a pitiful lament by the time he reaches her.
"Okay, sport. What are you all, 'You have failed me for the last time!'?" The accompanying clenched fists raised to the heavens really put the mocking impression over the top. "Are you kidding me with that?"
"No, Shego, the time has come to take our game to the next level!" Drakken's evil glee is cut short when he looks at the pile of slime on the floor. "Oh. I was especially fond of Number 842. He had a certain spring in his step and a boyish sparkle in his eye," he laments after scooping up a handful of the ooze. A touching gesture, truly. One that he instantly regrets as he tries to wipe the stuff off on his lab coat.
"No, I think that's syntho-goo. Can we get a mop in here, stat?" she yells to a nearby janitor. One of the mad scientist's wiser investments, if she's honest, given how often his schemes explode, implode, dissolve, and everything in between.
"Shego, walk with me, talk with me." They exit the chamber, soon walking down the viewing corridor for all of her boss's side projects. They stop in front of a room with a lab technician taking observations nearby a pool with a concerning amount of giant octopus tentacles waving out of it. "Would you say that I'm evil?"
"Oy, not this again."
"Shego, please, be honest," he pleads
"Yes, yes, you're very evil." She manages to tone down most of the sarcasm in her reply. Not all of it though.
"Ah, Henderson!" Drakken greets the technician by the pool. He waves, his employee cheerfully returning it. "Crucial to the mutant lifeform project." Moving on to the next room, they end up missing Henderson getting snatched by one of the tentacles and dragged into the tank. But that's probably for the best. No one wants to see what happened to him. "Oh, I suppose you're right."
"Dr. D, get a grip. I mean, nobody does super weapons like you." Shego's encouragement does come out notably more genuine than her last assurance. "Just look at that Annihilation Ray."
"Evil by design. And energy efficient!" His spirits are raised seeing the device in question function 'flawlessly' as it swings around the room, another poor technician panicking at the controls.
"See? There ya go." They move on, again missing the screams of terror behind them, as well as the laser blasting through the glass.
"And the things I'm doing in the field of torture are very exciting." They leave the tormented soul in this enclosure to his own devices, at the mercy of the puppets singing their endless song, worming its way into his ear, his brain, his very soul. But everyone knows: puppets don't know mercy.
"That's what I'm saying!" She puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder as they approach the next window. "You have definitely…" and then she actually looks at the room, "lost it." Really, that's the only appropriate response to the realization that your boss has spent time and effort creating a generic teenage girl's room and ordered grown adults to hang out in it.
"My latest research project: teenage wasteland. I will get inside her high school head. I will know Kim Possible's fatal flaw!" His confidence in his genius plan is assured as he hits the intercom button for the room. "Stevens! Progress report."
"What up, Dr. D-Diggity-Dawg?" replies the man listening to an ipod on the bed.
"We've lost Stevens," Drakken ruefully concludes as he hangs his head and weakly bangs the glass.
"Excuse me Dr. Drakken?" the lab tech from the landing bay inquires.
"What?!"
"Uh, without a brain to tap, the brain-tap machine is really not being used to its fullest extent," he meekly conveys.
"Nrrrrr, give me that!" The cerulean scientist steals the jacket he's still holding and fully unleashes his pent up irritation, tearing the garment into unrecognizable chunks of black cloth. But something catches his attention. A paper that has avoided his destruction. It's amazing Drakken doesn't get whiplash from how quickly his mood changes into sheer exuberance. "Wha-hoo-hoo-hoo!"
I'm probably going to regret asking this. "What are you so happy about?"
Drakken just continues with his maniacal gleeful chuckling before tucking the sheet into his coat's inner pocket. "Oh, nothing. Just the first step to world conquest!"
"Pff, whatever." Satisfied with Shego's indifference, he turns his back and starts to walk away, "Let me see that!" only for his sidekick to jump him and snag the paper quicker than he can react.
"Shego!" His cry sounds lame and pitiful, even to him, but it's the most he can muster as she examines his treasure.
A treasure of which she is clearly not seeing the value. "A doodle?" Drakken takes her moment of confusion to reclaim the drawing. "You are so whacked."
"Fo shizzle, Shegizzle."
"Oh, no. Are you trying to be hip again?"
"Word to your mother!"
"Ugh." She stalks off to her room before any more of her brain cells can commit suicide, internally lamenting why she puts up with her boss.
Some days, that dental plan really just isn't worth it.
A/N: So, some slight noticeable changes already, mostly in Kim's behavior, but they're mainly just symptomatic of the main change I was going for, but that'll show up a little clearer in the next chapter and after. This is my first real writing endeavor, so I'm not going to stray too drastically, but hopefully enough so that it's still engaging.
Alright, full disclosure, I came out with this a little later than planned. I had wanted to release it in increments to the point where the last chapter was released on the 8th, but other life responsibilities and a serious bout of writer's block kinda got in the way. Heck, I wasn't even planning on this being my first story. But I really did want to at least get the first chapter of this out for the anniversary. And I just barely got it in under the wire.
On that note, I am certainly not the only one to have the idea of releasing a story to celebrate this milestone. When I last checked, we also have Glimmers of you and me by anaadiffy, The Rest of Our Lives by NerdsinaTree, and You're So Lame by el409554. Now if you've already read You're So Lame and it seems like I'm copying the shout out there, well, you're right. But hey, they're all good stories and deserve another recommendation, so go check them out.
I'm new to this, so I welcome any constructive feedback, what I could do better, any glaring typos, etc. But I'm praying this wasn't a horrible first endeavor. Anyway, future author's notes shouldn't be this long, and thanks for sticking through the wall of text. Hope y'all enjoyed this first installment, next one to come hopefully soon!
CowtionFish