Middleton High School was a battlefield where the primary ammunition was social standing, and Kim Possible was currently losing the war of attrition.
She wasn't losing to a super-villain, a rogue AI, or a prehistoric monster—though she had handled all three before breakfast. She was losing to the one thing even a grappling hook couldn't fix: the unwavering, bureaucratic spite of Mr. Barkin.
"Miss Possible," Barkin's voice boomed, echoing off the linoleum of the empty hallway like a funeral knell. "The bell has rung. The vibration has ceased. You are, once again, out of sync with the schedule of success."
Kim skidded to a halt, her sneakers squeaking in a high-pitched protest. Her red hair was slightly windswept, and her backpack was heavy with a history paper that had been printed while she was mid-air over the Amazon. "Mr. Barkin, sir, I can explain. There was a localized atmospheric anomaly—"
"Save it for the science fair, Possible," Barkin snapped, clicking his stopwatch with a finality that made Kim's stomach drop. "This is your third tardy this month. And in this institution, three strikes don't mean you're out. They mean you're in."
He held up a slip of paper that was a sickly, neon shade of pink.
"Room 12. After school. One hour of silent contemplation on the virtues of punctuality."
Kim stared at the slip. Room 12 wasn't just detention. It was the social abyss. It was where the "stereotypical delinquents"—the kids who wore leather jackets in eighty-degree weather and looked like they'd been held back since the Truman administration—spent their afternoons.
"But sir, my reputation—"
"Will be waiting for you in Room 12," Barkin finished, turning on his heel with a military precision that suggested he'd practiced the exit in a mirror.
Kim stood frozen in the hallway. Her Kimmunicator chirped in her pocket—a bright, electronic trill that usually signaled adventure. Right now, it just felt like mockery.
Four thousand sublevels beneath the Possible household, in a space that technically didn't exist according to Middleton's zoning laws, Lexi Possible adjusted a dial on a console that looked like it had been stolen from the bridge of a starship.
The underground lab was a masterpiece of "Cheerfully Terrifying" engineering. To the left, a greenhouse contained flora that hadn't been seen on Earth since the Cretaceous period, currently being misted by an automated drone. To the right, a row of containment units held robotic prototypes that were either destined to save the world or accidentally delete the internet.
Lexi herself was a mirror image of her twin sister, save for the lack of a "mission suit" and the presence of a lab coat that had more pockets than Kim had gadgets. Her eyes, a sharp, calculating green, flickered across a dozen holographic screens.
One screen showed a live feed of the Amazonian rainforest. Another showed a thermal scan of a Caribbean island. A third, much smaller screen showed a high-definition feed of Kim Possible looking miserable in a school hallway.
"Subject 1-A has entered the 'Social Humiliation' phase of the daily cycle," Lexi murmured, her voice a calm, clinical lilt. She tapped a stylus against her chin. "Fascinating. The physiological response to a pink slip of paper is nearly identical to the response triggered by a thermal detonator."
"Lexi, are you talking to yourself again?"
Lexi didn't turn around. She didn't need to. The biometric sensors in the floor had already identified the person behind her by her gait and heart rate. "I am documenting, Monique. There is a difference."
Monique stepped into the glow of the holograms, holding two cups of coffee. She was the only person besides the immediate family allowed in the "Family plus Ron" sublevels—mostly because she was the only person Lexi trusted to tell her when an invention was "too much."
"Kim got detention," Monique said, handing a cup to Lexi.
"I am aware," Lexi replied, taking a sip. "I also am aware that Wade is currently attempting to contact her regarding Professor Acari's stolen robotic tick. The probability of Dr. Drakken being the culprit is 98.4%. The probability of Kim attempting to solve the crisis while in Room 12 is 100%."
Monique leaned against a terminal. "You going to help her?"
Lexi tilted her head. "I have already invented three separate neutralizing agents for the tick's internal explosive. I have also calculated the exact trajectory Ron Stoppable will need to take to assist her. Intervention at this stage would be... inefficient for Kim's development."
"Spoken like a true hyper-genius," Monique sighed. "Just promise me you won't let the school blow up. I have a math test tomorrow."
Lexi gave a small, terrifyingly cheerful smile. "The structural integrity of Middleton High is guaranteed, Monique. Provided no one touches the gravity stabilizer I installed in the boiler room."
Room 12 was exactly as bad as Kim had feared.
The air smelled of stale chalk and unwashed gym socks. At the back of the room, a kid named Vinnie was carving something into a desk with a plastic ruler. In the front, a girl with purple hair was staring at the wall with an intensity that suggested she was trying to set it on fire with her mind.
