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[Kim Possible] Shego on the Edge of Forever

Alrighty... not a DW fic (yes I am still churning away at Electronic Ink, but Chapter 5 needs reworking before publishing)

Also, it's a T/PG fic, like pretty much everything I write. Okay, actually most of what I write is closer to an R, but doesn't have a Rated R equivalent just K, T and M. Mild language, adult situations, violence. So, par for the course.

If you're still interested... it's here... I don't always right slash fiction, but when I do, it's usually Kim/Shego. I'm not some slash fiend, but if the couple happens to work without too much modification...

This one, for those of you who are as old as or older than I am, is inspired by a fan fiction challenge, and based on Queen's "Who Want's To Live Forever?" from the first Highlander movie. (what they made others? that's a myth!)


Full Text[spoiler]Shego on the Edge of Forever
By Eoraptor
AN: Based on a Kim Possible Fan Fiction Challenge on KP Slash Haven

Shego scowled deeply, looking through the photo blog. It was getting to be that time again. People were starting to get curious why she looked so well preserved. Time to pull up stakes and disappear into some Amazonian backwater for a couple of decades. Or… or maybe Siberia this time, just for a change of pace.

Honestly, things had been so much easier before everything got computerized.

It used to be all she needed was a haircut, a good foundation cream, and a few thousand miles. Hawaii was always a nice place to hide out. But now that everything was computerized? Now that her face could be beamed around the globe in high resolution in a half a second? Along with her vital statistics, her blood type, and her sign?

The last time she had done this it had almost killed her. She spent ten years in Borneo after her brothers decided she was no longer welcome in Go City. Everywhere she had gone after “going evil” she had been instantly recognized. 1984 had sucked a big one. No Hawaii, no champagne on the maison du sol, no safari in Africa… because her damned face kept cropping up on every wanted poster.

Borneo was nice, but it was not Hawaii… it was a backwater and she had been bored out of her mind. And now even it had massive hotels and high speed internet connections.

She sighed as she folded up the laptop and sat it next to its older counterparts, the three ring binders, and the hand written journals. Man the old trunk was getting heavy. Maybe Drew had a shrink ray around the lair somewhere that she could use before she cut fence?

She was about to latch the trunk when she saw… it… and felt herself grow dizzy and melancholy with nostalgia. A cameo, over a century old now. The face on the exterior was nondescript. Some victorian woman in ivory from back when such things were legal.

She picked it up, determined not to open it this time. Determined not to get sucked back into that argument. And yet as soon as it was in her pale hands, she opened the cameo, and two yellowed photographs appeared before her. On one side, a brunette with a thick coil of hair folded intricately up and back in the late Victorian style. She had angular features, aristocratic and cool. And across from her, a ginger woman, her own hair less well maintained, a strand out of place and hanging across her forehead, symbol of her defiant nature and her penchant for going places women of that day were not supposed to go.

Shego sighed, her breath instantly ragged at the sight before her. With supreme force of will she clipped the cameo locket closed, only to be confronted with the back, an untarnished silver engraving…

Casablanca, 1907. Almost forty years before Bogey would make it a household name.

She’d been young then… and naïve. It had only been her second lifetime after all. She’d come out of hiding in a Utah mining town only a few years before, and taken up her mercurial ways. She still remembered enough of her antebellum ways to pass as a lady even after nearly thirty years in a mountain camp. The only things that had really changed were the fashions.

She fell in with… god what horrendous luck, a Lipsky. And that’s when she had first crossed sabers with… her.

She’d escaped easily that first night. But the redhead… as all redheads were, was tenacious and furious. She chased Miss Gough around the globe. At first the flights had been frenetic, frantic, fraught with sparks and anger and violent clashes.

The scorned and scourged woman would show up in whatever corner of the globe Veronica Gough had set up her trade in, and quickly chased her out into flight again.

