Disclaimers:

Nope, still don't own KP. All rights go to the House that Walt Built. The song "All Along the Watchtower" was written and originally performed by Bob Dylan and later performed by Jimi Hendrix, U2 and pretty much anyone with a guitar, three chords and dreams of stardom.

The story is a crossover but I don't wanna say with what yet. Additional disclaimers will appear at the end of this chapter.

Spoilers:

Up to and including "So the Drama", but after that I'm making it up as I go along. Takes place after my earlier story "Fear Factor".

Rating:

PG to PG-13. No smut, some cartoony violence, two teens making out on occasion.

Note:

Kim and Ron aren't actually in the first chapter. It's a short piece that serves as a bridge between "So the Drama" and my main epic.

Kim Possible:

The Staff of Sun Wukong

Chapter One

Two Riders Were Approaching

There must be some way out of here,
Said the joker to the thief.
There's just too much confusion,
I can't get no relief.
Businessmen, they drink my wine,
Plowmen dig my earth.
None of them along the line
Know what any of it is worth...

"Ten minutes, Lipsky," the guard grunted to the denim-clad figure who walked listlessly into the prison visiting room, the shackles that linked his ankles reducing his walk to a hobbling gate. A thick titanium chain connected the leg shackles to the cuffs around his wrists, making any sort of mobility difficult. "Your niece insisted on seeing you here."

"Niece?" Lipsky complained. "I have no niece—" Before he could continue, the guard had disappeared. Not knowing what else to do, Lipsky snarled slightly at the guard as he entered the room and sat behind the plexiglass partition. He was surprised to see a woman in a black trench coat sitting on the opposite side. A slouched fedora hat obscured her features.

Drew Lipsky, alias Doctor Drakken, hadn't expected anyone to visit him during his confinement. During his arraignment, his own mother, no longer able to turn a blind eye to his criminal dealings, had to be gaveled down by the judge after her outburst of "I hope you rot in jail!", before she walked out of the courtroom without so much as a backward glance. Drakken had later learned that she had moved away from Middleton the next day after legally changing her name, severing herself off her past life and her criminal son. All of his henchmen were incarcerated as well, and many of them cut deals to testify against Drakken.

The figure on the other side of the partition pressed the intercom button before removing her hat. Piercing jade eyes stared out of a pale, darkly smiling face. Although she had slathered on a thick layer of pancake makeup to hide her pale green complexion, Drakken gasped in recognition. "Shego?"

"Nice place you got here, Drakken," Shego observed caustically. "Oh, excuse me, Uncle Drew," she added in a teasing, little girl tone.

"Shego," Drakken whispered, "how did you escape?"

"Cut a deal with the DA," Shego answered matter-of-factly, "gave them the ol' sob story about how the mean ol' Doctor Drakken took advantage of my fragile emotional state after I ran away from Go City. Got transferred to a minimum security system, and from there—" She shrugged her shoulders in mock-innocence. "Wasn't even a challenge."

"Excellent," Drakken hissed, a faintly sinister smile twisting his lips. "So, now we can devise a plan for me to escape this hellhole."

"Way ahead of ya, Dr. D," Shego announced.

"Good work, Shego!" Drakken's grin flared evilly. "What's the plan?"

Shego smiled darkly as she extended her forefinger. "Step one; I slip out of Middleton and head out for Puerto Rico." She straightened a second finger. "Step two; I start a new career as a freelance mercenary."

"And then?"

"That's it, pretty much," Shego answered. "Good plan, huh?"

Drakken blinked wildly, gaping at Shego like a stunned flounder. "Um, Shego," Drakken hesitated for a moment before plunging in with his next question, "while your plan so far is elegant in its simplicity, at what part of this plan do you come back to rescue me?"

"Oh, that?" Shego shrugged her shoulders casually. "That's the beauty part of it. I don't."

"Wh-wha—" Drakken stammered. "You mean to tell me that you intend for me to rot in this stinking prison?"

"Doy!" Shego smiled mirthlessly. "Y'see, I finally realized that you're probably the worst criminal mastermind in history. You're a pathetic, whining little toad who failed in everything he ever set his mind to. A gal's gotta look to her own future, right? Y'know, cover her nut? And really, my best chance of not ending up behind bars again is to leave you here! Maybe I'll hook up with the Senors. If nothing else S. S. Senior has some class, and his son might be dumb as a sack of hammers but at least he's not difficult to look at."

"Shego," Drakken raised his voice in a feeble attempt to sound threatening. "I would remind you that we have a contract!"

