9:00 PM
July 17, 2009
Drakken's newest destroyed lair
Middleton outskirts.


The door of the black-and-white squad car closed on Shego's snarling, angry face as an insolent, huffy Drakken pouted against the opposite door. A young woman leaned down to look through the tinted window.

"When will you two learn?" she smiled, shaking her head sadly.

Shego slammed against the door, cussing under her breath. A throaty roar from the Crown Victoria cut Drakken's "You think you're all that…" rant short. The redhead's emerald eyes followed the squadcar's taillights as they melded with the twilight.

A 21-year-old Kim Possible straightened up. She mentally checked herself for cuts and bruises after her tussle with Shego.

Kim's basic physical appearance had changed little from when she was 16, besides the obvious maturing of her proportions and curves. She had cut her hair from the flowing contrail of her high-school days to a shoulder-blade length to prevent it from being used against her in a fight. She also had a small, color tattoo of the KP monogram on her ankle. Nothing had really changed in the appearance of her mission outfit either, besides the addition of an oblong tool in a leather case by her hip.

"Umm, helloo, KP?" A familiar voice cut through Kim's concentration. She looked over and smiled at her boyfriend, Ron.

"Oh, sorry, Ron. I was just thinking…" She paused. "Did you get your pants back? That distraction gave me enough time to initiate the lair's self-destruct sequence."

Ron blushed. "I hate it when I forget and tie the grappling line around my belt loop."

Kim laughed. "See you tomorrow!" She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. Instantly, Ron's face broke into a wide toothy grin.

"Yea, you too," said Ron bemusedly, rubbing his cheek and climbing into his car.

Kim turned to do the same. She winced as she slid into the seat of her forest-green, diesel/electric Subaru Outback. In her pervious fight, in addition to the expected bumps and bruises, Shego had slammed her forcefully against a concrete support column. Adrenaline had kept the pain off at the time, but now the blunt trauma was starting to throb painfully.

"Gonna be a bruise there," she muttered.

Kim pulled onto a two-lane road she knew was a shortcut towards town, turbocharged flat-6 humming gently. She drove mechanically, letting her mind wander to the events of the day. Wade had sent her on four missions in the past 6 hours, culminating with Drakken's attempt to take over the world using a baby food factory.

Wade. Little 15-year-old brat, she thought, Stupid kid. He'd be dead from obesity if he hadn't come up with that fat-eating solution. How could a kid smart enough to single-handedly put almost every weight-loss company out of business AND take over Microsoft at the same time not know how hard it is to go on all these missions and still have a life?

She drove in thought for another couple of miles before a glowing, neon sign on the side of the road caught her eye. LOUIE'S BAR.
I need a drink, said part of her mind, a quick pick-me-up after a hard day.

Now, now, another part; her conscience, you know alcohol won't help a bad mood. In fact, it can make your mood worse. Didn't you listen to all those years of Health class?

Well… well…, the first part argued, You've had a busy day, and you're dehydrated. A drink would at least give you some sort of liquid.

Somehow bowing to this logic, Kim pulled over and unbuckled her seatbelt. She hesitated for a moment, and then removed the leather holster from her waist. She looked down at the gunmetal gray of her Smith and Wesson .40 Special.

Man, I still don't like this thing, not even after two years... Oh, well. No sense bringing a loaded weapon into a bar, she thought, and slid the gun onto the passenger seat and pulled herself out of the Subaru. She walked up the wooden steps, through a western-style swinging door, and into the bar.

9:30 PM
July 17, 2009
Louie's Bar

Kim surveyed the dining area. It was simple, smallish facility, wooden paneled and dark, but clean. Ten tables or so were scattered around the open area. About half were filled. There was a small partition in one corner, clouded in a grayish haze, marked SMOKING. Two men were throwing darts on a dartboard along one wall. In the corner a sultry-looking woman fed quarters into a jukebox.

Kim sidled up to the long, low mahogany bar along the opposite wall. Pulling out her wallet, she scanned its contents. MasterCard... visa... passport... kill license..., ironically rubbing shoulders with her CPR certification... NRA registration... Organ Donor card... picture of her and Ron's first kiss, albeit under the influence of a microchip - courtesy of Wade's locker cam... picture of her family... ahh, here it is, driver's license. She flashed it to the bartender and sat down, grimacing as the injury on her back pulled. She ordered a small Miller Light and took a draw from it after the barman expertly slid it down the table.

Maybe this job is getting too tough, she thought, taking another sip. The world's gotten a lot rougher since 9/11 and 4/23. More terrorist gangs, death squads, and fanatics. Helped the Army in 2005 regain control of Iraq during Gulf War II. That'd been hard and dirty. What I would've done if Ron hadn't shown up with that .50 cal…
Not so many nutters with ray gun and microchips anymore. More like nutters with AK's and RPG's. Took down bin Laden in 2007. Almost copped it then. Still have the scar to prove it.
She smiled. The $25 mil. was nice though; helped finance the gadgets I'm always destroying, the Scramjet, – a hypersonic airplane that could reach anywhere in the world in less than two hours – upgrades for the Kimmunicator, and a new car for Ron to replace his junker.