Back then it took weeks to travel, if not months, and so they had burned away three years’ time without even noticing it. As the pursuit went on, the tone of it changed. It became less and less a cause for vengeance and more a game between the two. By nineteen oh six the two could practically feel the air vibrate when one or the other was near. And it was not an unpleasant familiarity. Traveling the globe in flight, they were the only constant to one another, a wanted woman and a woman who should be wanted but wasn’t.

It was inevitable that the rivalry finally became completely friendly. Time and expanded horizons had cooled Miriam Possible’s thirst for justice, but only served to expand her taste for adventure. And so it was that when she once again caught up to Miss Gough in a little melting pot on the north coast of Africa; that she didn’t seek to immediately drive her quarry into flight again.

The two instead, had shared a slightly uneasy tea in the ancient Anfa district that formed the heart of the city. Well ancient by either woman’s standards. It had only been there a few hundred years, compared to the entire area being settled for millennia.

One tea led to another, and to another, and to another. Eventually the two American expatriates became friends. And one night, after too much hashish-laced hookah and too much admiring of the sea breeze coming in off the Atlantic, they became more.

Miss Gough had known the touch of a woman before, from the time spent in the mining camps after the end of her first full life, but this had been different. No mere comfort between lonely women, the brunette felt her heart spring to life within her chest for the first time in ages. And Miriam… the young woman, the former journalist, the erstwhile criminal who could not return to her home; for her it was a haunting and almost shattering experience.

Together they learned that, here, in Morocco, where the European powers played at games, taboos about the love that dare not speak its name could be ignored, even in public to an extent. They spent most of a year together like that. Learning to feel things for each other that each had been taught, in a different time, that they were only supposed to feel for a virile, strapping man. The Cameo had been a seal of that. They each had one photo of the other in a similar locket they wore. A subtle symbol that they were each other’s.

And then the French decided that building a railroad to the port was a good cause to invade the city on a permanent basis.

And it had all begun to fall apart. Even in their year of living as a defacto couple, Veronica had not shared her secret with Mim. That she was not the thirty two year old fallen woman from the mountains she said she was… or at least, that that was not all that she was.

But the French occupation began to show the differences in their temperaments. Miriam, the young firebrand that she was, wanted to help the local Muslims and Copts resist the French insurrection. Miss Gough, in a fiery debate fueled by too much Mediterranean wine and too much love, declared loudly that she had seen her belly full of war already, and why couldn’t they just go to Cairo for a similar atmosphere, or perhaps to London or Paris now?

This had brought the younger woman up short. When had her lover been in any way involved in any war? Until just a couple of years ago they had both been safely ensconced in the United States after all; and aside from the Indian wars and the Spanish American War which had been a war in name only, what fighting had there been since the civil war when Veronica could have been, at best, an infant?

It was then that Miss Gough, in a fit of inebriated self-righteousness, produced an old journal. A journal about a celestial event of over fifty years before, which had granted five children on a farm outside of Go City with strange gifts, including immortality.

Mim disbelieved openly, blaming Veronica’s taste for the stickier varieties of hashish for the origins of the strange tale. Until Veronica Gough’s right hand erupted in a brilliant green flame and destroyed the crystal goblet she was nursing.

Veronica hadn’t been born Veronica… and Gough was only one of a variety of surnames loosely resembling her own which she had used. She’d been born in the late eighteen thirties, the third of five surviving children on a family farm a few miles outside of what had then been just a small port town on Lake Michigan. When she’d been a teenager, her brothers and she had been playing by the river bank when they saw a strange multicolored light blazing through the sky.

When they awoke from whatever it had been, later to learn words like comet and meteorite, they had strange new abilities. Her oldest brother could pick up a fully loaded ox cart with one hand, her next oldest brother could shrink down to the size of a cricket at will, picking locks and the like suddenly as easy as arranging books on a shelf, her youngest brothers could, for some inexplicable reason, reproduce themselves ad nauseum.

And she of course, could make fire. As time passed, their abilities only grew. Herschel became all but indestructible, impervious even to the new conical bullets of the era. Myrum found he could shrink so far as to begin to see the underpinnings of matter itself. Her baby brothers became able to not only reproduce themselves, but anything that they were holding or wearing.

