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Revelations of Destiny	By : Kellendros Category: Kim Possible > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 63461 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Kim Possible, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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   Los Angeles, California, 9:45 PM, Roughly Two Hours Prior to Dr. Director Receiving the Wildfire Call…
   With long brown water stains and scabrous, rusty patches of flaking paint marring its dull grey surface, the heavy metal door fit its dingy back alley surroundings perfectly. The way it swung open on completely silent, well-oiled, well-maintained hinges did not. The same could be said of the high-quality cotton overcoat, tweed fedora, and gleaming patent leather wingtips worn by the man slipping out of that discrepant doorway—the long coat and hat doubly out of place given the oppressive heat and unusual humidity hanging over the City of Angels as of late.
   Nervously looking up and down the narrow, trash-littered street while the door swung shut behind him, the man flipped his collar up, pulled the brim of his hat down lower, and then headed to the right at a brisk pace.
   “Excuse me, Dr. Craven, but I need to speak with you.”
   Practically jumping out of his skin at the sound of the firm, measured, and wholly unexpected voice coming from behind him, Dr. Craven clawed wildly at his startled reaction using every ounce of willpower he possessed, desperate to keep it from showing—he could have sworn the alley was deserted when he had checked it scant seconds ago. Shooting a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw a nondescript man in nondescript clothes standing just in front of a deep patch of shadow next to an overflowing dumpster.
   “I— I’m sorry young man, but you must have me confused with someone else.”
   Dr. Craven was actually surprised by how calm he sounded as he began making his way out of the alley once more.
   “Oh no, you are Doctor Miles Craven, and it’s you who’s confused if you think that was a request.”
   Miles froze again, not so much at the uncompromising statement as from seeing two more people enter the alley in front of him—a man from the left and a woman from the right. He’d spent his entire professional career learning how to observe and interpret the most infinitesimal cues a person’s tone, expression, and body language could convey, and he’d spent the last ten years in the company of various people not unlike the pair in front of him now. To someone with his extraordinary aptitude, they might as well have had huge neon signs above their heads announcing they were trained, seasoned operatives schooled in emotional detachment to the point where a less knowledgeable observer might have suspected them of sociopathic tendencies. These were people who would do whatever it took to accomplish their goals, without hesitation, mercy, or even remorse in all probability.
   Miles felt his heart rising up in his throat as cold dread replaced mere panic, and his suddenly clammy hands itched to press the panic button concealed in his watch—but of course, he couldn’t do that, now could he? Not here…
   “W-what do you want?” Again, aside from the quaver, Miles was amazed at how normal he sounded—or perhaps he was just going into shock. Yes, that was likely it.
   “As I said, we need to talk. Now come with us.” This time there was no mistaking the command in his captor’s voice.
   Miles didn’t bother responding—after all, what was the point? He had no false illusions regarding his ability, or rather lack thereof, in this kind of situation. With meek compliance, he turned and started walking back towards the first man while preceding his two other captors, whom he noticed remained a good two paces behind him at all times—further testament to their training and experience. His primary captor was a little more lenient when he reached the man, moving out into the alley and falling in alongside him at arm’s length, all while indicating with a simple twist of his head that Miles should keep walking.
   When they reached the street, Miles was honestly surprised to find that there didn’t seem to be a vehicle waiting for them. As his captors guided him deeper into the rundown, abandoned factory district bordering the part of town he’d come from, Miles felt his dread growing until it felt like a living thing of ice twisting through his clenching bowels. It was becoming more and more likely he wouldn’t survive this encounter, or that if he did, he might very well wish he hadn’t. Still, he hadn’t lost all hope; they were well over two blocks away from the alley now, more than enough distance that he could risk using his panic button, and as far as he could tell, none of his captors noticed him activating the device. Now all he had to do was stay alive long enough for it to matter.
   Miles started slightly when, after twenty minutes spent walking in relative silence, the man next to him suddenly announced; “In here.”
   Miles turned and looked up at the dilapidated front of an old storage warehouse, replete with broken windows, a huge sliding door at the main entrance—chained shut, naturally—and an equally rusty side door that seemed to be standing just a bit ajar, though that might have been a trick of the light. Nonetheless, Miles doubted his captors intended to push open the main entrance, or for him to do it, so he headed for the significantly smaller side door. When he reached it, he found that it hadn’t been a trick of the light; the door stood open about six inches or so.
