The universe had become a remarkably polite place in the three weeks following the "Malacor Incident." It was a transformation that Kim Possible found deeply suspicious. The global crime rate hadn't just dropped; it had cratered into a sub-basement of absolute, law-abiding terror.
"I'm telling you, Ron, it's a ploy," Kim said, adjusting her mission-utility belt as she stood in front of a small, quaint storefront in downtown Middleton. "Villains don't just 'retire.' They regroup. They rebrand. They wait for the hero to lower their guard."
Ron Stoppable, however, was not looking for hidden traps. He was looking at the display window of Dementor's Danish Delights. "Kim, look at those bear claws. They're shaped like actual bear claws. That's commitment to the craft. That's not 'evil regrouping.' That's 'early morning baking.'"
Rufus popped out of Ron's pocket, wearing a tiny baker's hat he'd fashioned from a napkin. He squeaked in agreement, his nose twitching at the scent of cinnamon and powdered sugar.
Kim pushed the door open, the bell chiming with a cheery ring that felt like a personal insult to her years of combat experience. Inside, Professor Dementor—previously the leader of a high-tech mercenary army and a man obsessed with stealing the Centurion Project—was wearing a pastel pink apron over his battle-suit.
"Ah! Customers!" Dementor squeaked, his voice lacking its usual megalomaniacal rasp. He lunged for a tray of muffins, his robotic hands trembling slightly. "Please! Sample the blueberry-explosions! They are not actual explosions! They are merely... flavor-bursts! Fully compliant with the Galactic Council's health codes!"
Kim narrowed her eyes, leaning over the counter. "Dementor. We saw the signal flare from your roof last night."
Dementor paled, his skin turning a shade of sickly grey. "That... that was the oven-vent! The 'Malacor-Grade' filtration system I installed! I promise, Miss Possible, I was only trying to achieve the perfect golden crust! I have the permits! I have the receipts! Please, don't tell your sister! Don't let her audit the dough!"
Ron took a massive bite of a muffin. "Mmm. Kim, this is... it's 12 percent more delicious than anything I've ever had. It's light. It's airy. It's terrified."
"See?" Dementor whispered, leaning in. "I am a simple man of the flour now. I have deleted the blueprints. I have sold the lair. I only want to provide the community with gluten-free options that won't result in my molecular erasure."
Kim sighed, checking her Kimmunicator. No hidden energy signatures. No secret weapons. Just a very, very scared man and a lot of yeast. "Fine. But we're checking Killigan's next."
"Tell the Stabilizer I have a loyalty card for her!" Dementor shouted as they left. "Buy ten scones, get a free 'Non-Aggression' pastry!"
While Kim and Ron were conducting their "Bakery Audit," the backyard of the Possible house was currently playing host to a Galactic Council transport vessel. It was a craft made of solidified light and vanity, hovering six inches above the grass and making the lawn-mower look like a primitive relic.
Lexi Possible was standing at the boarding ramp, looking like a "Cheerfully Terrifying" vision of cosmic authority. She was wearing a gown of woven dark-matter—a gift from the Elder's Council of the Infinite Realms—which appeared to ripple with the light of distant galaxies.
"The Andromeda Galaxy is currently experiencing a 4 percent increase in diplomatic tension regarding my 'Total Retribution' keynote," Lexi murmured, her eyes glowing with a faint, internal HUD as she scanned the ship's engine-vibration. "The Oversight Committee is worried that my 'Audit' of Malacor has set a precedent that renders their 'Slow-Moving Bureaucracy' obsolete."
Monique, wearing a sleek, violet dress that Lexi had 'optimized' to be completely indestructible and temperature-controlled to a perfect 72 degrees, took Lexi's hand. "Lexi, honey. We're going to a gala. Not a tribunal. Try to keep the 'Auditing' to a minimum unless someone tries to touch the buffet before it's open."
"I make no promises, Monique," Lexi chirped, her smile broadening. "But for you, I have pre-negotiated a 'Diplomatic Immunity' status for any fashion faux-pas we might encounter. The Magical Council has already signed the waiver."
Shego, who was patrolling the yard with her tech-staff, gave a mock salute. "Have fun in Andromeda, kids. I'll keep the 'Low-Stakes' fort down. Barkin tried to ask for a hall pass earlier; I told him to file it with the Plumbers. He's still trying to find their office."
