Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

            Tonight was a big night for Hiro Hamada. The San Francisco Institute of Technology (a.k.a. “SFIT”) was holding a convention for up-and-coming geniuses, like Hiro himself, to showcase new inventions that would receive an acceptance into the university. Hiro planned on presenting his microbots – swarms of tiny robots that linked together in any arrangement imaginable using a neuro-cranial transmitter, worn like a sweatband on Hiro’s head.

            Investors were impressed by Hiro’s presentation, including Alistar Krei (CEO of Krei Tech). Shortly after the presentation’s conclusion, Krei attempted to approach Hiro and recruit him, until…

            SWOOF!

            Krei’s head was nearly knocked from his shoulders by a green-glowing fist that came within a hair of connecting. The attacker was an attractive, curvaceous woman with pale green skin, black lips, long thick black hair, and forest-green eyes. Krei would’ve been enchanted by her looks alone, had she not been there to kill him.

            She moved in with a fast and fierce roundhouse kick, which had suddenly been blocked by a blond-haired man in a grey flannel suit that constricted a muscular build. This man, whoever he was, became Krei’s protector that evening. He went toe-to-toe with the green woman, deflecting every single one of her blows.

            “You’re good,” the woman told her opponent. “But I was expecting a certain cheerleader, not a hunky beefcake like yourself.”

            “Sorry to disappoint,” the man responded with a distinguished British accent.

            They continued to fight after their brief exchange, which sounded a little like flirting to Krei. The CEO’s bodyguard soon came to his aid, escorting him away through the crowd, stirred by the sudden chaos. They did not get very far, as more assassins leapt in and took down Krei’s bodyguards.

            These attackers were different from the woman. They were ducks adorned in orange-and-red uniforms, complete with egg-shaped helmets. Their commander was a sharp-dressed rooster with a metal beak. He stood in Krei’s way, blocking his escape. “Goin’ somewheres, Mistuh Krei,” he asked, talking as if he was a gangster from the 1920s.

            Krei saw how he was surrounded by the rooster’s egg-headed foot soldiers. With nowhere to run, he demanded to know, “What do you people want from me?!”

            “We want ya to fry!” the metal-beaked rooster exclaimed, prior to retrieving a gun from his suit jacket, firing an electric beam that almost incinerated Krei. Thankfully, a redheaded, teenaged girl swooped in from the rafters and kicked the gun right out of the rooster’s hand. It dissolved into a nearby vat of acid on display for another presenter.

            The rooster looked on the interfering redhead with a fiery glare. “Who dah heck are youse?!”

            “That should be the least of your concern,” she told him. “I gotta admit I was expecting to find Dr. Drakken.”

            “He sends his regards,” the rooster sneered and then proceeded to chomp at her arms and legs with his metal beak. The teenager dodged his chomps, moving acrobatically in a series of flips and somersaults.

            Once again, Krei used the distraction to get away. Without any protection, he made his way to the rooftop.

            The first fight – between the pale green woman and the blond Englishman – led to one of the displayed inventions getting damaged by the green woman’s flaming fists. It exploded in a hail of sparks that set the entire exhibition hall on fire. The green woman and the rooster both noticed Krei fleeing to the roof. They brusquely abandoned their respective clashes and went in pursuit of the CEO.

            This prompted the teenaged redhead and the blond Englishman to give chase, but not before accidentally (and literally) bumping into each other along the way.

            “Who are you?” The redhead asked the Englishman.

            “I was about to ask you the same question,” he cynically retorted.

            Rather than dwell on figuring out each other’s identities, the two focused on the mission they seemed to have shared: protecting Alastair Krei.

            As soon as Krei arrived on the rooftop, he took out his phone and made a call: “Luther, where are you?”

            The burly voice on the other line answered, “I’m comin’ right at ya, Ethan. Rendezvous with me near the lake adjacent to the showcase hall.”

            Krei looked over the edge of the rooftop that faced the exact lake Luther had mentioned. It was about twelve feet from the building’s foundation, presumably enough space for Krei to make the jump. He was just about to, before he heard a bothersome voice taunt him there on the rooftop, “Alastair Krei! It appears you have nowhere else to run!”

            Turning to see the speaker, Krei saw a man he vaguely recognized. His skin was pale blue, he had black ponytailed hair, and there was a scar below his left eye. Again, Krei demanded to know, “Why are all of you people after me?!”

            “Because you’re in the way of our future!”

            The scarred, blue-skinned man brandished another gun (like the one that the metal-beaked rooster had) that fired a concentrated beam of electric energy, meant to fry Krei to death. Just as before, Krei’s life was spared as he was pushed out of harm’s way by someone that arrived on the roof long before him.

            That someone Krei discovered to be a platypus in a fedora.

            “Perry the Platypus!” the blue-skinned man identified in a mix of surprise and agitation. “What are you doing here?!” After a quick second, he realized, “Wait. Why am I even asking that?!” He then fired his electro-gun at the fedora-wearing platypus, who avoided every blast until he managed to leap onto the gun barrel and deliver a fierce uppercut to the blue-skinned man’s scarred blue face, knocking him out cold.

            The electro-gun was dropped in the process, skidding directly to the feet of Krei. Picking up the gun, he glanced at the platypus named Perry and said, “I’m not sure whether to thank you or ask how I was just saved by a platypus.”

            Suddenly, the rooftop entrance door was blown off its hinges, permitting the green woman and the metal-beaked rooster to storm out. Krei fired the electro-gun their way, holding them off long enough for the teenaged redhead and the blond Englishman to show up and engage the two assassins, this time exchanging opponents.

            Their matches were soon disrupted by a section of the rooftop that crumbled, due to the intensifying inferno inside the building. The need to get off the roof was felt by both opposing forces, yet only one possessed the means of doing so. The metal-beaked rooster arranged via communicator for a pickup from an unmarked black helicopter. It dropped a ladder for him and his green-skinned associate to climb, but not without the unconscious blue-skinned man, who the woman carried on her shoulder.

            Watching the assassins leave in the chopper, Krei was now stuck on the collapsing rooftop with the Englishman, the teenager, and the platypus.

            “Any of you guys have an idea as to how we’re getting off this roof?” the teenager inquired.

            Krei remembered the adjacent lake and instructed to the other three, “We jump! This way!” He motioned for them to join him on the ledge facing the lake. With no other choice, they all made one grand leap that only increased in force when an explosion erupted behind them, propelling them across a distance much further than they collectively anticipated.

            They landed in the lake with a collective splash.

            After reaching the shore, the teenager noticed Krei’s face appeared disfigured. “Mr. Krei…your face,” she gasped, assuming the CEO sustained physical injury from the explosion. “Are you alright?”

            When Krei realized it for himself, he seemed very frustrated. “Dammit,” he groaned, tearing away at the skin of his face, much to the disgust of the three people who witnessed him doing it. However, it dawned on them that what Krei was tearing away was not his skin but a mask of some sorts. As the layer was torn off, another face was revealed – that of a dark-haired man with features more chiseled than the one he masqueraded as.

            This unmasking undoubtedly came as a shock to the teenager, the Englishman, and the platypus.

            “Sorry for the deception,” the imposter’s voice sounded electronically distorted, Krei’s voice overlapping it. He removed some type of strip taped to his throat, allowing him to speak naturally. “I was sent to protect the asset.”

            “So was I,” the Englishman said.

            “Yeah, me, too,” the teenager also verified.

            The platypus gave his own confirmation with a distinct chattering sound it made. The humans still found his presence there questionable.

            “Who do you work for?” the Englishman asked the imposter.

            The imposter merely smirked and told him, “People who I would imagine you’d never find out about. People who I would imagine are pissed right now, because there’s no way for sure to tell if any of us succeeded in our mission, since none of us had eyes on the asset.”

            “You mean Krei?” the teenager clarified. “Don’t you know where he is, since you were the one who took his face? By the way, that was really gross.”

            “Krei wasn’t the asset…he was a loose thread,” the imposter clarified.

            “Then who is the asset?” the Englishman asked, his voice bordering on aggravation.

            Before the imposter could answer, a black van pulled up near the group. The side door slid open and an African American gentleman stuck out his bald head, addressing the imposter: “The asset’s safe. Though there was one casualty in the explosion. We better get goin’.”

            “Couldn’t agree with ya more, Luth,” the imposter told the man. As he headed for the van, he left one parting message to the teenager, the Englishman, and the platypus: “Thanks for the help…but don’t get in my way again.”

            They watched him drive away with his bald accomplice.

            The teenager particularly felt annoyed with his choice of parting words. “He thinks that we helped him?! Who does he think he is?!”

            “I don’t know,” the Englishman said. “I’m still having trouble fathoming how a cheerleader and a platypus were assigned for a government mission.”

            The platypus delivered a chatter of despondency before swimming away back in the lake. Now left alone with the Englishman, the teenager remarked, “Well, I can’t speak for the platypus, but I’m more than capable of handling a mission, Mister…?”

            “Bond…James Bond,” the Englishman introduced himself.

            Unbeknownst to the teenager, Bond had captured her face and all the others he encountered that evening, thanks contact lenses doubling as cameras.

Chapter Text

            The scent of twenty different types of Mexican dishes (including but not limited to nachos, burritos, and tacos) helped Kim to relax after the stressful night she had in San Francisco. Bueno Nacho was a popular hangout spot for Middleton High students like her and her best friend, Ron Stoppable. There they sat in their usual booth, Kim relaying the details of her recent mission while Ron munched on his “naco” (his personal invention of combination nachos and a taco) with Rufus, his naked pet mole rat.

            “And he had the nerve to thank us for helping him and then tell us not to get in his way again!” Kim vented, slamming her fists down on the table every time she enunciated on “us.” “I swear if I ever see that guy again, he’ll be sorry he got in my way! He practically ruined my mission, wearing Alistar Krei’s face!”

            “Ew! Kim!” Ron groaned, just as he was about to take a bite out of his naco. “I’m tryin’ to eat here. Can we change the subject? Tell me more about that asset…” He suddenly burst with laughter, unable to bring himself to say “asset” without doing so – much to the annoyance of Kim. “I’m sorry, K.P. It’s just the funniest word ever.”

            Kim shot him a cold stare, her arms folded. “Yeah, Ron…hilarious. The asset is just fine.” Again, Ron couldn’t compose himself. However, he quickly did when Kim mentioned, “Sadly, his brother died in the explosion.”

            “Aw, man,” Ron sheepishly said. “I’m sorry to hear that. How’s he holdin’ up?”

            “No idea,” Kim answered. “I’ve been waiting on an update from Wade. He’s also supposed to get me some info on those three other agents I encountered last night.” Just then, her Kimmunicator beeped. She answered it right away, and Wade’s pudgy smiling face filled the screen. “Go, Wade.”

            “I got the info you requested, Kim,” Wade said over the feed. “The name you gave me, James Bond, only comes up through classified MI6 records… a lot of redacted stuff. As far as the guy who disguised himself as Alistar Krei, I wasn’t able to find anything on him without much else to go on.”

            “What about the platypus in the fedora?” Kim asked.

            Wade paused for a long time with a quizzical expression on his face. “Seriously?”

            Kim gingerly slammed her head on the booth table, exasperated by the lack of details on the co-conspirators. “Just look further into Bond for now, Wade,” she tasked, though her voice sounded muffled with her face smushed on the table.

            “What did you say?” Wade asked her, checking his audio settings.

            Ron, mouthful of naco, leaned in over the Kimmunicator, so that Wade could see him. “She said look in on the Bond dude,” he said, spitting out bits of food onto the Kimmunicator screen. “Oops! My bad!” He fixed his blunder by licking the bits from the screen.

            Wade felt like he was going to throw up, watching Ron lick the Kimmunicator screen, an act that created dog-like slobbering noises over the microphone. “O.K., I’m just gonna hang up now and bleach my eyes,” Wade said, switching off the feed as quickly as he could.

            Beneath the pile of her own luscious red locks, Kim groaned, “Why did this conspiracy have to happen on the day of Nationals?”

            Bond mentally couldn’t shake off the oddities that occurred the previous night: a green woman with flaming fists, a man who wore a hyper-realistic facemask, and a platypus in a fedora. Nonetheless, he reported to MI6 headquarters the next day, more business than usual. He arrived at the Q branch lab, a space enclosed within Plexiglas walls and doors, hoping for a ready analysis on the footage recorded from the ocular cameras he wore during the assignment.

            M was with Q at the moment of 007’s arrival, presumably there to see the footage analysis as well. “007,” M greeted Bond. As always, he didn’t waste time on pleasantries, getting straight to the point. “We were able to gather intel on the individuals you encountered in San Francisco.”