   For a split-second that seemed to stretch on forever, Miles contemplated running—if he threw open the door and then made a dash for the corner of the building, he just might be able to outdistance his captors enough to get a workable lead on them in the instant before they reacted… Then that wild glimmer of bravado died within his breast, crushed by pragmatism. He knew full well that despite being rather robust for his age, he was nowhere near fit enough to outrun three people noticeably younger than himself and presumably much more physically conditioned than he’d ever been.
   With a soft, dejected sigh, Miles reached for the door and pulled it open on groaning hinges, only to find the increasingly resistant portal seizing to a halt after swinging open just enough to let someone slip past it somewhat easily. After a second’s hesitation, Miles carefully stepped into the area beyond, only to find that he could barely see, just as he’d expected. Taking a single, even more cautious step to the side, he waited for his captors to enter, unwilling to move any farther through the gloom for several reasons, all of them closely related to his continued health and well-being. He didn’t have long to wait, as his three stone-faced escorts immediately filed in through the partially open doorway one after another.
   Once inside, his primary captor produced a light-wand from beneath his jacket and activated it, directing the muted glow across the small room Miles found himself in and illuminating a doorway that seemed to be sans door. Miles didn’t wait to be told to move, though he did so slowly, with one eye on the trash-cluttered floor as he headed for the opening. His captors followed along behind him, apparently fine with his cautious pace, and in this manner the group made their way down a short corridor and through another empty doorframe that opened onto the dark, cavernous central floor of the building, filled with misshapen mountains of rusty metal drums and rotting, water-damaged packing crates.
   Flashing the light to the left, Miles’ primary captor indicated a specific gap in the decrepit surroundings, and the fearful doctor made his way toward it.
   Passing through the comparatively narrow passage, Miles found himself in an open area that had a cheap folding table and two metal chairs set up roughly in the center of the uneven concrete floor. To the right of the table was a heavy, grungy, and at one time canary yellow telescoping tripod stand containing a bank of portable work lights.
   “Sit.” Simple, brusque, and most definitely an order…
   Miles moved over to the table, pulled out the chair on his side with a skirling scrape of metal on concrete, and sat down without any resistance whatsoever. His two as yet silent escorts took up positions to either side of him, five feet back from the chair, but still close enough that their unsettling presence could be felt, while his primary captor rounded the table and sat down across from him. As he did, the bank of lights suddenly flared to life, leaving the doctor tearing up and blinking as the harsh glare lanced into his sensitive, darkness-adjusted eyes. By the time Miles could see clearly again, his primary captor had put away the light-wand, placed a slim black briefcase on the table, slightly to the left of his position, and opened it.
   The man sat staring at Miles for several long, increasingly uncomfortable seconds before finally speaking in a cold, uncompromising monotone that failed to hide his utter revulsion and contempt from the doctor’s extraordinary observational abilities.
   “Understand this: this is not a negotiation.” The man reached into the briefcase and withdrew a plain tan file folder. “You have been compromised.” The man leaned forward and started laying out a series of highly detailed eight-by-eleven photographs on the table. “Your… proclivities, regarding young boys and girls have been thoroughly documented: Bangkok, Nigeria, Argentina, Greece, Ukraine, and the United States of America.” A photograph accompanied each location, until the folder was empty and the man returned it to his briefcase. “Video and audio recordings, photographs, DNA evidence, business records, witnesses, and documented testimony can all be produced.”
   Miles was having trouble breathing and the room seemed to dim around him as the man spoke. The sound of his closing briefcase echoed like a door slamming shut on the doctor’s life. Surely this was hell…
   “Equally understand that should this information need to come to light, your death will not circumvent that outcome. Living or dead, this information will be used to destroy your reputation, both personal and professional, and everything you’ve ever worked for. Your peers, family, friends, and the general public will be made aware of every single sordid detail.”
   The man stood up from the table and looked down at Miles.
   “Now, you now have a choice to make.”
   Leaning in, the man placed a micro-recorder on the table directly in front of the nauseous, trembling doctor.
   “A situation has arisen. Your expertise will soon be called upon to analyze it, and your advice sought out on how it should be dealt with. This will put you in a strong position of influence over the matter. We wish you to use that influence to bring about the outcome we would prefer regarding it. Should you do so to the best of your ability, your dark secrets shall remain so—in fact, we will even take steps to see that no one else drags them out into the light of day either. If you do not comply with our wishes, the information will begin to surface slowly but steadily until all is revealed.”