Kim was so immersed in her thoughts that she didn't notice a disturbance in the back of the room. A huge, stocky, muscular man who had had far too much alcohol came out of the SMOKING section of the bar. He was picking on, jeering, and generally roughing up some of the smaller men in the restaurant. He had no opposition, the bouncer being huddled in fear under the bar. His mean little eyes searched the room for new targets. They fell on Kim, one of the few women there, and her with flaming red hair. He clomped over, and tried to start a slurred discussion with her.

"Heeeey baby, wanna go upthairs? Huh,Huh,Huh... I've gthot a new toy I wanna thry ouut..."

Is this IDIOT trying to hit on me?! Kim thought disgustedly, staring stonily over the rim of her glass and not replying.

Perplexed and enraged at not eliciting a response, he lunged, wrenching her off her bar stool and held her, dangling, so that her toes were an inch or two off the polished floor.

"Did you HEAR me, BITCH?!?!" he screamed in her face, spraying her with spittle and beer fumes.

Kim looked coolly into the eyes of her aggressor and said, calmly, "Put me down... right now... Or I'll be forced to-"

He gave a wild bellow, and flung her across the room. People scattered. The woman by the jukebox, just finished with making her music selection, yelped and dived out of the way. Kim smashed into the jukebox, the latter disintegrating under the impact. By unlucky chance, she landed on almost the exact spot Shego had slammed her earlier. Shards of colored plastic, neon tubes, and decorative metal exploded across the floor.

She clawed her way out of the music machine's wreckage, snarling, "Dammit boy, you picked the WRONG night to mess with KIM POSSIBLE!"

Behind her, the battered jukebox ground harshly to life, circuits frizzing and popping before latching onto a song.

:: ...I GET KNOCKED DOWN...!::

She braced into a fighting stance. The drunk charged with an inhuman howl, coming at her like a runaway steam locomotive. She met his charge, rolled him over her shoulder, dropped to the floor, and bicycle-kicked him into the wall. He picked himself up with a roar, and charged again.

Kim threw a roundhouse kick to his head, but he grabbed it. She gave a "Whoa!" of surprise as he picked her up and threw her onto the bar. Kim landed 3-point, catlike, on the laminated surface, slowed, stopped, and reversed her momentum, and leapt off the bar with a "Hiii-YA!" sending a flying kick into his barrel chest.

:: ...BUT I GET UP AGAIN...!::

The man flew across the bar for a second time, again slamming into a wall with a loud CRACK! as a crevice appeared in the plaster.
He staggered up, looking completely mad now, a gleam like an enraged bull's in his eye. He was almost frothing at the mouth. He whipped his hand into his jeans pocket, and pulled out a huge butterfly knife, flicking it open menacingly as he advanced on Kim. Her jaw dropped. Shit, girl, why'd ya leave the gun in the car? WHY? She gave him a series of lighting-quick hand movements to confuse his aim, and then slammed the knife out of his hand with her foot. She barely noticed as it sung across the room and landed with a THWOCK, quivering, in the bulls-eye of the dartboard.


Kim then cοcked her hand back, hauled off, giving him a punishing uppercut so hard saliva flew out of one side of his mouth, and he did a 180. She pinned his arms behind his back and applied pressure with her index and middle to the back of his upper neck. The man screamed, and fell to his knees.

"Hurts, don't it?" Kim snarled in his ear. She pressed harder. He groaned and sank to the floor. Kim placed her boot into the small of his back.

"Feelin' lucky NOW, PUNK?" she spat down at him. "Don't mess with this bitch, 'cause she can… kick… your… ASS!" She emphasized the last few words by grinding her boot into his back as she said them.

He only gurgled. Raising her head, she scanned the now silent, goggling bar.

"Hey, anybody got a spare set of handcuffs?" she called out. Somebody threw her a pair. She clicked them on the drunk's wrists, and looked up again.

"Oh, yea," she said in a more friendly tone, "Does anyone have a cell phone?" After dialing a familiar 3-digit number, Kim kept her boot on him until a flashing red-and-blue lightbar appeared outside the window, and Officer Hobble walked through the doors.

She slammed her money down on the bar and strode out, the Boxer engine of the Outback flaring to life. Then she pulled out in a cloud of dust, taillights swallowed up into the gloom, as she headed towards the urban glow of Middleton.

10:30 PM
July 17, 2009

Uh uh uh uh uh uh uh oh
Uh uh uh uh uh uh uh oh

Check it out
Going out
On the late night
Looking tight
Feeling nice
It's a cockfight
I can tell
I just know
That it's going down
At the bar two shots just beginning
That's when dickhead put his hands on me
But you see...

I'm not here for your entertainment!
You really don't want to mess with me toniiight!
Just stop and take a second
I was fine before you walked in-to my life!
Cause you know it's over
Before it even be-gins!
Keep your drink, just give me the money;
It's just about me tonight!


Don't touch
Back up
I'm not the one
Uh,uh, buh bye

'Cause –

I'm not here for your entertainment!
You really don't want to mess with me toniiight!
Just stop and take a second
I was fine before you walked in-to my life!
Cause you know it's over
Before it even be-gins!
Keep your drink, just give me the money;
It's just about me tonight…!


"U + Ur Hand," P!nk

I want to give a real big thanks to TransWarpDrive for giving me the idea for this fanfiction. He posted it on ( and this idea snowballed ever since. I also want to give reference to poster Rocinante for the mention of Scramjets. (Anything is Possible Trilogy Steel Swan Ch.3, "Scram!") I also borrowed his idea of putting the time, date, and place at each new scene, as well as the idea of an ending song.