            “Facial recognition tells us this,” Q brought up the images of the teenaged redhead and the Krei imposter. Bond curiously looked on them as they were projected on the holotable. “Kimberly Ann Possible – Age: 16, no known aliases,” Q said of the girl. “As far as we can determine, she’s freelance, not affiliated with any bureaus or government organizations, except for Global Justice on occasion.”

            “What of the American male?” Bond pointed to the Krei imposter.

            “A field operative for the U.S. government’s Impossible Missions Force,” M briefed. “His name is Ethan Hunt.”

            Bond then noticed a third image beside Possible and Hunt: the platypus in the fedora. “Got anything on this one?”

            Q paused for a long time with a quizzical expression on his face. “Seriously?”

            Moving past it, Bond proceeded to inquire, “How is it that I managed to be assigned to the same mission that three other agents from three other agencies were? And who were the three assailants that targeted Krei?” His frustrations became clearer with each inquiry. They were specifically directed towards M. “There was quite a bit about this assignment I wasn’t briefed on. Why is that?”

            In response, M used Q’s computer to bring up one enlarged image above those of Possible, Hunt, and the platypus. It was a 14-year-old boy of Asian descent with messy black hair and a slight gap between his teeth. “This is the asset you were sent to watch out for – Hiro Hamada,” M identified. “His technological brilliance has been sought after by the League, a coalition of four of the top terrorist organizations, including SPECTRE.”

            “I’m well aware of who they are,” Bond said in reference to the one aforementioned organization.

            “Agencies are gathering in response to form the Team,” M continued.

            “And these other agencies are the ones that employed our three friends? Including the platypus in the fedora?”

            M detected the hint of sarcasm in 007’s tone. “Correct,” he confirmed Bond’s spot-on deduction. “I’m assigning you the task of finding Kimberly Possible and bringing her to the rendezvous point near Mount Rushmore in South Dakota. Because she’s a freelancer, the only way of contacting her is through her young associate, Wade. He’s been looking into you particularly.”

            “I’m flattered,” Bond dryly remarked. “I suppose you’d want to recruit him as well.”

            M grinned. “We’re already on it.”

            “And what about the other two?”

            “They’re being ordered by their superiors to the rendezvous point also.”

            “Including the platypus in the fedora?”

            “Yes, including the platypus in the fedora, 007.”

            Q snickered. “Wish I could be there just to see him sitting with the rest of you.”

            “A platypus in a fedora? Seriously?!” IMF operative Benji Dunn sat outside the “La Ratatouille” bistro with his fellow agents, Ethan and Luther, as both men recounted their recent mission in San Francisco to him.

            “I’m just relieved that I’ll never have to worry about those people or that platypus ever again,” Ethan said, sitting back in his chair and taking in the comforting atmosphere.

            His moment of tranquility didn’t last long.

            “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Ethan,” Luther uttered, right before he handed Ethan a tablet computer that he retrieved out of the black bag that he brought along with him to the bistro. Ethan figured it was just the usual computer he always carried with him. He should’ve known better.

            He let out a depleted sigh, knowing exactly what was to come.

            Taking the tablet from Luther’s hands, Ethan powered it on and a video automatically played with a man’s voice speaking over it: “Good evening, Mr. Hunt. As you know, your mission in San Francisco was to ensure the protection of the asset, Hiro Hamada. While you were successful in your mission, the threat of the League remains. In response to this threat, the British and American governments – in cooperation with IMF – have joined to form the Team. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to rendezvous with these agents near Mt. Rushmore in South Dakota.”

            When Ethan saw the agents in question were the same three he encountered in San Francisco, he irritably groaned, “Dammit.”

            “Good luck, Mr. Hunt,” the video concluded prior to giving the usual warning: “This message will self-destruct in five seconds.” After exactly five seconds, the tablet self-destructed with a poof of smoke emitting from it.

            Smoke might as well have also come out of Ethan’s ears in his frustration.

            It didn’t help much to hear Benji still going on about that one detail from his San Francisco mission. “A secret agent platypus,” he pondered aloud. “Who’d come up with something that bizarre?”

            “Mom! Mom! Mom!”

            Perry jolted at the sound of Candace’s frantic calls for her mother, Linda Flynn-Fletcher, as she rushed inside their residence. Anytime Candace called for Linda in that manner, it could only mean one thing: Phineas and Ferb had developed yet another invention that Candace deemed “bust-able.”

            Linda was in the process of feeding Perry at the time Candace rushed in. “What is it, Candace?” Linda asked with a breath of irritation.

            “Mom, Phineas and Ferb are in Hill Valley right now, building a time machine!”

            “Didn’t they already build a time machine?” Linda couldn’t believe she even had to ask that.

            “I said the exact same thing,” Candace admitted. “But this one’s out of a DeLorean! And they got that crackpot old lady, Doc Brown, to—!”

            “Alright. Candace, you really need to get your stories straight, because I’m starting to lose track of where you are with this one.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Just yesterday, you said the boys found jobs as Ghostbusters in New York City.”

            “They did!”

            “So how can they be in Hill Valley building a time machine out of a DeLorean with Doc Brown?!”

            “Two words, Mom: Teli-Pad! They got it in the garage right now! C’mon, I’ll show it to you! C’mon! Let’s go!” Candace was already halfway through the house before Linda could even move a toe.

            Having been distracted by her daughter, Linda reminded herself that she still needed to feed Perry. However, when she looked down, all she saw was Perry’s bowl. “Huh, that’s strange,” she muttered. “Where’s Perry?”

            Unbeknownst to Linda, as she was distracted, Perry stood upright on his hind legs, put on his fedora, and slipped through one of the secret passages within the Flynn-Fletcher household. Sliding through a series of tubes that were something out of a water park ride (just without the water), he arrived in his lair where he landed perfectly in his chair and faced the large viewscreen that already had a live feed of Major Monogram’s mustachioed face.

            “Good morning, Agent P,” Monogram greeted. “I must congratulate you on your hard work in protecting Alistar Krei…even though he turned out to be another guy disguised as Alistar Krei.”

            “That mask was so real,” the nasally voice of Carl Karl (O.W.C.A.’s hapless intern) spoke off-screen. “It’s like rubbery human flesh. It’s so disgusting!”

            “Not now, Carl!” Monogram grumbled.

            “Sorry, sir,” Karl whimpered.

            “Anyway, Agent P,” Monogram recommenced. “We monitored your assignment in San Francisco and learned more about the other agents you encountered.” Images of the three agents superimposed beside Monogram on the viewscreen. “I understand you prefer to work alone, Agent P, but the government has asked that we cooperate with some of the best counterterrorist agencies in the world and protect the asset, Hiro Hamada.” Hiro’s photograph appeared on the feed, overlapping the three from before.

            “You must rendezvous with the other agents at Mt. Rushmore. You remember Mt. Rushmore, don’t you, Agent P? We did a fun, heartwarming episode there back in Season One.” The deadpan look he noticed Perry giving him urged the major to get back on topic. “You know what to do now, Agent P. Get to that rendezvous point in South Dakota pronto!”

            Perry saluted to the major and leaped away, taking another secret passage out of his lair. Shortly after his departure, Carl asked Monogram, “Sir, is it true that one of those other agents Agent P’s working with is a cheerleader?”

            “Seriously, Carl?!” Monogram remarked in annoyance.

Chapter Text

            It was the day of the National Cheerleading Championships at Middleton High School. This was the specific location supplied to Bond by MI6 Chief of Staff Bill Tanner. It was the location where he would find Kim Possible.

            007 rolled into the parking lot in his Aston Martin DB5. The sporty vehicle garnered a few stares from some of the visitors in attendance for the championships, including one freckle-faced, bespectacled young man. “Wow, Mister,” he told Bond in a rather nasally-sounding voice. “That’s some car!”

            “Thank you,” Bond remarked with a nod and a smirk. “Keep an eye on it for me, won’t you?”

            The young man gladly accepted his temporary job. “Yes, sir!”

            Bond blended in with the crowd. He was lucky to have noticed other men dressed in suits like his, so he would not have stood out in the crowd. Then again, those other men could have possibly been talent scouts, and Bond could’ve easily been mistaken for one himself. Best to lay low as possible for this one, he mentally deliberated.

            The crowd gathered in the school gymnasium, which served as the main stage for the Nationals event. Bond sat uncomfortably in the bleachers among a group that included parents with unruly children, teenaged couples engaged in public displays of affection, and one blond kid who cheered for one distinct cheerleader before she was even out on the court. “Alright, K.P.!” he yelled. “Let’s do it!”

            007 began to wonder if Tanner made a mistake in this location. He gazed around the stands to see if one of the people sitting in the area was Kim Possible. Though he did spot one or two redheads, none of the other teens there fit her description.

            “Shouldn’t you be down there with the other scouts, brah?” he heard the blond kid addressing him. He looked his way in aggravation and then disgust when he noticed a naked mole rat perched on the boy’s shoulder.

            “I’m not one of the scouts,” Bond told him.

            “Ya could’ve fooled me with that fancy suit ya got on,” the kid noted. “You must be one of the parents. You’re not Bonnie’s dad, are ya? I can’t remember if I ever really seen him before, but I’m pretty sure that…”

            “I’m here on business,” Bond did his best to divert from the conversation.

            Unfortunately, his answers only piqued the blond teen’s curiosity even further. “You’re not a scout and you’re not a parent…what kind of business do you have at a high school?” He then gasped as he conjured up one other assumption: “Are you our new principal?”

            Annoyed to no end, Bond considered moving to another section of the bleachers, but he was stopped as soon as the lights switched off. His instincts as a 00 agent heightened for a brief moment, chiefly to the cries of the crowd. Upon closer examination, he realized those cries were in fact cheers, stirred by the commencement of the Nationals event.

            “Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer said over the P.A. “Give it up for the Middleton High School cheerleading squad!”

            A group of teenage girls dressed in synchronized cheerleading uniforms ran out onto the basketball court. Bond could barely believe his eyes when he saw one of them to be Kim Possible. Bloody hell…she’s a cheerleader, he reflected in disbelief, smirking as he watched Kim and her squad perform cheers that they had presumably spent weeks practicing on. Kim herself displayed some of the same moves Bond remembered seeing in San Francisco, albeit more for entertainment than defense.

            “YEAH! GO, K.P.!” he once again heard the blond kid cheer her on.

            Bond’s interest in the young man changed on discovering his connection to Possible. “You know her?”

            “Heck yeah, I do,” he told 007. “K.P.’s been my best friend since Pre-K!”

            “Interesting,” Bond uttered. “What else can you tell me about her?”

            Now it was the blond kid who started to become a little annoyed from Bond’s prying. “Eh, I dunno, man,” he said. “Would ya stop weirdin’ me out with creepy questions? I’m tryin’ to support my friend.”

            Bond obliged to the young man’s request, deciding to simply sit and watch the show with renewed interest. He figured after it was all over to be the right time to approach Possible.

            BOOM!

            There came an explosion within the gymnasium, massive enough to shake the bleachers. Bond felt the vibrations reverberate across the bench he sat on. The explosion destroyed one side of the building; luckily, no one was caught in it. The cheers Bond mistook for cries earlier had now transfixed into the real thing. People in attendance panicked, fleeting to the nearest emergency exit. Kim and her squad tumbled from the pyramid they formed at the time of the explosion – although Kim was the only one who managed to land gracefully on her feet.

            Bond witnessed her graceful landing just as he also noticed a red laser that dotted directly on her forehead. It was a sniper laser, and Kim was right in its crosshairs. Quickly, Bond looked skyward to see where the sniper was located. He saw one man clad in black, including a ski mask, taking aim for Possible through an open skylight.

            Acting fast, Bond drew his concealed gun and opened fire on Kim’s would-be assassin. He knew this action would only create more panic to the people around him, including Possible’s associate and his pet naked mole rat. But it was a risk 007 was willing to take to save Kim’s life.

            None of the shots fired from Bond’s gun hit their intended target. Some of them hit around the skylight’s frame, others shattering glass. They spooked the sniper assassin more than anything and directed his attention towards Bond.

            Upon hearing the shots herself, Kim had also noticed 007.

            “Bond?” she muttered. “What’s he doing here?”

            She got her answer as she followed the aim of his gun to the skylight. She only caught a glimpse of the sniper that nearly killed her before he fled. Immediately thereafter, the “egghead” henchmen she fought in San Francisco, as well as Drakken’s own henchmen, dropped in through the shattered skylight and surrounded Kim on the basketball court.

            Bond dashed in from the stands and expertly took out a few of the cronies in hand-to-hand combat. Possible took out a few herself with some flips and kicks until she was standing back-to-back with 007. “Are you stalking me?” she asked him. “If so, then…ew!”

            “You’re welcome for me saving your life, by the way,” Bond exchanged as he also exchanged a few lefts and a right with a Drakken henchman.

            “Why’re you at my school?” Kim asked, back-flipping over Bond to crack an Egghead henchman with a swift kick to his head.