   The man paused for a moment, drawing breath, and then continued.
   “Your instructions are on that audio recorder. Both it and these photographs will disintegrate in exactly one hour’s time.” The man turned, clearly intending to step away from the table, then visibly paused. “Oh, and Doctor? It would really be in your best interest to deactivate your emergency signal before we leave; once our jamming device is out of range… well, you’d hardly want to have to explain what went on here, now would you?”
   With that, the man started heading for an opening between the sprawling stacks of rusty metal drums behind him, while the two captors behind Miles abandoned their positions and followed after him. As they all left, Miles couldn’t help but question in a tone of surreal confusion and disbelief; “T-that’s it? You’re just going to leave me here now?”
   His primary captor paused, looking back at Miles while his silent companions made their way past him, and said; “We’re are not here to judge you, Doctor Craven. If we were, you’d already be dead. As I said, you have a choice to make; there’s nothing more to it than that.”
   This time even a normal person could have seen the glaring hatred in the man’s eyes before he turned and vanished into the darkness. Moments later, spurred on by desperate survival instincts, Miles found himself fumbling with his watch, frantically trying to get his shaking fingers to work the buttons properly in order to switch off the panic beacon. When the display finally turned green, relief flooded through the doctor for all of three seconds before he turned and pitched himself from the chair, landing on hands and knees and violently throwing up onto the cold, grimy concrete until his stomach was empty, the continued retching bringing up nothing more than watery gouts of bitter bile.
   Eventually, Miles recovered, weakly righting his chair and climbing back up onto it while reaching for the recorder with a shaky hand. After all, it wasn’t as if had a choice. Not really…
   Tokyo, Japan, 12:50 PM, Roughly Three Hours Prior to Dr. Director Receiving the Wildfire Call…
   “Oh my, I can just imagine the looks on their faces at that.” the woman laughed merrily at the conclusion of her dining companion’s tale, her hazel eyes gleaming with genuine amusement.
   “Yes, indeed, it was quite a sight to behold.” Clad in a modest black suit with a startlingly culturally inappropriate bright blue silk tie sporting a pattern of little yellow fish across it, the not unattractive Japanese man sitting across from her offered a bashful smile in return, unable to resist the impertinence of staring at the Australian woman’s face in a most unacceptably bold manner, enraptured by the way the highlights in her curly strawberry blonde locks shone brilliantly in the afternoon sun.
   “Well, I’m sure y—” The woman suddenly paused as her cell phone chirped at her, announcing an incoming text message. Picking up the slender silver device, she apologetically amended her statement; “I’m sorry, Takumi-san, but I have to check this, it could be important. It should only take a second…”
   “Hai.” Takumi bobbed his head in respectful understanding, knowing all too well the sometimes-tedious rigors of duty.
   Flipping her phone open and calling up the text, the woman’s eyes widened in surprise as she saw the simplistic, stylized golden triangle symbol unexpectedly staring back at her. Five seconds later, the viral code embedded in the image flashed the phone’s memory card, destroying all trace of her ever having received it and effectively turning the high-tech device into a two-ounce paperweight—at least, until such time as it was reprogrammed. Sighing, the woman snapped her phone—such as it was—shut. That was the one thing about being contacted that annoyed her to no end—well, on top of the fact that this particular contact couldn’t have come at a worse time. Looking up at Takumi, she gave the man a sad, regretful smile.
   “It looks like I’m apologizing again; I have to go, Takumi-san.”
   “I hope it is nothing serious, Dr. Anders.” Takumi stated anxiously, realizing only too late how forward he was being.
   “Oh, no, it’s nothing like that—just duty calling.” Dr. Anders laughed dismissively, then paused, reaching across the table and gently laying her fingers across Takumi’s hand. “I’m just so sorry we have to cut this short. I really was enjoying our afternoon together—really. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in meeting me for… dinner, the next time I’m in town, would you?”
   “Oh… ahhh… well…” Tongue-tied and blushing at the warm smile the bold Australian woman gave him, Takumi stammered for several moments before finally getting a hold of himself long enough to answer; “Yes, yes, I would like that very much, Dr. Anders!”
   “Please, call me April then, Takumi… chan?” April’s voice was hesitantly expectant.