Kim sat in the middle row, her back straight, her hands folded. She felt like a neon sign in a dark alley.
Her Kimmunicator chirped again. She peeked down. Wade's face appeared in miniature on the screen.
"Kim! I've been trying to reach you. Professor Acari's lab was hit. A robotic tick—highly experimental, totally weaponizable—was snatched."
"I'm a little tied up, Wade," Kim whispered, eyeing Mr. Barkin, who was sitting at the teacher's desk reading a manual titled Discipline is the Only Freedom.
"It's Shego," Wade said, his voice urgent. "She's working for Drakken. They've already modified the tick. It's not a data-gatherer anymore, Kim. It's a bomb. A smart bomb."
Kim's eyes widened. She looked at the clock. Fifty-two minutes of detention left.
"Wade, I can't leave. Barkin is like a hawk. A very angry, balding hawk."
"I'm on it!" a voice chirped from the Kimmunicator. Ron Stoppable's face shoved Wade's aside. He was wearing his Bueno Nacho uniform, and Rufus was perched on his shoulder, wearing a tiny, makeshift utility belt. "Me and the Rufus-man are tracking the signal to a Caribbean lair. We'll do the recon, you do the... sitting!"
"Ron, wait—"
But the screen went black.
Kim looked at Barkin. Barkin looked at Kim.
"Is there a problem, Possible?"
"Just... reflecting, sir. Deeply."
The Caribbean lair was a masterpiece of Drakken-esque dramatic flair. It was built into a dormant volcano, featured way too many neon lights, and had a docking bay for hovercrafts that were almost certainly overcompensated for something.
Inside, Dr. Drakken was cackling. It was a hearty, villainous laugh that echoed off the metallic walls.
"Behold, Shego! The fruit of my genius! The Tick-Tick-Tick... Boom!"
Shego, leaning against a pillar and filing her nails with a glowing green energy flare, didn't look impressed. "It's a bug, Dr. D. A very small, very shiny bug."
"It's an upgraded explosive delivery system!" Drakken corrected, waving his blue hands wildly. "Once it attaches to a target, it cannot be removed without the proper frequency—which only I possess! It's the ultimate leverage!"
"Right. And when Kim Possible shows up and kicks it into your face?"
"She won't! She's trapped in the one prison even she cannot escape: High School Detention!"
At that exact moment, a vent cover above them clattered to the floor. Ron Stoppable tumbled out, landing in a heap of tangled limbs and nacho wrappers.
"Aha!" Ron shouted, scrambling to his feet. "Prepare to be... uh... stopped! By the Stoppable!"
Rufus popped out of Ron's pocket and struck a martial arts pose.
Shego sighed. "Seriously? We don't even get the A-team today?"
"I am the A-team!" Ron insisted, reaching into his pocket. "And I have... wait, where's the grappling hook?"
Rufus squeaked, pointing back up the vent.
"Oh. Right. It's in the locker."
Drakken smirked. "Seize him! And fetch the tick! I want to see if it works on sidekicks!"
Back in Room 12, Kim's foot was tapping a frantic rhythm. She couldn't take it anymore. She knew Ron was in over his head, and she knew Lexi was probably watching the whole thing on a 4K monitor while eating organic kale chips.
She raised her hand.
"Barkin! Bathroom. Emergency."
Barkin didn't look up from his manual. "The human bladder is a muscle, Possible. Train it."
"Sir, it's a national security emergency."
Barkin paused. He looked at her over the rim of his glasses. For a second, Kim thought he might actually let her go. Then he pointed to the clock. "Forty minutes."
Kim slumped. Then, she felt a vibration in her pocket. Not the Kimmunicator. A localized, high-frequency pulse.
She pulled out a small, silver disc—one of Lexi's "unsolicited prototypes." It was a Holographic Displacement Unit. Lexi had given it to her with a note that said: For when your social obligations conflict with your narrative necessity.
Kim pressed the button.
Instantly, a perfect holographic duplicate of Kim Possible appeared in her seat, staring forward with a look of intense contemplation.
The real Kim dropped to the floor, using the desks as cover. She crawled toward the back window, her heart hammering. She slipped out the window, hit the grass, and was running before her feet even felt the ground.
By the time Kim arrived at the Caribbean lair via a high-speed jet-ski (courtesy of a very confused tourist she'd promised to mention in her next blog post), things had gone south.
Ron was tied to a chair. Rufus was trying to chew through the ropes. And the robotic tick was no longer on the pedestal.
