New York City has a specific kind of "Possible" signature—it's loud, it's crowded, and it's currently the epicenter of a magical-industrial conflict that the local PD is woefully unequipped to handle.
"Sheila," I whispered, adjusting my sunglasses as I stepped off the 'Youth Leadership' shuttle in Times Square. I'd convinced Mom and Dad that a weekend seminar on 'Urban Infrastructure' was essential for my college applications. "Track the thermal spike. Our target should be moving through the subway tunnels."
["Target 'Dragonfly' is currently engaged with a group of Huntsclan operatives near Canal Street,"] Sheila reported. ["He is struggling, Danny. The Huntsclan have upgraded their weaponry with stolen Plumber tech. It seems my 'leak' of the Bellwood drone schematics reached the wrong hands. Or the right ones, depending on how much you want to test the team."]
"Calculated risk, Sheila. I need to see if the Protocol can handle a rescue mission without me holding their hands."
I tapped a command into my watch, sending a Priority-Alpha alert to the encrypted hub I'd established in the last meeting.
The response was instantaneous.
[K. Possible]: Signal received. I'm already in the city for a 'cheer-off.' ETA 5 minutes.
[B. Ten]: Gramps is driving the Rustbucket like a maniac. We're coming in hot.
[D. Phantom]: I'm already here. Just followed the smell of burnt ozone and New York pizza.
I moved toward an alleyway, pulling out a compact, high-gain signal booster. "Team, this is The Producer. Target is a Class-A Magical Entity—identity: Jake Long. He's being suppressed by high-frequency dampeners. Kim, you provide the tactical distraction. Danny, you're the extraction. Ben, you're the muscle. Do not let the Huntsclan secure the Dragon."
"Got it, Glitch-Face," Ben's voice crackled.
The scene at Canal Street was a mess of neon-red laser fire and billowing smoke. A teenage boy with spiky hair and a varsity jacket was backed against a brick wall, his skin flickering between human and scales.
"Stay back, yo!" Jake Long shouted, his voice cracking with exhaustion. "You don't want to see the dragon when he's cranky!"
"The Huntsman wants you on ice, lizard-boy," a masked operative sneered, leveling a glowing pike.
Before he could fire, a blue-and-white grappling hook wrapped around the pike, yanking it upward. Kim Possible swung down from a fire escape, landing in a perfect three-point stance.
"Actually," she said, flipping her hair, "I think he's had enough 'ice' for one day."
At the same time, the air grew cold. Danny Phantom phased through the ground right beneath the operatives, letting out a ghostly wail that sent them stumbling back in a state of existential dread.
"Whoa!" Jake blinked, staring at the ghost. "Is that... a spirit guide? Am I dreaming?"
"Less dreaming, more running!" Danny shouted, grabbing Jake's arm.
But the Huntsclan wasn't finished. A massive armored transport roared around the corner, and more operatives poured out, armed with heavy-duty energy nets.
"I've got this!" a voice boomed from above.
A massive, orange, fur-covered beast with no eyes slammed into the transport, crushing the engine block with a single paw.
"Wildmutt!" Ben (as the Vulpimancer) roared, though it sounded like a series of aggressive snarls and grunts.
I watched from the safety of a rooftop, my 'Campbell' memories cheering at the sight of the four-way crossover. It was a Saturday morning fever dream brought to life.
"Sheila," I said, my fingers flying over the holographic interface. "The Huntsclan leader is calling for reinforcements. Block their comms. And send a 'system error' to the transport's self-destruct sequence. I don't want a crater in the middle of Manhattan."
["Interference active. The 'Dragon' is currently 80% transformed. He's joining the fight."]
With the pressure off, Jake Long let out a roar that shook the windows of the surrounding buildings. In a burst of fire and magic, he shifted into a sleek, red dragon.
The battle was short, sharp, and decisively one-sided. Between Kim's acrobatics, Danny's intangibility, Ben's alien ferocity, and Jake's fire-breathing, the Huntsclan operatives realized they were outclassed and beat a hasty retreat into the shadows.
As the smoke cleared, the four of them stood in the middle of the alley. Jake shifted back into his human form, looking at the others with a mix of awe and suspicion.
"So," Jake said, wiping soot from his forehead. "I'm guessing you guys aren't with the Magical Council."
"We're the Possible Protocol," Kim said, though she looked at Ben and Danny as if she was still getting used to saying it. "And apparently, you're the newest member."
I smiled, closing the 'Unity' file and opening a new one labeled 'The American Dragon.'
"Sheila," I said, turning away from the ledge. "The team is growing. But the bigger the team, the bigger the target. It's time we started looking into who's really funding the Huntsclan. I have a feeling a certain 'billionaire' in a green suit might be involved."
["Are you referring to Lex Luthor, Danny?"]
"Not yet, Sheila. Let's start with someone more... industrial. Check the shipping manifests for Vlad Plasmius. I want to see if he's been buying alien tech."
I walked back toward the shuttle bus, the sounds of New York fading behind me. The board was expanding. The players were leveling up. And I was still the only one who knew the rules of the game.