   Takumi blushed deeper at April’s words, but a few seconds later he offered a shy, equally hesitant smile as he answered; “Of course, April. It would be my honor to escort you to dinner the next time you are in Tokyo.”
   “Then it’s a date!” April grinned happily. A few seconds later, she started gathering her things and then stood up from the table. “I’ll call you as soon as I find out when I can schedule another trip here—I’m sure I can manage it in just a week or so if we’re lucky.”
   “I look forward to it.” Takumi hastened to stand with April. “Would you permit me the honor of returning you to your hotel?”
   “Of course.” April readily agreed.
   One very enjoyable rickshaw ride and a significantly shorter elevator trip later, a still smiling April Anders was letting herself into her hotel room. She was just so pleased Takumi was interested in her that she couldn’t help it. She loved the irreverent streak of individuality hidden behind his endearingly shy, self-effacing manner. She loved the sharp, analytical mind he revealed when he was in his element, working on theoretical and applied mechanical engineering problems. The fact that she thought he looked perfectly dreamy was just icing on the cake…
   Humming happily to herself, April set her things down and hunted up the spare SIM card she kept for her phone. After swapping out the old, now useless one for the replacement, she opened her laptop and connected her phone to it, calling up an app to reinstall the phone’s OS, settings, and memory, thankful she’d made a copy just before going out this morning. Then, once that was running, she retrieved a powerful scanning rod from her suitcase and began sweeping her rooms for surveillance devices. As she worked, she wondered what she should wear when she went to dinner with Takumi—or maybe she should buy something completely new; after all, she was going to have plenty of time to shop beforehand.
   Finding nothing untoward during her sweep, April closed all the curtains before setting up her combination while-noise generator and short-range jamming device. Once all the indicator lights on the powerful little black box turned green, she checked the progress of her phone restoration and found it was complete. Unhooking the slender device, she set it aside and then shut down the laptop. After the screen went black, she gave a quick little sigh and headed into the bathroom, where she picked up a nail file and a can of hairspray.
   Returning to her laptop, April sat down at the table and flipped the can of hairspray over, studying the convex bottom intently. A second later, she slid the nail file into a concealed slot along the lip of the can, all the way in to the handle. Once the microchip embedded in the blade of the nail file interfaced with the scanner in the can, she felt a sense of pressure on the slender crosshatched stiletto, while at the same time, there was the faintest of vibrations from inside the cold metal cylinder, along with a soft, muted series of clicks.
   After twisting the bottom of the can to the right, April pulled the covert container apart. As she slid the internal mechanism out of the shielded housing, she revealed two long, matte black devices safely secured to the inner framework of the secret compartment. Setting the housing of the false can aside, April efficiently freed the devices from the inner frame and placed them next to her laptop. Once she’d done so, she carefully laid the inner framework next to the outer housing and then turned her full attention to the first of the two devices. With a series of deft, practiced twists and turns, April unfolded it into a powerful little satellite uplink dish. Then she picked up the second device and withdrew two integrated connector cables from it, attaching the smaller plug to the fist device and the larger to the USB port of her laptop.
   Once she was satisfied everything was set up and connected properly, April turned her laptop on again. A small amber LED lit up on the connecting device as the compact external hard drive commandeered the regular boot sequence of the computer, and a few moments later, April was looking at the hexagon-based interface of the advanced operating system now running on the laptop instead of the usual modified Windows operating system Global Justice used.
   Calling up the communications and encryption protocol programs, April waited while the satellite uplink came online, then, once the LED turned amber, waited some more while the miniature dish tracked down the proper satellite and interfaced with it. Finally, after about three minutes had passed, the uplink connection was confirmed at ninety-eight percent optimal strength. As soon as it was, April input her codename and identification number and then waited patiently while various security programs on the other end of the uplink confirmed its validity.
   Thankfully, that wait was much shorter than the first had been, but before April could even begin doing anything after the verification, she was surprised by a direct communication from International Command and Control.
   “Agent Dovetail, you are being immediately activated for a priority assignment, stand by for data transmission.”
   “Understood.” April answered simply, faint threads of anxiety suddenly coiling through her tummy. As she started reading the data file that came in a few seconds later, that anxiety was mostly replaced with surprise and confusion.
   “Oh my, Dr. Director isn’t going to like this one bit.” April murmured softly. Kim Possible romantically involved with Shego, interfering in a capture attempt by a Global Justice field team, and an accessory to the severe injury of one of those agents? No siree, the one-eyed head of Global Justice was not going to take this well at all. Of course, April wasn’t too happy with her instructions regarding the matter either.