            “I was sent to recruit you.” Bond tossed a Drakken henchman that attempted to tackle him from below.

            “Recruit me for what? MI6?” Kim executed a cartwheel with a kick that connected with an Egghead’s chin, sending him sprawling back into three others and knocking them all down like bowling pins.

            “Your friend Wade should stop looking into me, if he values his life.” Bond kicked at the knee of a Drakken henchman, sending him down on the other long enough to punch him in the face.

            “Don’t threaten Wade!” Kim dodged an Egghead’s attempted punch, grabbing him by the arm and judo-flipping him over her.

            “I wouldn’t dream of it…not after he’s already been recruited.”

            “Recruited for what?!”

            Together, Bond and Possible delivered a coordinated punch to one tall, muscular Egghead with enough force to knock him down with a loud thud. He was the last of the two distinctive henchmen they dealt with. Afterwards, they focused their efforts on catching up with the sniper.

            “He’s still on the school grounds,” Bond surmised.

            “No doubt,” Kim acknowledged.

            They ran out of the gymnasium among the fleeting pack of panicked bystanders. Had he not been deafened by all the cries, Kim would have heard Ron calling out her name from the stands. He was about to chase after her and the weird British guy he met before all the chaos, until someone snatched him by the arm and held him at bay.

            Turning to see who it was, he was met with the intimidating glare of Bonnie Rockwaller. “Explain, Stoppable!” she demanded. “Is this another one of Kim’s sworn enemies or whatever? ‘Cause if it is, consider her off the squad!”

            “I don’t really know for sure what’s goin’ on myself, Bonnie,” Ron replied, “but I promise you we’ll get some answers as soon as we catch up with Kim and our new British principal.”

            Kim and Bond pushed their way through the crowd piling out of the gymnasium. The sniper already had a good two-minute head start, taking into account that he had to disassemble his rifle before fleeing the scene. Luckily, Kim spotted him just in time leaping onto the roof of the main building on the MHS campus, adjacent to the gymnasium. “He’s up there!” she alerted 007.

            Wasting no time, they climbed up the roof access ladder along the side of the main building. When they made it onto the roof, Bond – who was the first to make it there – nearly had his throat sliced open from a knife wielded by the sniper assassin. Had he not instinctively ducked his head back, while still gripping onto the ladder, the knife would have met its mark. His reaction, however, costed him his gun, falling out of his grip.

            He kicked the sniper away from the ladder, allowing himself and Kim to step onto the roof and engage in two-on-one combat with the black-clad hit man. He delivered an elbow to the face of Bond, staggering the 00 agent to make it an even one-on-one fight between himself and Kim. She went in for a kick, only for the hired gun to have caught her leg and toss her into the nearest wall.

            The back of Kim’s head smacked against the wall, leaving her stunned. The world around her turned into a haze. She could only make out one black figure looming over her and pointing something directly in her face. As everything began to clear up within a few seconds, she realized that she was staring down the barrel of a handgun.

            She gasped, her body freezing up. Never had she stared into a gun at such close range that she could see the bullet ready to fire between her eyes.

            It would have been the end of Kim Possible for sure had it not been for the recovered 007, who tackled the hit man away from Kim. The gun fired as the assassin reflectively gripped on the trigger, though the shot was into the air rather than Kim’s face. She watched both men crash through another skylight, rushing over to look down it to see where they landed.

            The area looked to be a biology classroom. The bodies of Bond and the sniper assassin hit one of the lab tables before being sprawled out over the floor, covered in glass (and bruises). It didn’t take long for either man to recover, continuing their brawl within the empty classroom setting.

            Kim knew she had to get down there right away and help Bond. She darted through the exit door and down the stairwell. When she made it into the hallway of the topmost floor of the main building, she followed the grunts Bond and his opponent made in their scuffle to determine which classroom they ended up in. The grunts got louder the closer she got, and once she was able to single out the specific classroom they were in, she was just about to kick down the door.

            Until…

            “Kim Possible!” she heard the angry voice of Bonnie Rockwaller call out to her.

            Oh, no! Not now! Anytime but now!

            She saw Bonnie run up to her with Ron breathlessly following close behind. “You O.K., K.P.? What can we do to help?”

            “We?!” Bonnie sneered. “Oh, no, no! This is her mess to clean up, as usual! She ruined our chance at winning the Nationals!”

            “Bonnie, now is not the time for this!” Kim argued.

            “Oh, don’t worry, you’ll have all the time you want for your little crime-fighting side job,” Bonnie said, “because you’re off the cheer squad!”

            “What?!” Kim exclaimed. “Bonnie, you can’t—”

            BLAM!

            Their conversation abruptly concluded as a gunshot rang out from inside the biology room. They collectively gasped in seeing what appeared to be blood splatter onto the frosted windows. A body slammed against them, slumping down to the floor and tracking even more blood from a head wound.

            “Oh, my god!” Bonnie cried, her hands over her mouth. “I’m gonna be sick!”

            While Bonnie ran to the nearest girls’ bathroom, Kim was heavily nervous as to which of the two men inside the biology room won the scuffle: Bond or the assassin. The doorknob unlocked on the other side and twisted, prompting Kim to guard Ron, in case it was the bad guy who survived.

            She was relieved to see that it was actually a worn-out, slightly battered Bond who walked out. Seeing 007 in such a state, Ron deduced, “Hey, you’re no principal at all, are you?” He grew a bit aggravated from all the secrecy. “Alright, spill! Who are you?”

            “He’s…a friend,” Kim spoke on 007’s behalf, though her answer didn’t sound too convincing to Ron’s ears.

            Meanwhile, Bond took out his phone and made a call.

            “M,” he addressed the person on the other line. “Yes, I found her. So did some of the League’s lackeys who were sent to kill her. One of them is lying dead in a biology classroom on the fourth floor of the school. It’s a safe assumption the League knows about our plan.” He paused for a brief moment to hear M’s orders. “Understood. We’re headed to the rendezvous point right now.”

            Bond hung up the phone and took Kim by the arm, leading her towards the stairwell. “Don’t touch me!” she ordered, pulling her arm away from him. “What rendezvous point? Where are you taking me?”

            007 admired how feisty she was, but now wasn’t the time for it. “Mount Rushmore,” he told her. “The rest of the team is waiting for us there.”

            “Team?” Kim reacted with an eyebrow raised in question. “Consisting of who?”

            “You and me for starters,” Bond said. “And two others you’ll recognize when you see them.”

            “Hey, British dude!” Ron asserted. “Wherever K.P.’s goin’, I’m goin’, too!”

            “Like hell, you are,” Bond refuted. “You’re not a part of what’s happening here.”

            “I beg to diff, Mr. Bond,” Kim countered. “Ron has always been a part of all my missions.”

            Bond sternly shook his head. “Not this one.”

            He headed out of MHS’s main building with Kim and Ron. They exited the building to a gathering of shaken students, parents, and faculty members. The police and the fire department were also there – the former to take statements and make arrests on the Egghead and Drakken henchmen, and the latter to put out the fire brought on from the explosion.

            The presence of the local authorities was Bond’s cue to leave with Kim.

            They approached where he parked his Aston Martin DB5, which had been looked after the entire time by the freckle-faced young man, in spite of all the mayhem that occurred on campus. “Thanks, son,” Bond told him with a pat on the shoulder.

            “You got it, mister,” the young man said. “I wasn’t gonna let those creeps lay a finger on it.”

            As Bond got into the car, Kim turned to Ron and promised him, “I’ll call you, as soon as I can.” It was the last thing she told him before hopping into Bond’s Aston Martin, although she momentarily confused the driver’s side for the passenger’s side, due to the vehicle’s European design.

            The despondent Ron (with Rufus peeping out of his pants pocket) and the freckled, bespectacled young man watched them depart.

            “Ain’t she a beaut?” the young man asked Ron.

            “Shut up, Ned!” Ron grumbled.

            “What? I was talking about the car.”

Chapter Text

            Ethan Hunt arrived at the rendezvous point early in the afternoon, revving into the parking lot in a black 2021 BMW M850. He blended in with the many tourists there, wearing civilian attire that included sunglasses, a jacket, and jeans. As he passed the information center, he was provided with a brochure from one of the staff standing outside; though Ethan’s instincts kicked in when the staff member advised him, “Be sure to stop by the gift shop, sir. It’s the only way to see the sights of the memorial.”

            It was a coded message. The staff member was an agent, though Ethan was unable to determine if he was IMF or one of the other organizations they were allied with for the mission. Regardless, he went to the gift shop. Following the message, he determined what the “only way” was that he could “see the sights of the memorial.”

            He eyed some sunglasses on a nearby rack and plucked one from it. He removed the pair that he was wearing and tried on the new pair. They seemed like ordinary sunshades at first until Ethan looked on the map of the memorial in the brochure. Sure enough, the sunshades were designed with black light lenses that picked up on markings invisible to the naked eye.

            According to the markings, Ethan was to take the Presidential Trail to a specific spot where he would rendezvous with the other agents. When he got to the spot, he saw there was no one else there. This prompted him to ponder on the fact that he was the first to arrive.

            While he stood and waited, he detected something blocking the sun. Looking up, he was taken aback by what he initially perceived as a lost kite floating through the skies. As it started descending towards his location, Hunt realized it wasn’t a kite but a hang glider operated by a platypus.

            But not just any platypus – the one with the fedora.

            “Son of a…” he muttered, as he watched the platypus make his descent near him, executing a perfect landing right along the Presidential Trail. Ethan was flabbergasted. It was the same platypus from San Francisco…the same one that saved him from Dr. Drakken, while he was still in disguise as Alistar Krei. There was no denying it.

            Ethan recalled seeing the name of this certain platypus from the briefing I.M.F. sent him in France. “You’re Perry…right?” he asked, not expecting to have received an answer from a semiaquatic mammal incapable of human speech. Then again, Perry seemed intelligent enough to have understood Ethan, nodding in response to his inquiry.

            Hunt gave an approving nod. “Good. Nice to meet ya, Perry. I’m Ethan Hunt.”

            Perry activated some type of wristwatch device strapped on him, and a small holographic projection of Ethan’s dossier popped up. It had most of Hunt’s personal information in it, including his date of birth and a few bits that should’ve been redacted.

            “How did you get all of that?” Ethan asked, again assuming Perry was going to give him a direct verbal reply. But Perry didn’t even bother to provide a physical answer, making it seem as if the details of how he got Hunt’s file were classified.

            This unusual interaction between them was cut short just as they were approached by two individuals, both of whom Hunt and Perry recognized. One was a blond gentleman who looked like he had recently been in a scrape; the other was a redheaded teen girl in a cheerleader uniform.

            “Mr. Hunt, I presume,” the blond gentleman greeted, holding out his hand.

            Ethan accepted the handshake. “Mr. Bond. It’s a pleasure to formally meet you.”

            “Is it?” a skeptical Bond remarked. “Since we’re now working together, I’ll offer the same advice you gave us: don’t get in my way.”

            The tension between the two men was already evident.

            It was just as evident as the awkwardness between Kim and Perry. “Uh…hi,” she told the platypus. “You, uh, wouldn’t happen to know of any naked mole rats that’re secret agents, would you? ‘Cause my friend has one that might be…”

            “How about we spare ourselves of any further absurdities and figure out where the hell we go from here?” Bond insisted. As austere as he was, he did bring up a good point.

            There the four of them were, merely standing along the Presidential Trail like the clueless tourists that passed by. It was then that Ethan noticed a small pile of large rocks perfectly stacked atop each other. Curiously, he kicked at one of them – it didn’t budge; in fact, it sounded very hollow on his kick.

            Kim, Bond, and Perry soon took notice of Hunt’s activity. “Are ya that bored, Agent Hunt?” Kim teased.

            “Maybe,” Ethan remarked. “But I think my boredom might’ve found us a secret passage.” Following on his hunch, Perry decided to approach the phony rock pile and twist the topmost rock until it made a click sound.

            The result of this was an entranceway opening within one of the wider trees outside of the Presidential Trail. Even Bond was slightly impressed with Ethan’s discovery. “Congrats, Mr. Hunt,” he told him. “You’ve already proven your usefulness to the rest of us.”

            “Stick around longer and you might just start to like me,” Ethan fired back.

            The four agents made their way through the secret tree entrance.

            “Why does it feel like we’re going to Narnia?” Kim said of the experience.

            Together, they descended down a long stairwell until they reached a big, cast-iron door that could only be opened from the other side. “Should we knock?” Bond wondered aloud, though Ethan did so without hesitation.

            The door opened halfway and the floppy-haired head of a young bespectacled man peeped out.

            “Q?” the flummoxed Bond recognized the individual.