And she became able not only to make fire, but to hurl it and wield it as well as to be herself impervious to it.

This was shortly before the start of the war between the states, which would only later be so poorly named the civil war. And they threw their lots in with the Union cause in the ways that they could.

Her youngest brothers were able to marshal down entire towns in nearby Missouri, their powers stopped only by distance. Herschel was a one-man infantry division, wading through enemy lines in the middle of the night and destroying entire battalions worth of equipment with his bare hands. Myrum found his hand at espionage, many a southern lady unknowingly hosting him for hours at a time in the midst of rebel Generals in her bustles and bows.

But by the time the war was drawing to a close, a new wrinkle was making itself known. Their aging had been slowing down, and now, for the birth of photography, Miss Gorcheski and her brothers found that while the war badly withered their compatriots, from one year to the next they remained entirely unaged by the horrors of warfare.

By eighteen sixty four they seemed to have stopped growing or changing at all save for their hair.

And they knew this would raise problems. Already people commented on how well their palors faired compared to those of their families stressed by the waning conflict. Soon people would begin to question more openly why they were unchanging. People were a fearful lot, and the family Gorcheski would soon become objects of immortal fear for their strange powers and their unaging nature.

And so the siblings decided to fade away. The nation was vast and healing, and even with the telegraph, so long as they stayed out of contact with people they knew currently, no one would question a new stranger in a new town a few hundred miles away. After one tumultuous battle, they simply appeared on a list of those missing and presumed killed.

Herschel took to using shoe black and tobacco juice in his hair, Myrum and the twins simply moved to the east coast, and the young lady Gorchenski followed the railroads westward into the mountains.

Miriam had been… incredulous was perhaps the best word to describe it. Words like dysphoria and psychological trauma had yet to be coined.

And she had disappeared for days afterwards. But the passionate love they held drew her back finally, to the arms of the woman she knew as Miss Veronica Gough from Utah. They did indeed flee away, not to Paris or to Cairo, but instead, back to the States. They settled in a little mining town midway up the plateau in Colorado, as it was the only way that Miss Gough knew to hide in those days. They were able to live, if not as comfortable a life as they’d had in Morocco, at least a private one.

Few people knew them as anything more than a pair of spinsters who had gone west in search of fortune in the waning days of the frontier and stayed on alone in a cabin outside of town. It lasted over twenty years that way. But time began to tell on them both, because it began to tell on Miriam.

Love between them could not be quelled, but the life between them could. Miriam was into her fifties now, by the standards of twenties rural Colorado, an advanced age. A life spent chasing around the globe, and then busting trails and bounties in the still-wild west showed on her skin and in the iron in her hair. But her beloved Roni looked and felt not a day past thirty, if not younger. And now people, even in the small railway town of Lowerton, were beginning to question the relationship between the two.

They had tried moving… first up into Montana, and later into the Canadian Rockies, but life dogged them. They could not be as affectionate in public as they once might have been as Miriam advanced in years but Miss Gough did not. It broke Veronica’s heart the day that someone asked her about her mother, the old iron-willed woman up in the cabin.

And it ripped her heart from her chest the morning Miriam told her beloved that she felt the number of her days. The old woman who had always looked the same in her partner’s eyes wasted away quickly. Miss Gough did not have time to think on her growing frail and ill. In the span of one week, she went from being an indomitable spirit of the old Canadian west to being a marker on a tombstone.

Miss Gough stayed on for weeks at their cabin, marinating in the memories they shared, looking now at the lone locket, the one which contained both of their decades’ old pictures. Miriam had been buried with her locket, its insides engraved with their younger likenesses by the most skilled silversmith in New York City, and Veronica had taken the real and less permanent photographs with her.

Finally, hunger drove her from the barren cabin. She could not die, not of dehydration nor of starvation, but she could still feel their bite. And it was that bite that made her set fire to the cabin so that she could not return to wallow in it.