"Which became null and void when your Diablo plan hit the fan," Shego snarled. "All because you insisted on leaving that buffoon in the same room as Kim! If you'd left them in separate rooms like I suggested, he wouldn't have snapped her out of her self-pity streak! You finally had her, but you blew it!"

"A mistake I won't make the next time we meet, Shego," Drakken insisted.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Shego droned, examining her fingernails. "The point is that there's not gonna be a next time. Y'see, you're going to go on trial, you're going to be convicted and you're likely never going to see the outside of a jail again, and once I'm out this door I will never even think of you again." Leaning forward, she added in a dark whisper, "In case it hasn't sunk in, you pathetic loser, I quit!" Repositioning her fedora to hide her face, Shego stood up and headed for the door, waving for a guard. The guard opened the locked door for her and she turned around and smiled with mock-sweetness towards Drakken. "Just remember, 'Uncle Drew', today's the first day of the rest of your life. Without possibility of parole." She blew him a kiss and departed.

Drakken fumed as another guard escorted him back to his cell. The Lowerton Penitentiary was only a holding ground, he was well aware of that. Once he was convicted he knew that he would be shuttled to a special prison constructed by Global Justice. The Vault, they called it. The most impenetrable facility on Earth, more heavily guarded and fortified than even Fort Knox. And if he failed to escape before then, he knew that he had no hope of seeing the outside world again.

His fevered brain began hatching plots, dismissing most of them as mere fantasy, but nurturing the few that had any hope of success. He had to think of something fast. He would not be chucked into the Vault and forgotten. He would escape. He had to escape. He could not allow those who defeated his plans to live a single peaceful second.

Kim Possible, surely. She would feel the full force of his vengeance. And Ron Stoppable. Yes, he remembered the name of the buffoon. How could he not after the boy humiliated him after the final battle with the Diablos? James Possible and his family, that boy Wade, anyone who ever regarded Kim and Ron as friends. They would pay.

And of course, Shego. No one betrayed Drakken and lived a long healthy life afterwards. There would be a settling of accounts.

Drakken grinned hideously. Oh yes. They would all pay...

No reason to get excited
The thief he kindly spoke;
There are many here among us
Who feel that life is but a joke:
But you and I we've been through that
And this is not our fate.
So let us not talk falsely now,
The hour's getting late...

Buenos Aeries:

"Okay," the gangly figure whispered to his partner as they leaned against the stucco wall, evading the infra-red security camera that stood sentinel over the garden of the hacienda. "Where's our point of entry?"

The partner absently rested his hand against the Smith and Wesson Magnum he kept holstered under his jacket. "Security cameras along the perimeter," he pointed to the infra-red camera they were hiding from, as well as a second camera closer to the side entrance. "I take that camera out, we'll have two minutes to get in, nab a few million of our host's ill-gotten gains and skedaddle."

The master thief turned to the marksman. "Who says 'skedaddle' anymore?" The marksman simply shrugged. "Never mind," the thief replied. "Can you make that shot from here?"

The marksman said nothing more, but within a half-second he withdrew his pistol and blew away the camera, seemingly without even aiming. "Two minutes, Boss," he muttered. "Chop-chop."

The two criminals slipped easily into the hacienda, backs still hugging the walls as they inched through the residence. Their target was one of the wealthiest men in South America, and in recent years aspired to becoming a criminal mastermind. As such, the thief had no qualms about relieving his target of a few million dollars worth of jewelry.

Weeks of casing the premises proved fruitful; his scans of the hacienda indicated the most likely place where his target would keep his jewels, and nighttime surveillance showed where his cameras were kept, as well as the likely whereabouts of any infrared alarm beams. He slipped his night-vision goggles over his eyes and scanned the hallway ahead of him. A crisscross lattice of red glowing lines appeared before him, the beams scarcely a foot apart.

"Let me guess, bro," he whispered to his partner. "All attached to a high-sensitivity alarm system that'll go off at the slightest brush against those beams, right?" The marksman nodded wordlessly. "And I thought this was going to be a tough job," the thief grinned.

If there was one thing that this thief loved more than the glitter of coin or the soft planes of the female form, it was a challenge. But unknown to either of the two, they were not the only burglars in the hacienda that evening.

All along the watchtower
Princes kept the view
While all the women came and went,
Barefoot servants too.
Outside in the distance
A wildcat did growl.
Two riders were approaching
And the wind began to howl.

Shego lifted her lithe form effortlessly to the window sill and examined the wires that protruded from the window frame. No doubt the slightest effort to open the window from outside would set off the alarm.