"Possible!" Shego shouted, her hands lighting up with green plasma. "Took you long enough. Your boyfriend here was starting to get boring."
"He's not my—never mind!" Kim vaulted over a control console, narrowly dodging a blast of energy. "Drakken, give it up!"
"Never! The tick is already active!" Drakken shouted, pointing a remote at Kim.
The small, metallic bug launched from the shadows. It moved with terrifying speed, its legs whirring. Kim flipped, twisted, and kicked, but the tick was programmed for persistence. It circled her like a predator.
Shego lunged, her glowing fists swinging. Kim blocked, parried, and swept Shego's legs, but the distraction was enough.
The tick latched onto the center of Kim's back.
Click.
A digital display on the bug's shell lit up.
05:00.
04:59.
"Ha!" Drakken cheered. "It is attached! And in five minutes, you will be the star of a very short, very bright fireworks display!"
Kim reached behind her, her fingers scrabbling at the metal. It wouldn't budge. It felt like it was fused to her spine. "Wade! I need a frequency! Now!"
"I'm trying, Kim! But Drakken's encryption is... actually, it's surprisingly good today!"
In the corner of her eye, Kim saw a small, flickering green light on a nearby terminal. It was a secure link.
LEXI_GUEST_ACCESS_GRANTED.
A text box appeared on the screen: Frequency: 440Hz. However, the manual override requires a high-acidity catalyst to short the external sensors. P.S. Ron has the catalyst.
Kim looked at Ron. Ron looked at Kim.
"Ron! The sauce!"
"The sauce?" Ron blinked. "Oh! The Diablo Sauce!"
He struggled against his bonds. Rufus, seeing the opening, bit through the final strand of rope. Ron lunged for his bag, pulling out a small, plastic packet of Bueno Nacho's infamous Diablo Hot Sauce.
"Catch, Kim!"
He hurled the packet. Kim caught it mid-air, dodged another blast from Shego, and ripped the packet open with her teeth. She smeared the stinging, red sludge over the tick on her back.
The tick hissed. Sparks flew. The timer flickered, jumping from 03:00 to 00:10.
"It's gonna blow!" Ron screamed.
Kim didn't panic. She sprinted toward the docking bay where Drakken was already climbing into his hovercraft.
"Going somewhere, Doctor?"
She grabbed the malfunctioning tick, which had finally loosened its grip, and hurled it with the precision of a varsity pitcher. It stuck to the windshield of the hovercraft.
"Oh, no," Drakken whispered.
Kim dived behind a reinforced blast shield.
BOOM.
The explosion was spectacular. The hovercraft was sent spinning into the ocean, Drakken and Shego screaming all the way down.
Kim climbed back through the window of Room 12 with three minutes to spare.
She deactivated the hologram, which vanished into a cloud of silver pixels, and took her seat. She was covered in soot, smelled like hot sauce, and her hair was a disaster.
Mr. Barkin stood up. He walked over to her desk.
Kim held her breath.
He looked her up and down. He leaned in, sniffing the air. "Possible."
"Yes, sir?"
"Is that... Diablo Sauce?"
"I... had a very intense lunch, sir."
Barkin stared at her for a long, agonizing beat. Then, he nodded. "A bold choice. High acidity is good for the constitution."
He walked to the front of the room as the bell rang. "Detention dismissed. Go forth and be on time."
Kim slumped in her chair, a huge grin spreading across her face. Vinnie, the kid from the back, walked past her and gave her a thumbs-up. "Nice smell, Possible. Respect."
Lexi Possible watched the final feed from the school hallway. Kim was laughing with Ron, the crisis averted, the world safe, and the social standing miraculously intact.
Lexi leaned back in her chair, her fingers steepled.
"Growth metrics achieved," she murmured. "Subject 1-A has successfully integrated high-stakes combat with low-stakes social navigation. The Diablo Sauce variable was a masterstroke of chaotic intervention."
Monique walked back in, looking at the screen. "So, she's okay?"
"She is more than okay," Lexi said, her eyes glowing with a "Cheerfully Terrifying" light. "She is ready for Phase Two."
She tapped a button on her console, opening a new folder.
PROJECT: SHEGO_RECRUITMENT.
"Lexi," Monique warned. "We talked about this."
"It's just a feasibility study, Monique," Lexi said innocently. "A very, very detailed feasibility study."
On the screen, a map of the world's most dangerous prehistoric biomes flickered to life, right next to Kim's cheerleader practice schedule.
The Lexi Constitution was just getting started.