            “It’s about bloody time you made it,” Q said to not only Bond but the other three agents with him. He opened the iron door all the way, permitting them to enter a vastly-spaced, cavernous area that resembled a war room. There was even a digital spreadsheet of the world map looming over a round conference table.

            Sitting at the table as Bond, Kim, Ethan, and Perry arrived were their allies and superiors: M, Luther, Wade, Alan Hunley, Major Monogram, Carl, and Dr. Betty Director.

            “What is this place?” Ethan asked.

            “Welcome to the Think Tank, Ethan,” answered Alan Hunley, the I.M.F. secretary. “Our base of operations underneath the safeguard of Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt, and Lincoln.”

            “How American,” Bond uttered in a very docile (and vilifying) tone.

            “Let’s try to be civilized while in the Tank, 007,” M advised. “Here, the four of you will be briefed on your mission and receive whatever tools necessary from your tech support.”

            “That’s us,” Wade said, waving as he sat along one side of the table with Luther, Q, and Carl.

            “Wade, how did you get roped into this?” Kim asked, finding her communication guru’s presence there in the Think Tank as baffling as it was rewarding. “They didn’t threaten you or your family, did they?”

            Wade chuckled over her concern. “Not at all, Kim. They were so impressed with how I managed to hack into MI6’s 00 department that they offered me a position in the tech support.”

            Kim was amazed by the arrangement. “Beats getting arrested, I guess.”

            “If you all will be seated, we can proceed with the briefing,” Betty Director instructed. Once everyone was seated at the war table, Dr. Director began, “I’m sure we’re all asking the same question by now…”

            “Yes, how did a platypus get to be a secret agent?” Q jokingly queried.

            There were a few chuckles among the group, except for Monogram, Carl, and especially Perry, who Monogram held back from attacking the quartermaster. “Stand down, Agent P,” he advised. “He’s not worth it.”

            Dr. Director got the briefing back on track. “The League’s primary target is this young man…” She tapped one corner of the table and the digital world map spreadsheet was swiftly replaced by a photograph of a 14-year-old Asian American boy with messy black hair and a slight gap in his teeth. “His name is Hiro Hamada.”

            Kim closely analyzed the photograph of Hamada. “He was there that night in San Francisco,” she indicated.  “But I thought the League was after Krei.”

            “Not according to this recording supplied by Mr. Stickell,” Dr. Director said, prior to playing the audio recording, which was of the brief exchange between Ethan (disguised as Krei) and Drakken.

            Why are all of you people after me?!

            Because you’re in the way of our future!

            “So, the future Drakken’s talking about is Hiro Hamada,” Kim surmised.

            “Hamada is a child prodigy,” Hunley addressed. “At 14, his intelligence surpasses even that of Edison or Einstein. We have no idea what the League intends to do with a boy of such brilliance, but it’s our job to prevent it from falling into their hands.”

            “We’ve discovered from one of the League lackeys we’ve apprehended that L.O.V.E.M.U.F.F.I.N. has arranged for a special gathering that they call the ‘Unification of Evil Ceremony’,” Monogram informed.

            Bond shook his head in disgust. “That name is more absurd than the organization’s own acronym.”

            “Glad I wasn’t the only one who thought that,” Luther agreed with 007.

            “Where is this ‘unification’ being held?” Ethan asked Monogram.

            “At the Doofenshmirtz Evil Incorporated complex in Agent P’s hometown of Danville,” Monogram replied.

            “Agent P and Kim Possible will infiltrate the ceremony in disguise,” Dr. Director gathered. “Agent P will go as evil scientist Lloyd Wexler, while Kim will be Dr. Doofenshmirtz, who has been M.I.A. for quite some time.”

            Kim raised her hand as if she were in class. “Sorry, but…how am I gonna be disguised as Doofenshmirtz? Wouldn’t Mr. Bond or Mr. Hunt better fit the profile?”

            “Bond and Hunt are being assigned to protect Hamada in San Francisco and also find out what they can from the boy that might be useful against the League,” Dr. Director told Kim.

            “That still doesn’t answer my question,” Kim refuted.

            “Don’t worry, Kim,” Wade said. “Your disguise will be provided by I.M.F.’s greatest gadget: the Latex Mask!” Luther presented a large case to the table, opening it to reveal a machine that came complete with a featureless mannequin head. “One will be created for you as an exact replica of Doofenshmirtz’s face.”

            “Your voice, on the other hand, will be automated to sound like Doofenshmirtz’s, via a voice modulation strip you’ll wear over your throat,” Luther added. “I’m sure you’re familiar with this sort of technology, considering you’ve already seen Ethan with it.”

            Kim gazed over to Hunt, who gave her a flashy smile. “You’re gonna love it.”

            “I’m sure I will,” Kim half-heartedly remarked.

            “We’ll monitor your activities here from the Think Tank at all times,” Dr. Director concluded the briefing.

            As the meeting adjourned, Bond spoke privately with M.

            “You cannot honestly expect me to take this assignment seriously,” 007 expressed his disdain to his superior.

            “Treat it as seriously as you do all your assignments, 007, especially with SPECTRE involved. If this is our chance to catch Blofeld, we’ll take whatever necessary risk we can – no matter how ridiculous it may be.” Bond stiffened directly at M’s mentioning of Blofeld, the head of SPECTRE and a man Bond was more than acquainted with.

            Elsewhere in the Tank, Wade asked Kim, “How did Ron take not being part of your special mission?”

            “It was a major letdown for him,” Kim lamented. “Mr. Bond didn’t help much by barring him like he did. What’s his deal anyway?”

            Wade only told Kim, “If you knew his story, you’d have a lot of respect for him.”

Chapter Text

            9297 Polly Parkway was the precise address for the Doofenshmirtz Evil Incorporated building. It was located right in the center of Danville. Kim couldn’t believe it actually had the word “evil” labeled in big letters on the side. What sort of guy advertises that kind of thing? Kim thought as she pulled up to the location with Perry, Luther, and Wade in Luther’s van.

            The van doubled as Wade and Luther’s base of operations, keeping tabs on Kim and Perry while they were inside the Doofenshmirtz complex. “Doofenshmirtz’s lab is located on the topmost floor of the building,” Wade informed with the blueprints displayed on his computer. “That’s where the ceremony is being held.”

            Luther in the meantime was getting Kim’s mask prepared through the Latex Mask machine. She watched him work on the exact likeness of Heinz Doofenshmirtz himself, jittered by every hyper-realistic detail of the rather ugly-looking pharmacist. “You guys sure no one else was qualified for this?”

            “Positive,” Luther snickered as he proceeded to work on the voice modulation strip, which involved using an audio recording of Doofenshmirtz’s voice (taken from his voicemail message).

            “You’ve reached Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz,” the recording said. “I can’t come to the phone right now because I may be fighting my nemesis, Perry the Platypus, or on one of my daily errands. Just leave your name and number and I’ll make sure to get back to you…unless I have been fighting my nemesis, then I’ll get back once after I’ve gotten out of the hospital.”

            Kim cringed over the recording, not only from how long and winded it was but also from the screeching register of Doofenshmirtz’s voice. “That’s how I’m going to sound?!”

            “Unfortunately…yes,” Wade confirmed, sharing in her discomfort.

            Luther handed the voice modulation strip to Kim, along with a card, and instructed, “Apply the strip on top of your neck and repeat the phrase on the card three times.”

            Kim followed his instruction, applying the strip where her larynx was and reading the card. “Rubber baby buggy bumpers… Rubber baby buggy bumpers… Rubber baby buggy bumpers.” Each time she read the phrase, she felt her throat tingle as Luther synced the strip up with Doofenshmirtz’s voice, until it replaced Kim’s entirely. Speaking with that same screeching tone she heard on the voice message, Kim already hated the whole thing. “Oh, this is so not how I wanted to spend my evening!”

            “Well, brace yourself, kiddo – because it’s about to get a lot worse,” Luther said, removing the Doofenshmirtz mask from the machine and handing it to Kim.

            With a disgruntled sigh, Kim placed the mask on, making sure to tuck her long red locks into it, so that they weren’t seeping out in the back. Not that anyone would’ve noticed with the collar of the lab coat she put on afterwards, which hid the seams along with that of the black turtleneck she wore underneath.

            The transformation astonished Wade and even Perry.

            No longer was it Kim Possible sitting there in the van with them; it was Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz.

            “This is too weird,” Wade uttered.

            “You’re telling me!” Kim screeched. “I’m just glad Ron isn’t here to see me like this!” She then looked to Perry, who seemed like he was fighting the urge to punch her in the face. “How’s your disguise coming along, Perry? I mean, I’m not sure how you’re gonna pull off looking like Dr. Lloyd Wexler, judging from his I.D.”

            Nonetheless, Perry had his own disguise ready: a simple wig, fake mustache, glasses, and lab coat.

            It was a flimsy excuse for a cover compared with Kim’s more sophisticated, state-of-the-art costume, but if it could fool an entire room of evil scientists that went by the name of L.O.V.E.M.U.F.F.I.N., then it was good enough.

            “We’ll keep in touch through radio,” Luther noted.

            “And we’ll have eyes on you through the surveillance cameras inside,” Wade added. “I managed to hack into them. This Doofenshmirtz guy has terrible security.”

            “That doesn’t surprise me,” Kim remarked, her sarcasm more noticeable through Doofenshmirtz’s voice.

            Kim and Perry proceeded onward through the front entrance, taking the elevator up to the topmost floor of the building. Arriving in Doofenshmirtz’s lab, they were surprised to find how much he had already put together in the way of party decorations. The lab looked like a New Year’s festivity ready to go, complete with streamers, balloons, lights, and a banner hung up above that read “15th Annual Unification of Evil Ceremony.”

            “You have got to be kidding me,” Kim blurted in open-mouthed repulsion.

            “Yeah, they really went all out on this,” she heard Wade say over her earpiece.

            The lab was relatively empty, save for two individuals: a young man who looked like he could’ve been the DJ and a teenaged brunette in all-black apparel. “Yo, yo, yo! Look who sho!” the DJ greeted with a noticeable British accent. “We got it all set for ya, bruv!”

            Kim froze. “Uh…thanks, Mister…?” She dragged on long enough for Wade or Luther to get an ID on the DJ and the girl.

            “The girl’s Vanessa Doofenshmirtz, Heinz’s daughter,” Luther informed.

            “As far as the DJ, he’s a total mystery,” Wade said.

            It was a mystery that had been short-lived, as the DJ told Kim, “What’s all this ‘Mister’ about? Name’s ‘DJ Eggsy,’ bruv! You know that!”

            “I can’t believe you hired this guy, Dad,” Vanessa told Kim. Not a second after did she look at Perry and say, “Wait…Why is Perry here? Isn’t this supposed to be a convention for all your ‘evil scientist’ buddies?”

            Vanessa saw right through the platypus’s disguise. Regardless, Kim played dumb (which is how she figured Doofenshmirtz to normally act). “I don’t know what you mean, Vanessa,” she said. “This isn’t Perry the Platypus. It’s Dr. Lloyd Wexler.”

            “Whatever,” Vanessa scoffed, quick to move on from the conspiracy.

            The car ride to the Institute of Technology in San Francisco could not have been more awkward with just Bond and Ethan sitting up front together in Bond’s Aston Martin DB5 – Bond being the one behind the wheel, of course. Neither man said a word since leaving North Dakota; nothing between them but stiff silence and tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

            Hunt only broke the ice when he asked Bond, “So…MI6…you wouldn’t happen to have worked with Ilsa Faust on the field?”

            “She was once part of the ‘00’ program until she was decommissioned,” Bond answered. “I never had a proper chance to be assigned with her.”

            His answer surprised Hunt. “What was she decommissioned for?”

            “Betraying MI6 to a rogue American agent.” Bond momentarily took his eyes off the road to glance wittingly at Ethan. “Any guesses as to who that might’ve been?” His question was only met with silence from the IMF agent, much to 007’s amusement.

            A few minutes later, the men arrived at the Institute.

            They were greeted by the dean, Professor Grace Granville, who believed Hunt and Bond were scientists there to survey the students’ projects. “We have many who have developed the most brilliant projects you’ll ever see here at the Institute,” Granville praised. “They’ve been fine-tuned under the careful tutelage of our two consultants.”

            Those consultants were Dr. Sara Bellum – a tall, raven-haired white canary scientist in a lab coat – and Edna Mode – a short, brash half-Japanese/half-German woman who Bond recognized as a world-renowned fashion designer and auteur. Both ladies hovered around a group of young upstarts. Hunt and Bond learned their names as Granville brought them to each of their work stations: Go-Go Tomago, Honey Lemon, and Wasabi.

            There was one young man who was not a student at the Institute but a self-proclaimed “major science enthusiast.” His name was Fred Frederickson.

            “Of the Frederickson Estate?” Bond recognized.