By now it was the early nineteen forties. She was a hundred years old almost to the day. A war was on, and it made it easy for Veronica Gough to disappear, to become one more faceless factory worker in Detroit, and then a secretary in Washington, and then a house keeper to an ambassador in London. The years she and Mim had spent playing cat and mouse around the globe with each other at the turn of the century had served well. By the end of the Second World War, Veronica Gough went the way of Victoria Gorchenski before her. Just a memory, a past life to be put away.

She would repeat her disappearing act not long after the Korean War started, Vivian Gore dying in a plane crash off the British Isles in one of the first Comet jet commuters.

The sixties were incredibly fun. She was over a century old, and had a lot of sexual lessons she could finally share with an awakening sexual world. But with the passing away of the summer of love, she too decided to pass away for a time.

In the late seventies her brothers found her living quietly in Hawaii on a small island not many haole went to. With her thick black hair she passed well for a local, and since the Hawaiian language was long dead and native pride had not yet become a thing, not many questioned her family history.

Her brothers, it seemed, wanted to try being heroes once again, as they’d done a hundred and ten years before during the civil war. But they wanted to go back to Go Township, now Go City. Just like her, over the years their skins had begun to turn a bit colored, and with all the odd science popping up in the post-atomic age, they could easily pass for irradiate superheroes, since that’s what they actually were, right?

Well, she’d grown a bit bored living on her little island, and was curious what the world of nineteen seventy eight looked like. Shego of Team Go was born only a few months later, after they had all used their century of knowledge to backstop their “origins.” Sticking surprisingly close to the truth, they kept all the elements, and even went back to the old river bank; finding the rainbow-colored rock still embedded in the river mud south of the metropolis a hundred and twenty odd years later.

But the century plus was starting to tell on the woman now known as Shego. In four life-times, she’d grown lonely. Her one love, Miriam, was almost forty years dead, and even all the beautiful young men and women she’d known in the summer of love were now middle-aged suburbanites, their lives slowly ticking away.

Free to use her strange abilities openly for the first time in over a century, Shego reveled in the power it gave her. And her brothers became concerned. They’d all had families, multiple families. They had responsibilities, dynasties to protect, fortunes to arrange for. Shego had none of that. Her only true relationship had been a lesbian affair. She had no grandchildren to shield, no generational offspring to look down upon her legacy. Nothing to hold her back now.

It made her dark… avaricious, a malcontent during the darkest days of the stagflation era gripping the nation. The more she fought the burgeoning super-villains of Go City, the more she began to agree with their outlooks. Most people were stupid and deserved to be ruled by someone strong enough to take them over. The more she fought against evil, the more she came to like it.

Then Hego had declared she had gone rogue. He was not going to cover for his sister any more at the expense of his own fortune and his family’s wellbeing.

She tried to go whole hog into super-villainy in the early nineteen eighties. Jack Hench had made it a growth market for anyone who wanted in by privatizing and legitimizing support services, from his first J. Hench catalogue flyer to his later days at the helm of the multi-national Henchco. She hooked herself up with the up-and-coming supervillainess of the eighties; but Electronique was scary. Just a teenager, she was possessed of both a frightening intellect and a frightening instability. Shego, as malcontent as she was, was not truly e-vile. And she feared what the young super-genius might be capable of if she ever learned the secret of Team Go and unlocked Shego’s immorality to make it her own.

She cut her ties, found a really good foundation makeup, and went back to her island in Hawaii. Her brothers gave up Super-heroing not long afterwards, but did not leave Go City or their fancy new superhero hangout.

Vivetty Gou got herself a bachelors in Child Development from one of the University of Hawaii’s outlying schools. Unfortunately, by nineteen eighty six, the internet had come to the fiftieth state. Someone recognized her picture from an old teletext from years earlier, which had then been faxed to the aloha state on a whim by some law hound in Go City hearing rumors about green lava erupting and matching it up with “Shego.”

So she spent the next decade in Borneo. It was tropical, but not as well-connected or known as her little island in Hawaii.

