Shego Has Been Compromised
One Year Before.
Kim Possible hated working with anyone outside her tight-knit team. Wade was her reliable “guy in the chair,” the genius who could hack into anything with a keyboard and a Wi-Fi signal. Ron, her sometimes-useful sidekick, usually brought comic relief rather than strategic advantage. This mission, however, was different. When the United States government calls, you pick up. When the President himself asks for a favor, you don’t just answer—you step up.
But stepping up this time meant stepping out alone. She didn’t just have one “guy in the chair” now—she had an entire operation of faceless operatives scattered across the globe. And yet, in the end, this mission was hers alone. The irony of her current predicament, tied to a cold chair on a rooftop in the middle of the night, wasn’t lost on her. She couldn’t help but smirk at the absurdity.
The plan had seemed straightforward enough on paper: infiltrate a dangerous syndicate, get captured, hold an interrogation with their lead spy, and extract critical intel. Then, and most importantly, get the hell out. Simple in theory. The execution, as always, proved to be a different beast.
The wind howled fiercely across the rooftop, rattling loose tiles and creating an eerie symphony with the city far below. Not a single cloud marred the crystal-clear night, and the stars hung in sharp relief above them, a stunning contrast to the harsh tension in the air. Kim had been taken in Paris, just as planned, and transported to the outskirts of Versailles. She had to admit: French air was cleaner and crisper than Middleton’s. Even tied to a chair, she appreciated the subtle scent of blooming lavender wafting up from below.
Then there was him. The stench of Demetri Petrov arrived before he did—cheap cigar ash mixed with an acrid undertone of liquor. It clung to him like a bad memory, carried mercilessly by the wind. Petrov, the head of the operation and Kim’s primary target, looked every bit the part. A heavyset man with greasy hair and a poorly tailored suit, he lumbered forward, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he reached her.
“Showtime,” Kim thought, her adrenaline kicking in.
Her Russian wasn’t terrible, but when she addressed him in his native tongue, Petrov burst into laughter. The deep, guttural sound echoed over the rooftop. “English!” he bellowed, his voice carrying above the wind. “You butcher my language! This... transaction,” he said with a sardonic grin, “will happen in English. Anything else would be an insult.”
That worked just fine for Kim. She knew enough to keep him talking, and she quickly clocked the presence of Victor Zelenko, Petrov’s second-in-command. A month’s worth of intel briefings had drilled his face into her memory, but to her surprise, Petrov hadn’t brought his full entourage. Just Victor and eight unknown men. Amateur move.
Her stomach did an involuntary flip when two of those unknown goons dragged her chair toward the edge of the rooftop. They tipped her backward just far enough to make the threat crystal clear. The stars spun overhead, and for a brief moment, she wondered if these thugs were actually stupid enough to drop her by accident. Still, she maintained her composure. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her sweat.
Then, the unexpected happened.
A cell phone buzzed from somewhere in the group, its shrill tone cutting through the tense night. Heads turned as a scrawny, nervous-looking man fumbled for his phone. Kim hadn’t noticed him before—he looked out of place, too small and jittery to be one of Petrov’s regulars. The others glared at him with annoyance, some probably thinking it would reflect poorly on them; Victor looked as though he was questioning why he was there in the first place.
The man hesitated after he held the phone to his unproportioned ear, his eyes darting to Petrov before holding the phone out to him with a trembling hand.
Petrov snatched it, his broad face darkening. “What is this?” he growled.
The scrawny man stammered, barely able to meet his boss’s gaze. Then, with a shaky voice, he uttered three words that froze everyone on the rooftop, Kim included.
“It’s for her.”
Kim felt her chair being pulled up to rest fully on the roof, with all eyes on her. Petrov practically yanked the extended phone from the man.
“Who is this?”
“You are at 88 Rue Audemars St. There are approximately nine men with you, and I will blow up the storage unit before you can even get to the bottom floor. Hand the girl the phone, or I will make the other call. You have 5 seconds to decide.”
Petrov tucks the phone between Kim’s ear and cheek and waits. Before Kim can even get out a word, she hears
“You need to come in.” It’s Brosnen. Not a voice she wants to hear.
“Really? Are you kidding me right now? I have him right where I want him?” Kim is angry.
“Kim-”
“This idiot is giving me exactly what I want. I have the-”
Petrov takes a step forward, his brows furrowed with confusion.
“Kim!” Bronsens voice rises. “It’s shego.”
“What about her?”
“She’s been… compromised.”
Kim says nothing. She has a thousand questions, but she knows she has to get out of her first. She sighs and says, “Stay on hold, I don’t want to have to call you back.”
With a subtle jut of her head, Kim signaled Dimitri to take the phone, her expression calm and composed. “What an idiot,” she thought, barely suppressing a smirk. The moment his meaty hand gripped the device, she sprang into action.
Using the momentum of her own body, she jerked her head upward, the crown of her skull slamming into Petrov's chin. The force knocked him backward, sending the phone clattering to the ground. Victor, ever the loyal second-in-command, immediately barked orders to the men, signaling for them to flank her on either side. “ahh, so they are Victor’s men,” Kim made a mental note.
Kim was ready. Being tied to a chair didn’t exactly make her any less dangerous. With a sharp intake of breath, she planted her feet firmly and surged forward. The ropes bit into her wrists, but she ignored the sting. Her momentum carried her (and her chair) straight into Victor’s gut. Her feet made solid contact, and she used his stomach like a springboard, propelling herself sideways into the thug on his right. The wooden chair shattered beneath her on impact, splintering into jagged shards as she landed in a crouch.
