From your lips to the author's ears: Abriged Title

[RedBlueGreen]

The Kigo shippers are gathering...but Ron's not losing his girlfriend without a fight.

I have no idea what that story would be, but it sounds like fun.

Alternatively, it could be Kim against the Rongo shippers...

[fireandchutes77]

Hmmmm... I saw "The Bourne Supremacy" last night on TNT, and now there's one heck of a plot bunny gnawing on my leg, and the Remington 870 doesn't seem to be fazing it...

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“Straight outta a Bond movie…” the woman muttered sardonically as she stepped into the secluded handler point, out of the biting Moscow wind. She smoothly stripped off her stumpy hat; waves of coal-black hair cascaded around her shoulders and draped down her back. Peeling off a glove, she spread her fingers and wrapped them around a pipe running down the side of the alcove. A pulse of light shimmered under the edges of her pale skin, and a small speaker and transmit button appeared when two false bricks slid sideways in the wall before her.

“Eees you alone?” a thickly-accented Russian voice demanded at once.

“Yeah, yeah,” Shego muttered as she pressed the transmit button, snugging up her collar around her ears to block the chill. “I’m in merc mode, ‘member?”

“And your employzer?”

“Drakken thinks I’m vacationing in Monaco.”

A third brick opened beneath the speaker, revealing several wads of crisp twenties bound with spotless manila wrappers. Smiling darkly, Shego lifted out the money, smelt it, riffled through one of the wads, then deposited the bundles in a satchel.

“And… what’s the catch, boys?”

The brick closed for a moment, then reopened, revealing an unmarked folder. Shego slit the security seal with a fingernail and exposed the hit file.

“Jason Bourne, huh…?” She tugged another sheet to expose a full-body shot and smirked slightly. “Heh… I’d hit that…” Turning back to the first sheet, she scanned the mission specs, then glanced up at the faceless loudspeaker. “You guys certainly blowing through a wad for some nobody…”

The speaker remained silent.

Sighing, the vixen reread the fact sheet. “Berlin… Well, shouldn’t be hard to find a train… Hit point… Hotel Voistmacht? Oooo, I’ve heard they have a nice steam room… And… the prime mover…?”

“Usuzal lokation.”

Kneeing, Shego dug in the snow at the base of the water pipe until she found a keypad half-buried into the concrete foundation. Punching in a set of numbers, the keypad flashed green once and a small handle popped from the pipe, near the wall and very close to the ground. Shego pulled upward, exposing a tall, narrow, insulated hollow. The overcast light revealed a massive rifle, with a barrel at least the width of her thumb and an action that looked ripped straight from an automatic weapon– downward pointing grip, angled magazine, perforated heat dissipater.

Arching her eyebrows, Shego lifted the .50-caliber sniper rifle from its rests and hoisted it.

“Isn’t an M82 a bit... excessive? I mean, this thing is supposed to be anti-armor, not anti perso-”

“The company would like the results to be indisputable.”

“Uhhhhh, whatever you say, chief....” Strapping the gun over her shoulder, she flipped through the mission files again. “You could have done a little better job on the photocopy... So what are these coordinates again…?”

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Five thousand miles, an ocean, and two continents away, a CIA-watermarked folder slid across a brushed metal table, followed by a wad of crisp twenties bound with a spotless manila wrapper. A gloved palm stopped the money at the lip of the table and imperceptivity nudged it back toward its source.

“Sorry, I don’t take money… And this is looking so like a bribe."

“Simply look at the sheetlet, please.”

Kim Possible flicked her gaze across the table, searched the mass of shadows for a face, then glanced back down at the folder. Slitting the seal with a hairpin, she lifted out the mission hit.

“Jason Bourne…? What…? Who…?”

Through the haze, a chair creaked comfortably – the type of creak made when a crossed leg is shifted into two hands accompanied by a relieved grin.

She scanned down the sheet, brow furrowing. “What... Is this? I know you people are a little goofy at times… But is this some kind of joke? You’re telling me to meet this…” she glanced back at the file photo, “guy… in Berlin… and just… talk to him? Talk to him for…” She glanced down at the estimated elapsed mission time, and her eyes suddenly widened. “…Why is this mission only supposed to last one minute forty-six seconds?”