Finally, she decided in nineteen ninety seven, that it was time to see what had become of the world again. She stayed incognito for a time, until she had the fortune, or misfortune, to run into one Drew Theodore P. Lipsky. Imagine her shock to learn that her onetime employer of almost a century before had somehow managed to find a woman willing to tolerate him long enough to let him touch her? And to have children, who in turn also managed to reproduce?

On a Tuesday morning, for nostalgia’s sake, she revealed herself to him as Shego, the one-time heroine of Go City. She was still green after all, and it had only been a dozen years since she’d been active in the public eye, so she needn’t concoct a whole new persona just for a college dropout. He was a bit shocked by her display, and dropped a test tube of chemicals on his foot, which in turn transformed him permanently blue.

Feeling sorry for the goof, she stayed on with him. Eventually, she found equilibrium with him. He had mad schemes he wanted to carry out… to gain revenge on his college roomates and the rest of the world. But he was not so evil or capable that he might succeed so she got to scratch her malcontent itch without any risk of actually endangering the world the way she might have done with Eletronique fifteen years before.

Ironically his ex-college roomates were people she had once known as Vivetty Gou from one crazy spring break in Miami in 1984. Ho Chen had given her one hell of a wild ride, but he kept trying to hook her up with his buddy Jimmy. Jimmy, it turned out, had already met a smoking hot redhead of his own, and wasn’t interested, so Vivetty had discarded her plans for a menag’e’tois and gone back to Hawaii to finish up her spring break.

Things went fairly well for the four years. She pulled various pseudo-evil crimes and got to kick back as much as she wanted without fear of hiding her identity, since Lipsky, who had renamed himself Doctor Drakken, made a habit of living in hiding for both of them.

Then, in two thousand and two, Shego nearly died of a massive coronary. Mim Possible, her life mate, her soul and only, was staring her right in the face, in the heart of their lair. Mim, dead sixty years now, and not looking a day older than the evening they had first faced each other in Middleton Colorado one hundred one years before.

Only it wasn’t Mim. It was Kim. Life had come full circle it seemed. And it had only taken four or five lifetimes. A Lipsky had scourged a Possible, and that scourging had brought a Possible back into her life.

Strange feelings boiled up in the heart of Shego, the villainess. Anger… Hatred… Vengeful wrath. How dare this… this… this uppity little bitch with the belly-bearing turtleneck have the unmitigated gall to wear her beloved’s face as if it was her own?!

Shego did something to Kim that Veronica had never dared do to Miriam, or anyone else, even in the darkest days of their pursuits; she ignited her claws and attempted to kill her.

And did it over and over again for the next two years. During that time she learned more about the vexing brat. How Mim had not been the only rule-breaker in her family, how a great-niece named Nannette had joined the navy, and been a martial arts master; and how Kim herself could almost have been Shego’s own daughter because the Jimmy of spring break nineteen-eighty-four was actually James Possible.

And all of it made Shego loathe the teen that much more. So much so, that she missed Drakken becoming more evil. New plots and plans; odious concepts like cloning and interdimensional travel. She helped him do things she had left to avoid helping Electronique do twenty years earlier, all because of her disgust that some girl dare wear the face of the one woman she had loved.

And then, one stormy spring night in two thousand and six, it all came crashing down on top of her, literally.

Her rage, her one hundred and one hundred and sixty years of life-experience, and her ego had all driven her to push Kim Possible hard for three years, and to push her right up to the very edge. And just like Miriam and Nannette before her, Kim had turned and pushed right back.

And pushed Shego right off a six story building and into a microwave transmitter which electrocuted her and crushed her.

As she lay beneath the debris of the tower, Shego found time to reevaluate. She felt pitiful and pathetic. Worse, she felt, for the first time in her five lives, guilty. She wanted to die, for real. She realized she could, at least, pretend to. She could crawl out of the debris, leaving nothing more than a pool of blood and some scalp behind, and Shego could die right there.