            “That’s the one,” Fred confirmed. “You must’ve heard of my dad – Mister Frederickson.”

            “Who hasn’t?” Hunt remarked. “He’s one of the biggest tycoons in America, if not the entire world.”

            “Yep, that’s him,” Fred proudly verified. “The big ol’ typhoon himself!”

            Bond and Hunt were lastly brought to the one student they were there for: Hiro Hamada. He worked in his own private lab away from the other students. As it turned out, this lab once belonged to his late brother, Tadashi.

            Thankfully, Hiro hadn’t recognized either Bond or Hunt when Granville introduced him – not that he would have, as he didn’t cross paths with Bond that night at the investors’ convention and Hunt was disguised as Krei.

            After Granville departed to tend to other matters, Bond and Hunt got to know a little more about Hamada. Hunt’s particular interest was directed towards a red, high-tech steel crate situated along one corner of the lab. “What’s that?” he asked Hiro.

            Noticing Hunt’s attention on the crate, Hiro became very excited. “Oh! Wait ‘til you guys see this!” He went to his workbench to retrieve a roll of duct tape, tearing off a strip that he applied to his forearm and hastily ripped off, leaving a blistering mark. “Ow!” he purposefully yelped, and as soon as he did, the red crate automatically opened itself, allowing an inflatable, computerized white robot to rise out of it.

            “Hello,” it greeted them. “I am Baymax – your personal healthcare companion.”

            Bond smirked upon seeing the big, puffy white robot. “Fancy toy,” he observed.

            “I am not a toy,” Baymax unthinkingly clarified. “I am a personal healthcare companion.”

            “You’re gonna be a whole lot more than that soon, Baymax,” Hiro stated before revealing to Bond and Hunt, “I’ve been reprogramming him to assist me in solving the murder of my brother, Tadashi.”

            Bond and Hunt tensed up. “That…sounds a little dangerous, don’t you think?” the latter inquired of the boy genius.

            Hiro shot a fiery gaze on Hunt. “My brother died because someone that night at the convention was there to hurt Alastair Krei…and they ended up hurting Tadashi…hurting me!” Hamada approached Baymax, placing a hand against his inflatable vinyl covering. “Baymax is all I have left of him…he was the last thing Tadashi created before he died.”

            Bond and Hunt sympathized with Hamada, so much so that Bond was willing to break cover just to tell him, “Hiro, we’re not really—”

            CRASH!

            007’s confession was cut off by the commotion resounding from the adjacent room where all the other Institute students worked. Through the frosted glass walls, they detected the silhouettes of assassins that dropped in from the ceiling and stormed the Institute. One of them had glowing green hands.

            “The League?” Hunt consulted with Bond.

            “Who else would it be?” Bond already had his gun drawn.

            Seeing him with it, Hiro was taken aback. “Whoa! Why do you have that? What kind of scientists are you guys?”

            “Stay here, Hiro!” Ethan ordered, drawing his own concealed hand cannon.

            The IMF and MI6 agents burst out of Hiro’s private lab, guns blazing, forcing Shego and the League assassins to take cover. Dr. Bellum and Edna ducked at the work stations, along with the terrified Institute students. Bond and Hunt managed to pop off a few assassins before being ambushed by two from behind.

            Thrown against separate work stations, they struggled atop the projects specifically designed by Go-Go and Honey Lemon.

            The resourceful instincts of both Bond and Hunt kicked in.

            Bond grabbed one of Go-Go’s electromagnetic wheels, using its unimaginable speed and velocity to generate enough momentum to heat its edges and slice through the throat of his opponent, decapitating him. Bond threw the assassin’s headless body off himself, leaving it thudding to the floor. He heard someone hurling nearby and turned to see Wasabi losing his lunch from witnessing Bond’s defensive act, while Go-Go just coolly looked on. “This certainly qualifies an A+,” 007 told her.

            Meanwhile, Hunt’s struggle with his assassin came to its own violent conclusion when he used two of Honey Lemon’s “chem-balls” to create an explosive reaction when he slammed them against opposite sides of the assassin’s head. The reaction encased it in a blue-and-red foam material that instantly hardened, suffocating him to death.

            Seeing the gratuitous nature of which her underlings were vanquished, Shego saw no point in sticking around and made for the exit. However, her escape was cut off by an object that rocketed past her, striking the space around the exit and sealing it off with piles of rubble. Shego herself was knocked out cold from the impact of the explosion.

            Looking to see where the rocket had come from, Hunt and Bond found Hiro out of his brother’s lab and accompanied by Baymax, who was adorned in a massive red battle suit from which he fired the rocket that thwarted Shego’s escape. “Oh, shit!” Hunt uttered as he got an eyeful of the robot that looked like a marshmallow minutes earlier.

            “Well, you boys certainly made a mess of things around here!” They heard Dr. Bellum suddenly address them. “We had this well under the control before you and these League fat-heads showed up!”

            Listening to her ranting, it wasn’t too hard for Bond and Hunt to figure it out: “You were sent in by the Team.”

            “Yes, dahling, we were,” Edna confirmed. “Now, would one of you gentlemen be so kind as to tie this woman up?” She gestured to the unconscious Shego. “There are some questions that I need to ask her.” By the sadistic tone of her voice, Bond and Hunt guessed the questioning Edna had in mind would be less than professional.

Chapter Text

            The Unification of Evil Ceremony was in full swing at Doofenshmirtz Evil Incorporated. Of course, the event played out more like a rave party than a conference for evil scientists. DJ Eggsy provided the music – a bunch of techno beats with some PSY thrown into the mix. It was a bizarre experience for Kim and Perry (and, by extension, Wade and Luther).

            “These guys are seriously the world’s most dangerous geniuses?” Luther cringed as he observed the gathering through the live feed on the surveillance cameras inside Doofenshmirtz’s lab.

            Wade, on the other hand, was more focused over one absent attendee. “Still no sign of Ernst Blofeld. Are we sure he’s even coming?”

            “Wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t,” Luther said.

            “Maybe he’s just fashionably late?” Kim suggested. Every time she spoke with Doofenshmirtz’s scratchy voice, she subconsciously felt the need to clear her throat. The latex mask was smothering as well, adding to the discomfort. If this was what it felt like being Heinz Doofenshmirtz, she pitied the poor guy.

            “A’ight, luvs and bruvs!” DJ Eggsy’s voice boomed throughout the room from the microphone attached to his turntable. “We’re gonna take it old school with a Soul Train style dance line!”

            “Seriously?!” Luther bellowed, sounding slightly offended.

            The evil scientists formed two lines with a space in the middle for dancers to strut down and dance in consecutive order. One scientist – a bald man with a piercing stare beneath a pair of horn-rimmed glasses – performed a ballet dance while looking in Kim’s direction and challenging her.

            “Bet you wish you could have moves this good, Heinz,” he said.

            Kim could only snicker and remark, “Are you for real?”

            “I’ve never been more ‘real’!” the bald scientist scoffed.

            Turning her head, Kim pretended to look as if she was coughing while asking Wade and Luther, “Who even is this guy?”

            “According to the L.O.V.E.M.U.F.F.I.N. database, his name is Aloyse Everheart Elizabeth Otto Wolfgang Hypatia Gunther Galen Gary Cooper von Roddenstein – but everyone just calls him ‘Rodney’,” Wade informed. “He has a pretty heated rivalry with Dr. Doofenshmirtz.”

            “Super,” Kim deprecatingly remarked.

            “C’mon, Heinz!” Roddenstein provoked Kim. “Show us your moves – if you even have any in that worn-out body of yours.”

            Even though the insults flown at her were more towards the man she masqueraded as, Kim couldn’t help but to take them personally. Roddenstein was like Bonnie Rockwaller, if Bonnie was a bald, grotesque-looking man. Those similarities were enough to mess with Kim’s perception, pressured into proving Roddenstein wrong.

            To the surprise of Perry, Wade, and Luther, she went up to the dance line and immediately broke into some dance moves that the real Heinz Doofenshmirtz – a middle-aged man with crooked posture – would be incapable of. She spun and flipped in place, showing off the acrobatic prowess she developed in her years as a cheerleader. They were impressive enough to receive a round of applause from the evil scientists, with the notable exception of an infuriated Roddenstein.

            Along one shadowed corner of the lab stood Vanessa, who – up until now – had little interest in the proceedings, focused more on her phone than the group of old men acting like ravers. But the moment that she saw her “father” breakdance in front of his evil colleagues, without so much as breaking his back, something seemed very off to the young Doofenshmirtz.

            If there was one thing SFIT labs had plenty of, it was duct tape. Hunt used a few rolls to strap the unconscious Shego to one of the chairs in the facility that didn’t roll. Once she was well-bound to the chair, Edna proceeded in slapping her hard enough across the face to wake her up. “Rise and shine, you League filth!” Edna roared.

            Shego blinked a few times, regaining focus to her hazed vision. She saw Edna’s aggressive face glaring daggers into her, while Bond, Hunt, Dr. Bellum, and the SFIT students stood in observance along the background. She struggled under the layers of duct tape that tied her down, scoffing as she looked down on them and said, “You know I could just easily singe my way out of these, right?” Her hands flamed to highlight this.

            That was until Bond drew his gun, pointing it directly at Shego’s head. “Try to see if you can before I pull this trigger,” he challenged her. The callous way in which he did motivated Shego into switching off her flames.

            “So…how’re we doing this?” Shego inquired of her captors. “Good cop, bad cop? An intervention? I highly doubt anyone other than these two…” She nodded specifically towards Bond and Hunt. “…are capable of torture – and even they won’t be able to break this girl.”

            “Oh, dahling,” Edna told her. “They aren’t the ones you need to worry about.”

            She briefly moved away from Shego’s line of sight while Wasabi and Dr. Bellum wheeled in a complex piece of machinery that looked a lot like a modified death ray to Shego. In spite of this assumption, she still asked (albeit uneasily), “What…uh…What the heck is this thing? Some sort of oversized hair dryer?” She noticed the tip of the gun was aimed straight for her left eye, which only made her more nervous.

            “No, dear,” Edna said. “This is one of my finest achievements. It’s been known to render even the strongest of wills into a shattered husk. A concentrated laser is fired into your cornea, burning through it and surgically slicing your optic nerve to make its way into the brain and out through the back of your skull. The entire process happens within the span of an hour, but it feels like an eternity to the subject.”

            Shego swallowed hard, her usual cool demeanor cracking under pressure.

            Of the SFIT students in attendance of the interrogation (soon-to-be torture session), only Go-Go maintained a stable constitution. Wasabi turned the other way, while Hiro, Honey Lemon, and Fred cringed just from the description Edna gave of her deadly machine. She switched it on, and it came to life with a deep, ominous hum. The tip with the laser, positioned an inch from Shego’s eye, started to glow in a reddish hue.

            With the little bit of defiance that she could muster, she asked Edna, “You really expect me to talk?”

            “No, dahling…I expect you to die!”

            Shego saw the sinister thrill on Edna’s face, as the laser glowed brighter. Half of the room was caked with red from Shego’s perspective. Her right eye teared up, blinking and twitching uncontrollably. She began to feel it sting, the brighter the laser got.

            “Alright, alright! I’ll talk!” she screamed.

            Immediately, the machine switched off, along with the laser.

            “Jesus,” Hunt muttered after the tense moment.

            On the contrary, an amused Bond reflected of Edna, “That’s my kind of woman.”

            With Shego’s full cooperation, Dr. Bellum commenced with the questioning: “Now then, what does the League want with Hiro Hamada?”

            Hiro listened intently as Shego answered, “They need the kid to mass produce enough of his microbots to create a powerful EMP machine.”

            “What does the League need with an EMP machine?” Hunt asked her.

            “They wanna take society back into the Dark Ages,” Shego replied. “Reboot it all to their ultimate control.”

            “Retroactively holding the world in a technological ransom,” Bond concluded.

            “We need to contact the Think Tank and let them know that we…”

            Ethan had his phone already in hand when it suddenly received an unknown call. He answered accordingly, placing the phone to his ear to hear the Austrian-accented voice of a man say, “Good evening, Mr. Hunt. If you would be so kind as to put me on speaker, so I could address your colleague, Mr. Bond, and the others in the lab with you.”

            Hunt hesitated to comply, but he did as the man requested and put him on speaker.

            “Hello, James” was the first thing he said following Hunt’s deed.

            Bond stiffened with recognition to the voice on the phone. “Hello, Blofeld.”

            Ethan fired a watchful look on Bond. Until that second, he never heard Blofeld’s voice (or even seen his face) before. He made a motion for Bond to keep the founder of SPECTRE talking while he traced the call.

            “So, what’re you up to these days?” Bond asked.