She withdrew a compass-like device from the pouch at her belt, and affixed the suction cup at one end of the device to the glass, near where the window's latch was. She lowered the rotating arm of the compass to the window's surface, allowing the superheated glass-cutting tip to touch the glass. With practiced ease, she rotated the compass arm around the suction cup in a slow but steady full circle, creating a cookie-cutter perfect hole in the window. She removed the glass circle and compass from the window and reached her hand inside the resulting hole, until she could reach the latch to the window. She slowly unlatched the window, disconnecting the alarm circuit in the process.

Lifting the window open, she lowered herself into the hacienda. She smiled as she recognized the room she had entered; it was his private study. She made her way through the study, noticing a portrait of an attractive young woman in red, a traditional Spanish dress circa 18th century. Distant ancestor, she figured dismissively. Her quarry was definitely old money. Emphasis on 'old', she grinned sardonically.

She gently pried the portrait away from the wall, uncovering the door of a wall-safe. How cliché, she thought as she deftly placed her ear to the side of the vault, her hand delicately manipulating the combination dial. "C'mon, c'mon, talk to me," she whispered to the lock mechanism as she listened for tell-tale clicks that would indicate a tumbler being lowered into place. After two painstakingly slow minutes, she heard a final tumbler fall into place and tested the handle on the vault door. She heaved slightly as the door gave way, swinging open with oiled efficiency.

Shego smiled when she saw a collection of velvet jewelry cases inside the safe. "Jackpot," she said quietly, her smile resembling a shark's at the scent of blood on the water. She immediately grabbed a velvet box and opened it, lifting out the longest strand of pearls she had ever seen, each single sphere half-an-inch in diameter and flawless. Easily a few hundred-thousand right there, she estimated as she took the liberty of rubbing one of the pearls against her teeth. Satisfied that they were genuine, she stashed them in her pouch and reached for the other jewelry cases. Rings, necklaces, earrings, a small cache of diamonds and other precious stones, all huge and perfect. And untraceable on the black market. She emptied the cases into her bag and was about to close the vault and leave, when something else caught her eye.

She reached inside the safe and withdrew a small metal box. She opened the old metal box, which judging from the way the hinges shrieked hadn't been opened in years, and examined its contents. She was disappointed at seeing what looked like a scroll of dried bamboo reeds strung together like window blinds. She unfurled the scroll and glanced at the calligraphic brushwork, the neatly formed characters lined up in vertical rows. "Hmm," she grumbled to herself, "looks like a Chinese take-out menu."

Before she could return the scroll to the safe, the shrill blare of an alarm siren hacked through the stillness. She glanced at the window, only to see bars crop up in front of the opened glass. With that exit cut off, Shego stashed the scroll in her pouch and kicked down the nearby door, clearing her way into the hall. She charged down the hallway, her hands flaring with green fire, prepared to burn her way out if need be.

Before she could make her way to the rear door, a slim figure collided with hers, sending her sprawling onto the floor. As she sought to stand again, she glared murderously at the other burglar. A tall gangly figure, he almost looked skinnier than Kim Possible's sidekick, what was his name, Don, Sean? His hair was short and dark brown, and trimmed with sideburns down his cheeks. Behind the gangly figure a more stocky man wearing a fedora over his eyes came barreling after him. "Say, Boss," he grumbled, "who's your new friend?"

"Oh, hi," the gangly figure stammered, turning his attention to the angry pale-green woman whom he had landed on. "Pleased to meet you," he announced, offering his hand again. "Thanks for the soft landing."

"Get your hand out of my face or pull back a bloody stump," Shego warned darkly, causing the thief to withdraw his hand immediately and clamber off of her. As Shego stood up again, she growled, "Who the hell are you anyway?"

"Exactly what I was wondering," a cultured Spanish-accented voice caught their attention as the three thieves turned toward the main hallway. The aristocratic figure of Senor Senor Senior strode toward the hapless crooks with an air of quiet menace. "I am awakened from my sleep to find no less than three felons attempting to steal from my hacienda." Regarding the two male thieves, the elderly criminal millionaire announced in measured tones, "I don't know you. But you—" he added as he addressed Shego, "I never forget a face." As a phalanx of armed security guards ran forward and encircled the thieves, he added, "But in the end, no matter. I believe I shall let the local constabulary deal with you three."

"Wait, wait, wait a minute here," Shego stammered as she walked toward Senor. "I brought these two goombas down! I was thinking that, now that I'm officially footloose and Drakken-free, that you might be interested in my services."

Senor stared in bemusement at Shego. "So you broke into my den and stole a few million dollars in jewelry that belonged to my late wife Elena, for the sole reason of asking me for employment in my organization?"