   “Defuse the situation as much as possible? How in the world am I supposed to accomplish that?” April’s bewildered mutter was pure frustration.
   After reading through the material one more time, just to make sure she hadn’t missed anything, April shook her head and initiated contact with IC&C once more.
   “Control, this is Dovetail; please advise as to how I am to proceed with my mission objectives.”
   “Psych Ops indicates a ninety-two percent probability that Dr. Director will seek counsel from you and the other department heads within Global Justice before acting on this matter. You are to do your level best in presenting arguments to mitigate the severity of that response as much as you are able.”
   “And if she doesn’t consult with us first?”
   “In the unlikely event that Dr. Director proceeds without consultation, you will bring the matter up with her at the earliest viable opportunity. If no viable opportunity presents itself before a response is initiated, you are expected to push non-lethal engagement methods on the head of the task force assigned to carry out that response—most likely Agent Will Du, with a ninety-seven percent probability—again, assuming a viable opportunity presents itself. To this end, you are authorized to release Level One proprietary defense technology if necessary, under the guise of personal research breakthroughs you’ve only recently achieved.”
   April’s eyes widened significantly—she’d never heard of anyone being ordered to release proprietary tech before, even if it was only Level One non-lethal defense tech. Outside of the obvious, what was so important about Kim Possible that this much was being done to protect her?
   Better safe than sorry, the perplexed doctor thought to herself a moment later.
   “Please confirm that last directive Control; I’m being authorized to release Level One proprietary defense tech, if said release is necessary to mitigate the severity of the response against Kim Possible and Shego?”
   “Affirmative, Dovetail.”
   “Understood, Control. I’ll begin preparing my arguments at once, as well as selecting appropriate equipment designs to reveal, should that become necessary. Please advise as to what time-frame I’m dealing with.”
   “Current estimates indicate a two to four hour window before Dr. Director receives word of the incident.”
   Phew, that means I’ll have at least four and a half hours to figure out what I’m going to do… April thought to herself with no little relief.
   “Understood, Control. Unless there’s anything further, I’m shutting down communications now.”
   “Nothing further, Dovetail; those are your orders barring additional developments. You may return to standard contact protocol from this point onward.”
   “Understood, Control. Dovetail over and out.”
   With that, April shut down the direct communications link with IC&C. Then she quickly connected to the central database and downloaded the specs on a half-dozen pieces of highly useful Level One non-lethal technology. After that, she ran a conversion program to dumb-down the files to a standard format, and then transferred them to a memory stick. Once she was absolutely sure she was finished, she turned off her laptop and broke down the devices connected to it, returning them to the secret compartment within her false can of hairspray and locking it shut once more. Then she turned off the white-noise generator and jamming device and put it away as well. Opening all the curtains and letting bright sunlight stream into her suite just forty-five minutes after she’d shut them, April looked around to find no trace of her covert activities remaining.
   Nodding to herself, April sat down in a comfortable armchair and started thinking about ways to oppose an all-out response against Kim Possible and Shego. Given her area of authority and expertise within Global Justice, coming up with suitable arguments wasn’t going to be easy, but she was sure she could figure out some angle if she thought on it long enough—hopefully long enough would be before she returned to Global Justice. At least there was one good thing about what was happening; it was unlikely the situation would disrupt her plans to return to Japan and see Takumi as soon as she could, so the only obstacles she had to overcome now were her usual scheduling issues and conflicts…
   Washington DC, 11:26 PM, Roughly Three and a Half Hours Prior to Dr. Director Receiving the Wildfire Call…
   Magnus groaned and reached out for the slender cordless phone warbling at him insistently from its charging bay on the nightstand next to the bed. He’d been right on the verge of finally drifting off to sleep before the damn phone had started ringing—or possibly had just drifted off to sleep, he wasn’t entirely sure. Grumbling unintelligibly, he hit the talk button with his thumb and brought the phone to his ear, growling something approximating a hello into the receiver.
   “Verum dico.”
   It was only two simple words, but Magnus snapped fully awake at the Latin phrase.
   “Verum refero.”
   The line went dead immediately after Magnus’ reverent response. Next to him, his wife rolled over and muttered something vaguely inquisitive, half-awake now.