            “Oh, you know, thinking up new ways to kill you,” Blofeld casually responded. “Of course, seeing that you’re in San Francisco and I’m miles away somewhere else…somewhere that I suspect Mr. Hunt will soon discover, as he’s tracing my call this very moment.”

            Ethan shook his head, smirking. “You want us to find you?”

            “Yes, Mr. Hunt,” Blofeld admitted. “It would be no fun if I just told you where I am, would it? Besides, I’m sure you and James would want to know where I’ll be keeping the bodies of your two fellow Team members, after I’ve extracted them from the Doofenshmirtz building.”

            Bond and Hunt shared a perturbed glance.

            “Tell us where you are, Blofeld!” Bond demanded with urgent ferocity.

            “Oh, James…listen to yourself…getting emotional over a little girl and a platypus. You’re better than this mission, James. I’m sure you’ve realized that by now. MI6 has made a fool of themselves…made a fool of you. All you have to do is step away…find an island to seclude yourself from the rest of the world…your own personal heaven…or Hell, if you choose it that way. That’s what I’ve done.”

            “Well, that’s just it, Blofeld – we’re nothing alike,” Bond refuted. “And you’re right: I am better than this mission. But, when men like you enter the picture, I’m obligated to do my service to see the job done.”

            “Then I hope you enjoy having more blood on your hands, cuckoo.”

            The call ended there.

            Bond looked squarely on Hunt and asked, “Did you trace the call?” Hunt didn’t answer. Bond could see how white he appeared as he gazed on his phone. “Ethan! Did you trace the call?”

            “Yeah,” Hunt confirmed. “It came from inside the Doofenshmirtz building.”

Chapter Text

            Kim felt like the Unification of Evil Ceremony had gone on forever. She would check the clock every so often to know how long the stupidity went for. When she glanced at it for the gazillionth time, she was discouraged to see that only half an hour had passed. I’m being punished, I just know it!

            Perry wasn’t any more comfortable than she was in his flimsy Lloyd Wexler disguise. It was obvious he was a platypus in a wig with glasses and a fake mustache, yet none of the evil scientists in attendance paid it any mind. If anything, they were more attentive to the festivities. For a bunch of evil geniuses, they were really dense.

            The night got weirder when the karaoke contest started, with the winner only receiving unlimited bragging rights.

            “Whose lame idea was this?” Kim found herself wondering aloud.

            “Why, it was yours, Heinz,” Roddenstein told her. “What’s wrong? Is that brain of yours shrinking in your old age?” He was really getting under Kim’s skin – or Doofenshmirtz’s skin, more like it.

            While Dr. Diminutive serenaded the crowd with his abysmal rendition of “Everybody Wants to Rule the World,” Kim was approached by Vanessa again. “I know you’re not my dad,” she revealed to her. “Who are you really?”

            “Don’t say anything.” Hearing his voice in her earpiece, Kim completely forgot Luther had been listening in with Wade, who followed by adding, “She is a Doofenshmirtz after all. There’s no telling if she can be trusted or not.”

            She initially followed their advice, just standing and staring at Vanessa. She imagined how stupidly awkward she looked while doing it with Doofenshmirtz’s face. That awkwardness motivated Kim to change her mind not a second later and tell Vanessa the truth.

            “You’re right…I’m not your father.” She could hear Wade and Luther groaning after the fact. “My name is Kim Possible, and I’m a spy. This is a disguise – a very lifelike and uncomfortable disguise – that I’m wearing.” She tugged on latex skin of her right cheek for emphasis, stretching it to unearthly proportions.

            “Freaky,” Vanessa smirked. Her amusement turned to concern as she considered, “Wait. Is my dad in danger? I mean, I know he’s evil – that’s his whole thing – but he’s still my dad. I haven’t heard or seen of him in a week. Is that why you’re wearing his face? Because he’s missing and you’re trying to find out what happened to him?”

            Kim didn’t know what else to tell her, and she couldn’t count on any assistance from Luther or Wade after she decided to go rogue. She was spared just as Dr. Diminutive’s performance ended and Roddenstein appeared onstage to mockingly challenge Kim, “Let’s see you grace us with your astounding pipes, Heinz.”

            It was a clear invitation for Kim to embarrass herself with Doofenshmirtz’s horrifying voice. Even Wade recommended, “Don’t give into it, Kim. He’s just baiting you.” However, not all of Wade’s instruction made it through communications. His voice scrambled in and out through Kim’s earpiece.

            She didn’t have a chance to ponder on what was causing it, with Roddenstein continuing to press her. Refusing to allow him to make a fool out of her/Doofenshmirtz any longer, she leapt onto the karaoke stage with a cartwheel that transitioned into a backflip. It was the second instance of the sudden inherited prowess “Heinz Doofenshmirtz” showcased that evening.

            Snatching the microphone from Roddenstein, Kim waited as he arranged DJ Eggsy to play the song he chose – something he knew Kim wouldn’t be able to keep up with Heinz’s voice. She couldn’t believe her ears when “Say the Word” blared through the stage speakers. It was a tune Kim was well-acquainted with, being the one who first sang it at her school’s talent show, sometime ago. Somehow, it got around the airwaves and now came back on Kim in another shameful setting.

            Only now, it wasn’t entirely Kim singing it…

I’m on it, I’ve got it
I can do anything
What you need, got your back
Just say the word, I’m there

If you find your world is cavin’ in,
you can bet you’re gonna need a friend
Someone to take those fears away

Say the word
Make a call and I’ll be there
Anytime, anywhere
Have you heard
that I’m all about savin’ your world?
All you have to do is say the word

            Doof’s scratchy voice was unable to carry the tune, hurting Kim’s throat and creating feedback on the microphone. It was just as agonizing to the ears of those in attendance. Beneath the mask, Kim’s face reddened in embarrassment and anger, the latter of which fueled from seeing Roddenstein’s grin of satisfaction.

            Determined, she used that anger to push through the voice modulator; her naturally powerful decibels short-circuiting the strip on her throat. Suddenly, it was the voice of Kim Possible singing out through the “mouth” of Heinz Doofenshmirtz…

In trouble, in it deep,
This is a promise that I can keep!
Make it right, count on me
to be the best friend I can be!
When your life is bending
upside down!
I’ll be the one to turn it around!

Say the word
Make a call and I’ll be there
Anytime, anywhere
Have you heard
that I’m all about savin’ your world?
All you have to do is say the word!

            Following the performance, there was utter silence. Everyone from Roddenstein to Vanessa and even Perry stood in bewilderment by the sudden voice change. Kim knew she had completely blown her cover, staring on all the dumbfounded faces that were staring back at her own.

            And then she heard one person clapping in the back.

            Everyone looked to the applauding attendee, shocked to see that it was Ernst Blofeld. “Very impressive performance, Dr. Doofenshmirtz,” Blofeld said. “Or should I refer to you by your actual name: Kim Possible?”

            Something grabbed Kim from behind and her mask was abruptly removed, revealing her real face. Looking behind her, she saw a large, muscled Filipino man in a suit – the one that had her restrained by a massive arm while the other held the Doofenshmirtz mask. This man was soon kicked in the face by Perry, who discarded his Lloyd Wexler disguise to rescue her. His ambush forced the man to release Kim and allow her to flee to the nearest exit with her platypus ally. Unfortunately, Dr. Diminutive used a ray machine that fired directly on Perry, knocking him out.

            Kim attempted to carry him in her desperate escape, only to be thwarted by the Filipino man, who knocked her out the old-fashioned way – clubbing her in the back of the head.

            “Well done, Mr. Hinx,” Blofeld approved of his personal assassin.

            “Hey, what about me?” Dr. Diminutive bellowed from atop his ray machine. “I knocked out the platypus!” Alas, Blofeld merely gave him – and the other evil scientists gathered in the room – with a look of contempt.

            He and Mr. Hinx subsequently departed with the unconscious Kim and Perry.

            DJ Eggsy watched them, the only disconcerted one in a sea of malevolent faces.

Chapter Text

            Bond and Hunt arrived at Doofenshmirtz Evil Incorporated, hours later – too many hours to have passed for either man. The best they could have done was pray neither Perry nor Kim perished at the hands of Blofeld. Accompanying them were Edna, Bellum, Hiro Hamada and his friends. As soon as they arrived, they found the ceremony to have long since ended; however, more than a few evil scientists were apprehended, much to the amusement of 007 and Ethan.

            “Ah, there you are, 007,” said M, who was there with the other Team superiors (Hunley, Monogram, and Dr. Director). Q, Luther, and a very disquieted Wade were in attendance as well, going over the footage they captured through the surveillance cameras, shortly before all of them cut out upon Blofeld’s entrance.

            There were two other men as well – one middle-aged and the other young, both in distinguishing suits and ties. M introduced them to Bond and Hunt, “Our associates from the ‘Kingsman’ district – Harry Hart and Gary ‘Eggsy’ Unwin.”

            “There are more Team agents out there?” the baffled Ethan remarked.

            “It’s a big world, Mr. Hunt,” Hart said. “And it’s a big threat we’re dealing with.”

            “You’re English,” Bond detected Hart’s accent. “You’re not MI6?”

            “We’re a bit more private, Mr. Bond. The Kingsman agency was founded towards preserving peace and protecting life, operating at the highest level of discretion, above the politics and bureaucracy of government-run spy organizations.”

            “And yet, here you guys are, working with government-run spy organizations,” Ethan brazenly indicated.

            “Desperate times,” Hart abbreviated on the idiom.

            Luther and Wade suddenly stepped into the exchange, the latter doing his absolute best to keep it together as he explained, “We haven’t been able to gather much from the footage before it cut out…other than the activity that occurred outside the ceremony.”

            “Blofeld and his associate,” Bond gathered.

            “He called him ‘Hinx,’” Eggsy informed. “Huge bloke. Looked like a wrestler.”

            “Did Blofeld say anything that may be helpful in finding where he might’ve taken the girl and the platypus?” M asked.

            His last conversation with Blofeld quite the eventful one, Bond recounted what words struck him the most: “Find an island to seclude yourself from the rest of the world.”

            “What’s that, 007?” M inquired.

            “One of Blofeld’s parting remarks,” Bond stated. “He suggested that I should find a secluded island – my own personal heaven or hell.”

            “Hell,” Hunt pondered heavily on the term. “Alcatraz.”

            Bond affirmed Hunt’s deduction with a nod. “Alcatraz was once believed to be an inescapable ‘Hell,’ due to the strong currents and cold water around the island.”

            “Alcatraz is just offshore from San Francisco,” Hunley said. “It can’t be that easy, can it? The League have been under our noses this whole time?!”

            All of the sudden, Wade and Luther’s video surveillance equipment generated copious amounts of static. Neither of them knew why, until the face of Ernst Blofeld appeared on the screens. He sat in front of a wall of solid concrete, as he seemingly addressed the Team via live feed.

            “I must congratulate you and your Team on solving my riddle, James,” he said.

            “He’s hacked into systems,” Luther notified. “We can’t shut him down.”

            “I assure you’ll want to hear what I have to say,” Blofeld said in response to Luther’s statement. “I want to arrange an exchange: the lives of your two agents for Hiro Hamada.” Hiro’s body went rigid when he heard this. “You have ten hours to make your decision…or else I’ll leave the girl and the platypus’s bodies to find along the shores of Alcatraz Island.”

            The feed cut off from there.

            Wade’s breath shuddered from Blofeld’s ultimatum. He felt a comforting hand on his shoulder, turning to see Dr. Director offer him a reassuring smile. “Possible’s a tough kid – she’ll be alright,” she said. “And we will get her back.”

            “By exchanging Hiro for them?” Go-Go protested. “That’s not gonna happen!”

            “You’re absolutely right,” Bond concurred. “Because he and the rest of you lot are going to help us.”

            “Uh, say again?” a befuddled Fred uttered.

            “We’ve seen what you kids are capable of – what you’ve invented and how useful they can be on the field,” Hunt supported Bond’s strategy. “With a little help from Q, Miss Mode, and Dr. Bellum, you’ll have the means we need to save Kim and Perry. But, first, we’ll have to give Blofeld what he wants…or what he’s expecting.”

Chapter Text

            Kim awoke on a cold, hard concrete floor. Her head and body throbbed as if she got hit by a freight train. She then remembered what (or more precisely who) did hit her – Mr. Hinx, who was as big as a freight train. When he knocked her out, they were in the lab of Heinz Doofenshmirtz inside his “Evil Incorporated” building. When she regained consciousness, she found herself in a locked cell with Perry the Platypus and two men in suits that looked to be special agents. “Where are we?” she asked them.

            “Alcatraz,” said the one agent in the navy-blue suit. Kim couldn’t stop staring at his oversized chin. “And it’s not as fun as Clint Eastwood and Burt Lancaster made it out to be.”