But Miriam would not let her. The ghost of her lady love demanded that she not put such a thing on the conscience of her descendant. And if there was any person, any one being over the span of over one hundred and fifty nine nine years of living and breathing on this Earth, who could make the woman now known as Shego do anything which she did not want to do, it was the one she had spent fourty years treating as her wife.

And so Shego crawled out of the rubble and allowed herself to be arrested along with Drakken.

It wasn’t like any prison on Earth could hold Shego. Not even Kim Possible herself had been able to pin her down in three years’ time.

But Shego was spent. Her spirit was broken by the events of that night in the rain. Miriam haunted her nightmares and the prospect of facing Kim again haunted her days. So she stayed willingly in prison for five months’ time. Even when Drakken’s idiot cousin Ed Lipsky broke her out, she did her damnedest to avoid Possible, going so far as to throw herself and Ed into the mud and getting re-arrested just to not face the girl.

Slowly her emotional wounds began to heal, and shades of the old Shego began to resurface. She rekindled a relationship with Senior Señor Junior, who was the son of a man she had known during that long hot Summer of Love decades before, though he seemed not to recognize her. That was probably the only reason she didn’t bang Tony Junior’s brains out, because god was he stacked and he was stupid enough to believe what she told and taught him. But it was a bit too much like incest, and even a hundred and fifty years of life hadn’t quite erased that taboo from her mind.

And then the shit hit the fan. Electronique, now in her thirties and just as crazed as ever, broke free of prison. And she had created an insidious device, and used it on Team Go.

That should have been Shego’s first sign that it was time to hang things up. Electronique and the other Go City villains might be too crazy to notice she hadn’t aged in nearly thirty years… but sooner or later someone more sane was going to.

But that was not the worst of it. Over the years the person now known as Shego had grown dark. Not so dark as she could have grown; if she gave herself another say, twenty years as Shego, she could easily see herself becoming every bit as crazed as Electonique and trying to rule the world as some kind of supreme being; but she was still suitably dark for the electro-witch’s device to seriously flip her personality around to the sweetness and light known as Miss Go.

And that Miss Go personality... her sixth life, or regeneration as the nerdy kids might call it… that super-saccharine bitch… that being of pureness and honesty… came within one second of spilling her guts to Kim.

All of it… the immortality… the true extent of her superpowers… her life with Miriam… and her hatred of Kim for accidentally wearing Miriam’s face.

After that Shego had to withdraw. And she forced Lipsky to withdraw as well. They scaled back their plans, and save for one incident involving some pirate ancestor of Lipsky, and some really stupid plans involving a bogus college, she managed to steer clear of Kim for most of a year.

And then the Aliens came along.

Even Shego, who was only a bit shy of the old one-six-oh and at times felt every day’s experience of it, was surprised by that one.

And they had won! Only by the skin of their teeth, and only by some kind of magical intervention (surprise numero dos!) but they had won! And Shego had been given a pardon for thirty years of criminal activity to boot!

That had been two years ago. And it had generated a LOT of press coverage of her, including all sorts of photos and even a spread in Playpen under the banner of “Green is the new sexy!”

At first, only a few images had popped up here and there. And they were regarded as mere curiosities… Oh didn’t Shego look like this civil-war-era nurse? Oh wow, is this person Shego’s grandma in the forties working at Lockheed? Dude, my grandpa says he totally scored with Shego’s mom at Woodstock!

Now though… now things were starting to get complicated again. She had, it seemed, finally stayed too long in one lifetime again, just as Veronica Gough had a century before when she had fallen in love with Miriam Possible. It was a lesson her brothers had learned long ago, which she was only now learning to again appreciate.

And that wasn’t the only complication.

Kim Possible was twenty years old now… the same age that Miriam had been when she had first crossed sabers with Miss Gough in nineteen oh three.

And despite what she had felt about Tony Senior and Tony Junior just five years ago…

It was becoming incredibly difficult not to fall in love with, and into the bed of, her second Possible woman.

And she suspected Kim was feeling the same way. Already the redhead and her blond boyfriend were in a cooling off phase, and Kim wanted to spend a lot of time with her sophisticated older friend Shego.