   “It’s nothing, Dear; go back to sleep.” Magnus murmured warm and low before rolling upright and twisting to sit on the edge of the bed. Setting the phone back in its cradle, he took a moment to gently pull the covers up around his wife’s bare back, then rose to his feet as quietly and carefully as he could, not wanting to disturb her any further.
   Padding through the darkness like a ghost, Magnus left the bedroom and headed downstairs. As he went, he checked in on each of his children one by one, pausing for the time it took to enter his youngest daughter’s room and gather up her dangling leg and arm before she fell out of bed, quietly rolling her over and tucking her back in with her floppy bunny once more.
   Reaching the ground floor without further incident, Magnus turned and waked down the hall next to the stairs before entering his study. Shutting the door behind him, he locked it securely while blinking in the suddenly inky, absolute darkness—several of his friends and acquaintances had commented on the oddity of him having a study in the middle of the house, without any windows to let in natural lighting. A moment later he was blinking again, this time in response to the comparatively harsh glare of his desk lamp.
   Moving to the bookshelves built into the right-hand wall, Magnus pressed several decorative carvings in a precise, complex sequence. After pushing the last ivy leaf, he stepped back and waited while a blue scanning beam fanned out from the center of the bookshelf and slowly swept over him from head to toe and back again. A second later, the beam winked out of existence, and there was a soft hiss before the two center bookshelf units slid straight out from the wall smoothly, then parted as they began sliding to either side of the room, revealing a heavy metal door behind them. Stepping forward again, Magnus punched his identification code into the keypad and hit enter. The moment the door slid open, he stepped through it and into a small, sparse room seemingly containing nothing more than a single high-backed office chair built into the floor.
   After closing the door behind him, Magnus sat down in the chair. As soon as he did, a series of hidden holo-projectors created a perfectly positioned view screen and elaborate computer keyboard before him. Leaning back in the chair, Magnus called up the communications interlink and logged onto the central network. A few minutes later he was reading the operations file he found waiting for him in his inbox.
   “Oh god damnit…” Magnus’ scowl matched his disgusted mutter when he discovered the file was yet another “divert and disarm” directive involving Kim Possible, and his mood certainly didn’t improve the more he read.
   “How in the fuck am I supposed to deal with this shit?” Magnus growled to himself as he reached the end of the incident report, shaking his head and looking up at the featureless matte grey ceiling in frustration. A few seconds later he sighed and then closed his eyes for short while, trying to empty his mind and calm his thoughts so he’d be able to think clearly.
   All right, all right, you can do this… Magnus dropped his head back down and opened his eyes resolutely, focusing on the task at hand—or… soon would be at hand, as the case was. He’d known Betty Director for close to thirteen years now, the last eight of which as her second in command at Global Justice, and he was fairly sure he knew the woman as closely as anyone did—aside, perhaps, from her deviant twin brother Gemini. That meant he knew exactly what buttons to push in order to get her headed in the right direction using reverse psychology, which was the easiest way to manipulate the shrewd, strong-willed woman—very nearly the only way. Unfortunately, every so often when he used that approach, Betty surprised him by going along with it—almost always when she was too angry to think straight. That meant that reading this situation and anticipating her reaction to it was key, because otherwise, he’d be shooting himself in the foot if he went the usual route with her.
Magnus read the report again, carefully, examining all the angles and weighing all the possibilities while constantly keeping an eye on the time, knowing he only had a few hours at best to figure this out. Eventually, he thought he was beginning to see the shape of things, getting a sense of how Betty would most likely react to the news, but even so, he called up her psych profile and ran a few comparative analyses just to get a “second opinion” to his own instincts. The results weren’t exactly promising, with the most favorable evaluation predicting only an eighty-three percent chance she’d react the way he thought she would. Despite that, in the end, he had to go with his gut, and his gut told him to hit Betty with a completely over-the-top, howling-for-blood response to the incident if he wanted her defending Kim Possible as much as she could, given the circumstances.
   “All right then, we have a game plan.” Magnus declared decisively, logging off the network and shutting down the communications interlink. A few moments later he stood up from the chair, interlinking his fingers and reaching for the ceiling in a mighty stretch while the holographic display winked out of existence. As his knuckles, shoulders, and spine cracked and popped loudly, he idly wondered if he’d be able to get any sleep before the inevitable call from Global Justice came in…
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Revelations of Destiny