            “It’s good that you’re finally awake, ‘cause maybe you can explain why the League locked a girl and a beaver in here with us,” said the other agent in the gray suit. His features were a little sharper than his associate’s.

            Perry let out an aggravated purr over the agent’s mislabeling of him.

            “He’s not a beaver…he’s a platypus,” Kim spoke on Agent P’s behalf. “And who’re you guys anyway?”

            “Stan Smith, C.I.A.,” the big-chinned agent identified himself.

            “Sterling Archer, I.S.I.S.,” the other agent did for himself.

            “I.S.I.S.?” Kim frowned. “I never heard of them.”

            “That’s exactly what I said,” Smith reflected. “I think ‘Agent Archer’ here is a mole working for the League.”

            “Oh, right, I’m the suspicious one!” Archer derided. “We’re locked up with a freakin’ platypus! How’s that not suspicious?!”

            The two men proceeded to bicker on the topic for a good two minutes, much to the annoyance of Kim and Perry. “Guys!” Kim yelled over them, ceasing the pointless argument. “Let’s just say, for the sake of clarity, that we’re all on the same team – an actual team, not just the name for the people we work for.”

            “Wait, you two are agents for the Team?” Smith acknowledged. “I’ve heard rumors about the world governments putting together a group of elites to look into the League, but I never expected a teenager and an animal to fall into the recruitment.”

            “Were you guys looking into the League as well?” Kim asked.

            “Yeah, we were,” Archer confirmed. “Until our covers were blown, and we ended up sharing a cell together.”

            “My cover was blown,” Stan elaborated, side-eyeing Archer. “For all we know, yours is still intact.”

            “Oh, give it a rest, you discount Jay Leno!” Sterling retorted.

            “I happen to like Jay Leno, you son of a…!”

            Words turned to fists between the two men, exchanging blows. It only lasted a few seconds before Perry leaped in and separated them by knocking both men down with a single roundhouse kick. “My god, that platypus is an expert combatant!” Smith exclaimed.

            “Like Bruce Lee reincarnated!” Archer awed.

            “And he’ll do it again, if you two don’t chill!” Kim cautioned. “Is there anything either of you were able to find out before you were captured?”

            Stan shrugged. “Nothing on my end.”

            “I was able to find out something about a guy working for the League,” Archer disclosed. “A clone assassin trained to eliminate targets around the world.”

            “I’ve heard of him,” Smith corroborated. “Intel states that he’s targeting officials in the world governments – such an act would put us in global warfare.”

            “Who is this ‘clone assassin’?” Kim pried. “Does he have a name?”

            “More of a designation than a name,” a voice spoke outside their cell. Kim and her cellmates froze when they saw Blofeld come into view, accompanied by Mr. Hinx. “Not that any of you would be around long enough to learn it.”

            “You won’t get away with whatever it is you’re planning!” Kim avowed.

            “I believe that I will, Miss Possible,” Blofeld opposed. “James and your ‘Team’ won’t willingly give young Hiro Hamada up for you and your pet.” Perry let out a vicious snarl at Blofeld for that remark.

            Kim followed up on her partner’s retort and said, “They will come for us.”

            “If they do stage a rescue, we have F.O.W.L. defenses placed along the shores of the island that will blow any craft from the air and boats out of the water,” Blofeld divulged. “I’d advise you and your cellmates to give up hope, Miss Possible. No one is coming for you – no one that’ll survive long enough to free you from this prison.”

            “BLOFELD!” an infuriated voice bellowed outside the conversation.

            Although Kim couldn’t see the speaker from her cell, she recognized the voice as Dr. Drakken. “You didn’t tell me that Shego was arrested!” he griped to Blofeld. “Why aren’t we busting her out?!”

            Turning away from Kim and her cellmates, Blofeld turned and faced Drakken. “Shego is now a liability and can no longer be trusted. She’s cooperating with the government’s Team.”

            “You don’t know that for sure!” Drakken challenged.

            “Let her go, Dr. Drakken!”

            Blofeld raised his voice for the first time that Kim heard him speak. His usual calm demeanor began to break through in the presence of Drakken’s defiance. Using this to her advantage, she told Drakken, “That’s the type of people you’re working with, Dr. D! They leave behind one of their own when they’re wounded and let them fend for themselves!”

            “Silence her,” Blofeld ordered Hinx.

            Kim braced herself as she watched Hinx remove the prison key from his suit jacket, intending on unlocking the cell to get to her. She was spared once a voice came over the two-way radio Blofeld carried with him. “Yo, Blofeld!” the voice called – it was Steelbeak. “We gotta situation outside!”

            “Deal with it then,” Blofeld responded.

            “It’s Bond and Hunt,” Steelbeak alerted. “They’re comin’ up in a speedboat with the kid – Hiro Ham Sandwich…or whatever his name is.”

            This news took Blofeld by surprise, even if it didn’t show in his stoic façade.

            “Shut down the defenses…let them in,” he ordered Steelbeak. He then briefly switched his focus on Hinx and instructed, “Keep an eye on the prisoners.” Hinx acknowledged the command with a firm nod, pocketing away the prison key and standing guard outside the cell holding Kim, Perry, Smith, and Archer – not taking his eyes off them for a second.

            Blofeld, Steelbeak, and a large group of armed Eggheads met with Bond, Hunt, and Hamada as their motorboat docked along the pier. “I must admit I’m impressed by your decision, James,” Blofeld stated. “That being said, I do expect you to have a trick up your sleeve.”

            “No tricks,” Bond professed. “We just want our agents back.”

            “At the cost of young Mr. Hamada’s life?” Blofeld returned. “I know you have a soul, James… one that I’ll take great pleasure in extracting.”

            “Search ‘em,” Steelbeak ordered two of his Eggheads.

            Bond, Hunt, and Hiro were all patted down. Nothing was found on Hiro or Ethan, but Bond was discovered with a stick of gum. “Let him keep it,” Blofeld teased. “If he prefers a last meal, he’ll need that gum afterwards.” Looking towards Ethan, his stoical demeanor resurfaced as he ordered, “Place Mr. Hunt in holding with the others. Mr. Steelbeak, I’m putting you in charge of watching them. You’ll let Mr. Hinx know he’s relieved of duty.”

            Much as he hated taking orders from Blofeld, Steelbeak hadn’t dared to challenge his authority with Hinx around. As such, he acknowledged the command with an overeager “You got it, boss!”

            Bond and Hiro were taken to the Alcatraz control room, now fitted with League supercomputers, operated by Egghead technicians. Situated along one corner of the room was a high-tech chair attached with surgical appendages that Bond spotted on his way in. “Like it?” Blofeld took notice of 007’s interest. “I’ll give you an up-close demonstration of its properties, after Mr. Hamada has transferred the nuclear launch codes.”

            Hiro frowned. “What nuclear launch codes?”

            “The ones from the Korean military base linked to the League computer,” Blofeld indicated the laptop sitting on table at the center of the room, connected to the supercomputers. Having no choice, Hiro sat at the table and typed on the laptop’s keyboard, transferring the nuclear codes. Once the transfer was complete, Blofeld then ordered, “Now launch one of their missiles with San Francisco as its target.”

            Hiro glared at Blofeld. “I am not doing that.”

            His refusal only prompted Blofeld to unsheathe a small handgun that he kept concealed in his pocket, aiming it squarely at Hiro’s chest. “The League doesn’t need your body, Mr. Hamada. We have ways of getting what we want from you, without you lifting so much as a finger. It’s your choice, but I recommend making the one that’s less painful for you.”

            Hiro wasn’t fazed at all by the threat. “I know,” he told Blofeld. “I used to work for your morons…until you betrayed me.”

            Blofeld’s brow crinkled in confusion. “What?”

            Suddenly, he noticed how Hiro’s hands were engulfed in a familiar green flame that singed the “skin” off, revealing black-gloved hands. He burnt away the rest of his skin and clothes, exposing them as a disguise worn by Shego. She punched Blofeld with enough fiery force that it severely scarred the right side of his face, even blinding his right eye.

            With Blofeld out of commission, Bond worked with Shego to bring down the Eggheads in the control room. He took out the stick of gum that he was permitted to keep from the search. Rather than chew it, he molded it up in his hand and stuck it against one of the supercomputer towers. After a few seconds, the gum exploded, destroying the tower and all the rest of the equipment in the room, including Blofeld’s special chair.

            “Where in the heck did you get that?” Shego asked him.

            “Hunt gave it to me,” Bond told her. “At first, I thought he was pulling a prank. Now, I’m glad he wasn’t.”

            Surveying the bodies littered over the floor with the rubble from the explosion, Shego realized that Blofeld wasn’t among them. She discovered a trail of blood leading out through the exit and roared, “That weasel escaped!”

            “Let’s find him.”

            “Nuh-uh. I did my part of the plan, handsome. You go after Blofeld. I’m going to find someone else I need to punch – Drakken!”

            Bond watched her set off on her mission, leaving him to his own.

            At the cells, Steelbeak was getting a little bored with guard duty, but no more so than Kim, Perry, Smith, and Archer were. Hunt, on the other hand, watched Steelbeak like a hawk. His intense focus was the one thing that held Steelbeak’s attention, not liking the way Hunt was looking at him. “How ‘bout you stare at the wall or somethin’, pretty boy?” Steelbeak suggested. “We ain’t in some kind of starin’ contest.”

            Ethan smirked. “Trust me. One of us is about to blink real soon.”

            His cryptic threat enticed Kim’s attention. Did Ethan have an escape plan?

            “Mr. Steelbeak!” the radio hitched at Steelbeak’s hip screeched with the breathless voice of Blofeld. “Kill the prisoners!”

            “Come again?” Steelbeak responded.

            “KILL THE PRISONERS!!!”

            Finally, an order that Steelbeak could follow without any aggravation. “You got it, boss,” he acknowledged with genuine enthusiasm this time. He drew his gun and aimed it at the first person he saw, which was Ethan. “Looks like I win, Hunt!”

            All of the sudden, he felt something tug at both the gun and his steel-made beak, but there was nothing there. The force of the tug was so strong that he lost his grip on the gun, which flew from his hand and clipped against the bars of the prison cell. His steel beak soon followed, throwing him headfirst against the bars and knocking him out cold – although his body dangled with his beak stuck to the bars.

            “What the hell just happened?!” Stan exclaimed, left in awe of the sudden occurrence with Archer, Perry, and Kim.

            Kim looked to Ethan and saw him gripping his wristwatch.

            He turned the watch face at one-eighty degrees; Steelbeak’s gun and body dropped to the floor.

            Realizing that Hunt used a function of the wristwatch that magnetized the gun and Steelbeak’s steel beak, Kim beamed with satisfaction. “That is so tight!” she applauded. “Where did you get that?”

            “From Bond,” Ethan said, moving to retrieve Steelbeak’s gun and the prison key. “And magnetizing things isn’t all it does.” He pushed down on the watch face and it lit up with a green hue.

            Waiting for something to happen, Archer was less than impressed when nothing did. “I think you’re supposed to use that function at night, buddy.”

            Kim detected a faint beeping sound coming from the wristwatch.

            “No, he sent a signal,” she said. “But to whom?”

            “Some special helpers,” Hunt replied with a smirk.

Chapter Text

            It was sudden chaos over Alcatraz Island. Word had spread about the attack that occurred in the control room, just a moment ago. And, on top of that, the prisoners had escaped and there was a group of people in super suits coming to the island, just as defenses were down. Now, every available Egghead was called to action, taking up position all around the island.

            Meanwhile, in the midst of it all, Drakken was making a mad dash for the rooftop access. Unfamiliar with the territory, he got lost along the corridors of the cellhouse, bumping into one Egghead after another. “You, soldier!” he addressed one female Egghead.

            “Ugh! I have a name – it’s Sheila!” she griped. “I’m the only one who’s a girl!”

            “Like I care!” Drakken barked. “Take me to the helipad! I need to get out of this place before—”

            POW!

            Out of nowhere appeared Shego. She dropped right atop of Sheila, knocking the Egghead soldier to the floor. Seeing Shego there in front of him, Drakken was overwhelmed with joy. “YOU’RE ALIVE!”

            “And you’re dead!” Shego’s flaming fists clenched.

            “Wait! You don’t understand, Shego!” Drakken protested before she could land a punch. “I tried to talk Blofeld into going back for you! He was the one who wanted to leave you in the Team’s custody!”

            Shego scoffed at his story. “Yeah, sure you did.”

            She was about to proceed in mutilating him until the half-conscious Egghead she knocked down groggily said, “H-He’s right…I was t-there…H-He wanted to go back for you…b-but Blofeld denied his re-request…It was really sweet that he wanted to save you.”

            Drakken smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Sheila.”

            “You’re…welcome,” the female Egghead managed to utter, prior to losing consciousness.

            With Drakken’s claim substantiated, Shego extinguished her fists.