There were moments… moments washed in cheap red wine after a night out with Kim’s other friends, when Shego found herself losing her restraint. Found herself wanting to repeat a long gone conversation from almost exactly a century earlier when she had pulled out a careworn journal and exposed her deepest secret.

So… it was time to go.

Shego needed to die and a new V.G. take her place. One who wasn’t green and didn’t have phsyics-bending super powers.

And once more came the complications. Her brothers had had some problems tracking her down in 1978. By ’86 all it took to blow up her carefully constructed life was one ill-timed fax to the wrong person.

Now, in the twenty first century? Even if she wasn’t on a first-name basis with one of the most leet hackers of the age? Well it would take only seconds to identify the only green-skinned woman in the hemisphere from orbit. And that didn’t count legions of other less talented but eager trackers on the internet.

And worse… Kim Possible…

Mim Possible had chased her twice around the globe in an era when it still took weeks by steam ship to get any meaningful distance. Kim Possible was every bit her great great aunt’s great great niece. And she had her own personal jet, as well as a pet nerd who could point any satellite within a lightyear to any target the redhead designated.

If… when Shego chose to disappear, Kim would find her within a day at most. Two, if the woman hid her skin and didn’t use her powers.

So… how would Shego die, and Kim not try to come after her?

- - - - - -

Kim was barely standing as she pushed her way into the small off-campus apartment. In fact, she wasn’t standing at all. She was leaning against the door. She had leaned her way down the hall, after leaning her way into and out of the elevator.

In truth she hadn’t been on her own two feet in probably twenty minutes, since leaving the Sloth and pressing her forehead to the front door of the apartment center. The Sloth which had self-driven her back here from Borneo after three days of trying to find where Shego had really gone.

Her best friend in the world supposedly had exploded in a glorious green fireball while trying to stop a rogue Lorwardian battle-tank which had climbed up out of the ocean three days before.

The redhead didn’t believe for one minute that a woman she had dropped a building on could be stopped by tanks she had once ripped apart with bare hands; no matter what the impeccable forensics said.

In three days Kim had torn the globe apart to find the darksome woman. The tweebs had had to replace the jet engines in the Sloth, so hard had she pushed them.

Villains the world over were running scared from the unholy wrath of the redhead, and the only reason Drakken wasn’t at the top of the list for having Shego was that he had been with Kim replanting Amazon rain forest at the time Shego had exploded.

Kim was running on zero hours of sleep and five gallons of Shock cola ingested sixty-four ounces at a time.

So needless to say, it took a good thirty seconds for Kim to realize that her face had hit the floor after her semi-conscious body had tripped over a large wooden footlocker planted squarely in the middle of the living room inside her doorway.

Once she turned around to look at it, and after another thirty seconds to process that there was a large emerald “S” on the lock and a neatly folded green and black cat suit sitting atop it, the redhead clumsily opened the unlocked latch and reached in to pull out an old, worn, leather journal with the name Victoria Gorchenski barely legible on the cover.

- - - - - -







“No, the name is Sam… just say you’re here.”

“Oh, um… here?”


“Over here, smartass…”

Sam the flight director looked up, and arched a brow. “Vinchenza Gomez? Don’t take this the wrong way… but you look almost exactly like that-,”

“Shego?” the half-hispanic woman rolled her green eyes and flicked a hand through her pixy cut black hair, smirking, “I get it all time. So much so in fact, that I booked myself on the first trip to Mars just to get the hell away from the comparison and the Shego fetish jerks.”

“Heh… Good luck with that. Well welcome aboard Miss Gomez… I hope you’ll like the red planet.”

“Thanks, I just hope my tan holds up…” she grinned and returned her eyes to the view of the space station they were departing, and the monkey waving at her from the window, “And I hope there are no redheads…”

AN: Not sure how well this will be received, and it’s a bit rough, but I appreciate reviews and you can have a chocolate chip cookie if you do[/spoiler]
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