Hearing the undisguised venom in his words slowly convinced Shego that she would need to look elsewhere for employment. "Uh, yeah, something like that."

"Then perhaps you can explain to an elderly gentleman," Senor's voice was never raised above a whisper but it grinded more fiercely than a tiger's growl, "why I should pay you money to rob my hacienda, when I can earn more money by turning you in to the authorities for the reward offered by Interpol?"

"Uh, because you're a wanted fugitive too?" Shego offered gamely.

"Ah, but I am not wanted for any crimes in Argentina," Senor answered. "Whereas you are wanted by every nation on Earth, especially after Drakken's failed 'Diablo' attack. And for the record, one of those wretched machines demolished the entire east wing of my summer home in Barcelona. So I am hardly of a mind to consider you for employment."

Shego fumed silently as her past association with Dr. Drakken caught up with her. "I so hope Drakken drops the soap," she muttered under her breath. "A lot."

"Uh, excuse me," the slim thief standing behind Shego raised his hand as he and his partner slowly backed away toward the rear door. "Seeing as how you two have a history, my friend and I will just make our goodbyes now and make our exit."

"Oh, this is goodbye, my felonious friends," Senor gestured to his security detail, all of whom began to close in on the three thieves. "But not by your leave. Guards!" he barked. "Please escort these three reprobates to the local departamento del policía, anonymously, of course. And feel free to handle them roughly," he added as he turned away from the three criminals and started to walk toward his bedroom.

"Well, in that case," Shego announced, a green fiery glow eminating from her fingers, "Skinny, you got a plan for getting us out of her?"

"Thought you'd never ask, sweetcheeks," the brown-haired thief answered, eyeing a skylight window overhead and five feet to his right. He withdrew a grappling gun from his inside jacket pocket and asked, "Can you hold off the welcoming committee?"

"Watch my smoke," Shego grinned darkly, unleashing a gout of green fire from her hands, firing random blasts at the guards, sending them scattering. Shego then tumbled through the gap left by the fleeing guards, her rival thieves following in pursuit. While Shego projected a wall of fire between them and the guards, the thief fired his grappler toward the skylight. The piton rocketed upward, breaking the glass skylight before latching onto the rooftop. "Hang on, sister!" he shouted, grabbing Shego by the waist as he and his partner held on to the grappler gun. Triggering the recoil on his grappler, he laughed at the guards as the three crooks quickly ascended through the broken skylight.

Once they landed on the roof, the three felons jumped to ground level and ran from the hacienda, disappearing into the night before the guards could find them. "C'mon, Shego!" the thief shouted as he and the marksman jumped into a nearby Mini Cooper. Shego managed to scramble into the back seat as the car drove off, the marksman behind the wheel.

"Man that frosts me," the thief complained as they sped away from Buenos Aeries. "Senor Senor Senior must have had the biggest stash in Argentina and we end up running away, empty handed."

"Well," Shego demurred, reaching into her pouch, "I wouldn't exactly say that." She withdrew the strand of pearls and displayed them before the thief, who was now salivating at the sight of the expensive bauble. Snatching the pearls back, Shego added, "Y'know, I'm between jobs right now, and you and your sidekick showed some pretty smooth moves. Maybe we should partner up."

"Exactly what I was thinking, Shego," the thief answered, smiling like the devil's press agent. "With my brains and your—obvious attributes, I'm thinking we could go places." As he drove the Mini Cooper, the marksman scowled silently; it was just like the boss to lose it for a pretty face and well-proportioned female body, even if her skin was pale green.

"So, we're talking equal split between the three of us, uh," Shego stalled for a moment. "Uh, I don't think I caught your name, Skinny."

"Ah, my apologies," the thief answered, continuing to turn on the charm. "The gent driving the getaway car is Jigen, and I am Arsine Lupin the Third, at your service, milady."

"Charmed," Shego snorted, monumentally unimpressed.


Author's note: I am aware that there is an extradition treaty between the United States and Argentina, as well as Interpol, but given his history, I figure that SSS would have enough sense to keep a clean nose in Argentina while staying there, at least if he isn't planning a new elaborate criminal enterprise. Besides, as you'll see in the next chapter or so, he's beginning to question his recent life decisions.

Acknowledgements go to Alta Vista's Babel Fish page (just look it up on your browser) for language translations in this and future chapters.

Additional disclaimers: Lupin III, Jigen and any other related names that will crop up in later chapters (and yes, that includes Zenegata and Goemon) were created and copyrighted by Monkey Punch.