            “You really stood up to Blofeld, eh? Not exactly the smartest move, considering the type of man he is. I’m surprised he didn’t have Hinx twist you into a pretzel.”

            “I have to admit, for a second, I almost thought he would.”

            Shego was touched by the notion of Drakken’s devotion to her, though she wouldn’t dare let Drakken know that. “How ‘bout we get outta here before ol’ One-Eye himself finds us,” she suggested.

            “One-Eye?” Drakken frowned. “Blofeld has two.”

            “Not anymore,” Shego smirked.

            “What did you do, Shego?”

            “Something I should’ve done a long time ago. Now, c’mon! We get to that chopper before things get even crazier here!”

            Atop the Golden Gate Bridge, the real Hiro Hamada waited with Baymax and their friends – Wasabi, Honey Lemon, Go-Go, and Fred – for Ethan Hunt’s signal. They were all gifted with super suits, specially designed by Edna Mode and Sara Bellum, each of which corresponded with their technological talents.

            They responded to the IMF agent’s signal just as it was transmitted. Flying on a rocket-powered Baymax, they infiltrated the defenseless Alcatraz Island and subjugated the Eggheads all over, as well as some of the henchmen of Drakken and Blofeld.

            Kim witnessed the arrival of this special force of heroes through one of the cellhouse’s barred windows. She stopped to do so for a brief moment, following Ethan, Perry, and Agents Smith and Archer to regroup with Bond. “Those are your special helpers?!” Having no idea that it was Hamada and his friends, she questioned Ethan, “Who are they?”

            “Their identities are all classified,” Hunt told her. “But their codename is ‘Big Hero 6’.”

            “Catchy codename,” Kim approved.

            As she tried to catch up with Hunt and the other agents, she was suddenly blindsided from her right by something big and burly. Knocked through a set of doors, she tumbled into a large storage room with a huge hole in the middle of the floor that she nearly fell into. She managed to avoid a serious plunge by rolling and skidding into a crouch stance, stopping just an inch from the edge. Wiping off the blood that trickled down her chin, she glared straight at her attacker – Mr. Hinx. That was the second time he caught her off guard, and it started to annoy her.

            Hinx removed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He took a step forward towards Kim, only to stop and take a step back. In doing so, he avoided an ambush from opposite sides by Smith and Archer, both men hoping to have landed a punch across Hinx’s face; unfortunately, due to Hinx’s last-second calculation, the two agents ended up punching and knocking each other out.

            With Smith and Archer out of the fight, Perry and Hunt were the only ones blocking Kim from Hinx’s line of sight. Hunt was able to land a few punches before the bigger and stronger of the two combatants grappled Hunt by the throat and lifted him up. He then slammed Ethan to the floor, stunning the IMF agent. Kim and Perry were astonished by the counterattack, which looked like something out of a wrestling match.

            “Perry!” Kim shouted. “Go find Bond! I’ll handle Hinx myself!”

            The platypus hesitated to comply, but he was eventually able to bring himself to leave Kim to deal with the situation.

            Kim and Hinx charged for each other.

            Hinx tried for another grapple, but Kim dodged the maneuver, sliding in-between Hinx’s legs. In that moment, Hinx noticed she was lugging a rope. To what it was connected, he didn’t know nor cared. Snatching it, he engaged in a short game of tug-of-war with Kim that he ultimately won. With a fierce tug, he sent Kim flying into his monstrous clothesline.

            Kim hit the floor, dazed. She was brought out of it just as Hinx grabbed her by the throat and started choking the life out of her. While she still had some life left, she gripped on the rope one last time and used it to lasso Hinx by his own throat. This released his hold on Kim, allowing her to roll away from him and towards a collection of heavy steel kegs, all of which were attached to the same rope looped around Hinx’s neck.

            Kicking one of the kegs into the large hole in the floor, Kim set off a chain reaction that the other kegs followed. One-by-one, each fell through the floor, until Hinx was the last one in line. In realizing that his fate was sealed, Hinx uttered the only word to express his condemnation: “Shit!”

            The burly assassin’s head whipped back with a sickening SNAP!

            His body went limp as it was wrenched down through the hole, vanishing into the darkness.

            Kim watched Hinx’s demise with shuddered breath. Of all the foes she had faced in the past, never had she taken out one in such a gruesome manner. Hinx was a vicious, dangerous brute, no doubt; but he was still human.

            “You O.K.?” She jolted when she felt a hand come down on her shoulder.

            Looking up, she saw that it was Ethan, barely able to stand but otherwise recovering. Behind him, she saw Smith and Archer picking themselves up off the floor, both nursing their jaws.

            After taking a breath, Kim told Ethan, “Yeah…I’ll be fine.”

            Bond’s search for the elusive Blofeld brought him out onto the recreation yard. Once he realized that it was another dead end, he backtracked. That was when something struck his right shoulder – a bullet. Down he went at the center of the yard, bleeding profusely. As his vision blurred, he perceived a shadow that loomed over him. “Cuckoo!” said the shadow caster.

            Blofeld.

            “I see you’ve met my special assassin, James – he fired that shot several kilometers away from the lighthouse on the other side of the island.”

            Bond felt a gun barrel pressed against the side of his head.

            “Farewell, James. I only wished I could’ve—”

            Blofeld suddenly stopped monologuing mid-sentence. Bond felt the gun move away from his head at the same time Blofeld’s shadow had moved from his line of sight. Soon, the gun itself clattered to the concrete. Curious, Bond fought to look up, surprised to see Blofeld being knocked around by Perry the Platypus. “Saved by a platypus in a fedora,” he mused. “As if this day couldn’t get any stranger.”

            One fierce punch to the face from Perry rendered Blofeld unconscious.

            With the head of SPECTRE out of commission (this time, for good), Perry rushed to Bond’s aid. “I’m alright,” he told the platypus. Nodding approvingly, Bond smiled at his fellow Team operative. “I owe you my life, Agent P. Thank you.” Perry returned the gratitude with a thumb-up gesture.

            “Bond!”

            007 and Perry turned towards the courtyard entrance to see Kim and Ethan rush out, accompanied by Smith, Archer, and Big Hero 6. “Careful!” he warned them. “There’s a sniper at the lighthouse, south of here!”

            Baymax faced the direction Bond spoke of, scanning the area with magnified infrared sensors. “I detect no biological signatures from the lighthouse.”

            Bond groaned. “He escaped.”

            “Who did?” Ethan asked.

            “Blofeld’s special assassin,” Bond said. “He’s the one who shot me.”

            “The same one these guys talked about,” Kim gestured to Smith and Archer.

            Suddenly, Baymax notified the group, “There is an object moving very fast towards the island. I believe it is a heat-seeking nuclear missile.”

            “WHAT?!” the others cried.

            “Blofeld must’ve launched while I was chasing after him,” Bond deduced.

            “Asshole’s gonna take out us and San Francisco at risk of massive destruction!” Ethan measured.

            “Baymax, can you see the missile from here?” Hiro inquired.

            “Yes, I can. I can also lead its path away from the island.”

            “No, wait! Baymax, we need to—!”

            Baymax had already taken flight before Hiro could come up with a better plan. Everyone watched as he redirected the missile’s path, generating enough heat from his super suit that the missile couldn’t ignore. Baymax then transferred that heat into one of his gauntlets, steam pouring out from it. Just as he and the missile neared 30,000 feet, Baymax launched the gauntlet from his suit, allowing the missile to pursue.

            Baymax made his descent back towards Alcatraz, just as the missile struck the heated gauntlet, triggering a mighty explosion in the sky that lit like a second sun. The shockwave of the blast scattered nearby clouds – the only casualty.

            There were cheers among the heroes watching from the recreation yard – cheers for Baymax, who saved everyone in San Francisco that day. Those cheers wound down once the group noticed how the trajectory of Baymax’s descent seemed off. No longer was he landing towards the yard but somewhere along the island’s coast. Immediately, Hiro and the others rushed to the crash site – Hiro using the tracker on Baymax’s suit to locate the precise area.

            They discovered him on a beach, his suit broken into pieces that were disseminated all over the shore – only the legs and right arm were still attached to his deflated body. “Baymax!” Hiro yelled, rushing to his robot companion. “Are you alright?”

            “Oh, I’m just fiiiiiiine!” Baymax slurred. “Never b-b-better!”

            Archer cringed. “Why does he sound drunker than I do on a good day?”

            “His battery’s drained – must’ve used up most of it to pull off that stunt with the missile,” Hiro chuckled. “It’s okay. I’ll make sure he gets recharged.”

            While looking on the loopy Baymax, Kim detected something at the corner of her eye. There were black speed rafts and jet skis heading towards the island. At close inspection, she found out they were reinforcements sent by the Team superiors, coming ashore to arrest Blofeld, Steelbeak, and their subordinates.

            Unfortunately, Shego and Drakken escaped via helicopter, mere seconds before they could’ve been apprehended.

Chapter Text

            Perry looked forward to some well-deserved vacation time, following such a harrowing mission. Ever since the Team’s mission was completed on Alcatraz, their superiors disbanded them. He hadn’t heard or seen of Bond, Kim, and Hunt for the last three months. Admittedly, it made the platypus feel a little downhearted. As rocky of a start they had in their alliance, Perry grew to think of his fellow operatives as his best friends – outside of his owners, Phineas and Ferb, of course.

            The boys were relaxing in their usual spot in the Flynn-Fletcher’s backyard when Marty McFly stopped by the house. Candace was the one who allowed her in, all while pestering her, “Did ya get it? Did ya get the footage?”

            “What footage? What’re you talking about?” Marty seemed too preoccupied to answer, doing her best to bypass Candace and make way for the backyard.

            “The footage I asked you to take of whatever Phineas and Ferb were up to last night at Lone Pine Mall!” Candace badgered.

            “No, Candace, I deleted it.”

            “WHAT?! Why would you do that?! Are you purposely protecting my brothers and whatever bust-able thing they made?! Just know that you’re not bust-proof yourself, McFly! One call to your mom and I’ll bust your sorry—!”

            Candace’s voice drowned out of earshot from Perry, once she and Marty walked out onto the backyard terrace, closing the screen door behind them. Shortly thereafter, the doorbell rang again. This time, it was Linda that answered. “Oh, hello,” she kindly greeted the visitors. “You must be the new neighbors. Nice to finally meet you.”

            “Nice to meet you, too.” Perry’s resting eyes snapped open when he heard that familiar voice. It was Kim.

            It was soon followed by the voice of Ethan, who said, “My niece and I heard you have a pet platypus. She just loves those little critters.”

            “Yes, we do actually have one – his name’s Perry,” Linda said.

            Right on cue, Perry left his usual sleeping spot and joined Linda at the doorway, seeing Kim and Hunt on their doorstep. Both agents were in civilian attire – Kim specifically in a green tank top that fully bared her midriff, blue 3/4-length Capri jeans, and a pair of what appeared to be plain white canvas tennis or running shoes.

            “And there he is,” Linda sighted. She then invited the new “neighbors,” “C’mon in. I’ll whip us up some peach pie and lemonade.”

            Kim picked Perry up as she and Hunt walked in and sat together on the living room couch.

            While Linda was in the kitchen making the pie and lemonade, the three Team operatives broke character. Perry in particular switched out of “mindless domestic pet” façade and stood up on his hind legs, his eyes appearing more focused as he faced Kim and Ethan. “Quaint lil’ place you live in, Perry,” the former complimented.

            Perry gestured to himself and the two operatives before pointing to one spot on the couch that was vacant. Seeming to understand, Hunt told him, “Bond’s dealing with a situation. SPECTRE members are being assassinated through Valdo Obruchev’s Heracles nanobots. There are rumors that this situation might permanently disband MI6 from the Team.”

            This news made Perry sulk.

            Kim soothed him with some better news: “We, on the other hand, are sticking together for a good while. OWCA has arranged for me to be your new caregiver. They didn’t have to do much fudging on my ‘platypus-sitting’ credentials – I can literally do anything.”

            “We also have our new assignment – locating Blofeld’s special assassin, whose identity we’ve learned is Agent 47,” Ethan added. “Our current lead is to a drag race in Puerto Rico.” As he disclosed this information, he noticed Kim and Perry giving him an underwhelmed gaze. “What?”

            “Nothing,” Kim said. “It’s just…we hoped for some kind of recording…you know, one of those ‘This Message Will Self-Destruct’ things.”

            Ethan chuckled. “Those are for IMF eyes and ears only.”

            “Eh, no big,” Kim shrugged. “So, when do we start?”

            “Our flight leaves in two hours – plenty of time to enjoy Mrs. Flynn-Fletcher’s pie and lemonade.” Ethan then remembered, “Oh, one more thing: we have a new Team Player joining us on our next mission. His name’s Dominic Toretto.”