"Amateurs," she muttered, twisting her wrists free from the loosened ropes as she rolled to avoid Victor's fist. His punch sliced through the air just above her head, but she was already moving.
Victor recovered with alarming speed, his bulk deceptively quick. He lunged again, this time with a steel blade glinting under the moonlight. Kim dodged it, though, her movements fluid, her mind calculating every angle. She ducked low, sweeping her leg to take out the knees of the thug advancing from her left. He toppled like a felled tree, groaning as his head hit the rooftop with a dull thud.
As much as Kim relished the rush of hand-to-hand combat, she knew she couldn’t waste time. The rooftop was chaotic now, with Petrov’s men closing in. The odds weren’t in her favor– not without her gadgets.
"Alright," she muttered, flipping her wrist to reveal the sleek face of her watch. Its gleaming surface concealed ten precision darts, each laced with a sedative potent enough to knock out a small horse. She’d made it clear during mission briefings: she wouldn’t kill, but she would incapacitate if necessary.
With a flick of her wrist, she took aim. The first dart hit Victor squarely in the chest mid-charge, and he staggered backward, eyes wide with shock. The second and third darts found their marks in the necks of the henchmen nearest to her, their movements slowing before they collapsed in a heap as they tried till their last moment to reach her.
One by one, the remaining men dropped, their furious roars fading into unconscious groans as the darts did their work. Kim straightened, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face as she surveyed the scene. The rooftop was littered with unconscious bodies; the once-threatening mob (well, kind of threatening) was now reduced to a pile of snoring obstacles.
“Playing dirty is so boring,” she mused, stepping carefully over Victor and Dimitri’s sprawled forms.
The phone lay a few feet away, glinting under the soft glow of the moonlight. Kim picked it up, her fingers closing around the smooth plastic. She tilted her head, listening to the faint hum of the wind whipping across the rooftop.
“Where is she,” she asked, her eyes scanning the skies.
“That took almost a minute. I was starting to get worried.” Bronsen is chuckling on the other end of the phone.
“Where is she.” It wasn’t a question but a statement.
“Birds are a minute out. I will explain everything once you come in.”
“Is she dying?”
“No, Kim. Just come in.”
“Two months of recon and training for you to interrupt this mission! Tell me what the hell is going on.” Kim knows her voice sounds angry with a hint of fear. She is nervous.
“Kim. All the facts are here. If I disclose anything over the phone, you won’t have all the facts.” Bronsen has made his position clear. She needs to come in.
Kim hears the roar of an engine above her now. Her ride is close.
“Will I be able to see her once I touch down?” Kim doesn’t expect an answer from her superior, and she feels her entire body still when she hears his response.
“No.”
She looked up, spotting the fighter jet approaching low and fast. Its silhouette was sleek and menacing against the star-dappled sky, the red and green navigation lights blinking rhythmically as it neared. She shifted her weight nervously, her boots scuffing against the rooftop. The jet slowed to a hover, its engines roaring like an angry beast, thrumming in her chest. Dust and debris whipped around her, forcing her to shield her eyes with one hand as the ladder descended, a metal line swaying precariously in the wind.
Her stomach twisted as she approached the edge of the roof. She had done this a million times, but not for this reason. The ladder dangled just out of reach, swaying in time with the powerful gusts. She hesitated, but not because she was scared of falling, she was scared of going as her heart pounded in her ears.
“Focus,” she muttered under her breath, gripping the rungs with shaking hands (when did her hands start shaking? Kim asked herself) as she reached for the ladder. The metal was cold beneath her hands and now slick with condensation, but she pulled herself up with a determination that overrode her fear.
The ladder swung wildly as the jet adjusted its position, and for a brief moment, her foot slipped, her heart lurching into her throat. She tightened her grip, gritting her teeth as she climbed higher, “get a grip possible,” she thought to herself, smiling a bit at her own joke but it was not enough to ease her mind. Each rung was a battle against the wind but more so the chaos in her mind.
The pilot’s voice crackled in her earpiece, calm and even. “Almost there. Keep moving.”
Kim didn’t respond as she couldn’t trust her voice to be steady. Her breath came in shallow bursts as she hauled herself into the open hatch, the noise of the engines deafening now. Hands reached down to help her inside, and she collapsed into the seat, her muscles trembling from the climb (or maybe not).
As the hatch sealed shut and the noise of the wind was replaced by the controlled hum of the cockpit, she leaned back, staring at the ceiling for a moment. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving her feeling hollow and exhausted. But there was no time to rest. She forced herself upright, her eyes darting to the comm system. “I need to know everything,” she said, her voice sharper than she intended. “What happened to her?”
The silence that followed was suffocating. The pilot glanced at her, his expression unreadable as the jet banked sharply, heading for the coordinates that held the answers she desperately needed.
She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. The fear hadn’t left her—it lingered, clawing at her resolve. But as the city lights faded beneath them and the jet climbed higher into the night, she made a silent promise.
Whatever Kim found at the end of this flight, she wouldn’t stop until she got her back.
Gaze falling from the ceiling, she reached into her mission suit. Kim said she wouldn’t use her Kimmunicator during the mission; however, it became abundantly clear that the mission was over.
Wade flashed across her screen, confusion etched across his face. Kim didn’t let him speak.
“Wade, we have a sitch.”