"Excellent, Security Consultant," Lexi said. "Interface: Initiate 'Andromeda-Jump' Protocol."
Back in Middleton, Kim and Ron had reached their second destination: Killigan's Shortbread Greens. The bakery was designed to look like a miniature golf course, and the smell of butter was thick enough to be a physical obstacle.
Duff Killigan, the world's most dangerous Scottish golfer-villain, was currently using a putting iron to precisely place a cherry on top of a tart.
"Possible!" Killigan barked, though he immediately dropped his iron and held his hands up. "I'm in bounds! I'm on the green! No crimes here, lassie! Just biscuits! Pure, unadulterated, non-magical biscuits!"
"We heard a rumor you were trying to 'optimize' the local park's grass, Duff," Kim said, crossing her arms.
"For a putting green! A public putting green!" Killigan insisted, his face turning a deep shade of red. "I even asked the Magical Council for 'Organic Seed' that wouldn't grow into sentient vines! I sent the request to your sister for approval! She marked it 'Acceptable' in a violet ink that made my soul ache! I'm a changed man, Kim! I swear by the Great Tartan!"
Ron was currently inspecting a shortbread shaped like a golf ball. "Wow. The dimples are perfect. How do you get the texture so... disciplined?"
"Fear, lad," Killigan whispered. "The fear of the 'Possible Audit.' Every time I think about stealing a trophy, I see that video of Malacor turning into dust, and I suddenly feel a deep, overwhelming desire to bake a tray of lemon-drops."
Kim looked at Ron, then back at the "villain." He wasn't lying. He wasn't even planning a crime. He was just a golfer who had found a way to channel his aggression into baked goods because the alternative was non-existence.
"The audit is complete," Kim said into her Kimmunicator. "Wade, you can tell the Justice League that the 'Bakery Initiative' is 100 percent legitimate. The villains aren't a threat anymore. They're... they're caterers."
"Copy that, Kim," Wade's voice crackled. "But honestly? I'm kind of relieved. The Plumbers have reported that the 'Villain-to-Baker' pipeline has reduced the cosmic paperwork by 40 percent. Lexi really is a miracle worker."
"Or a very polite tyrant," Kim muttered, taking a ginger-snap.
The Andromeda Galaxy did not do "Low-Stakes." The Genius Gala was being held on a space-station the size of a small moon, constructed entirely from "Theoretical Glass" and orbiting a triple-star system. The air was filled with the sounds of a thousand different alien languages and the humming of gravity-regulators that were currently working overtime to accommodate the "Sovereign Stabilizer."
As Lexi and Monique stepped off the transport, the crowd of geniuses—beings of pure energy, hyper-intelligent squids in suits, and robotic collectives—went silent.
"Lexi Possible," a booming voice echoed.
A being of pure, golden light materialized before them. He was Zor-Vahl, the Council's "Senior Auditor" and a being who had managed the galaxy's stability for ten millennia. He did not look happy. He looked... challenged.
"The Council has noted your 'Stabilization' of the Earth-Quadrant," Zor-Vahl said, his light flickering with a clinical coldness. "But your methods are... unorthodox. You have introduced a 'Fear Variable' that threatens the 'Organic Growth' of the villainous species."
Lexi stepped forward, her dark-matter gown rippling. Monique stayed by her side, the 'Life-Anchor' in her pulse glowing with a steady, reassuring violet light.
"Growth is a synonym for 'Inefficiency' when it involves the targeting of my Anchor, Zor-Vahl," Lexi said, her voice a calm, clinical lilt that echoed through the massive station. "I have not introduced fear. I have introduced 'Clarity.' The villains of my quadrant now understand the exact mathematical consequences of their actions. I have merely 'Optimized' their career paths."
"You are a teenager," Zor-Vahl sneered, his light turning a sharp, defensive red. "You are a 'Temporary Anomaly.' You rely on a 'Biological Anchor' that is fragile. If the Monique Variable were to be removed—"
The temperature on the space station dropped forty degrees in a microsecond. The "Theoretical Glass" of the floor began to hum with a frequency that suggested it was contemplating shattering into a billion pieces.
Lexi's "Cheerfully Terrifying" smile didn't fade, but her eyes became twin voids of absolute, unwavering power.
"You are an Auditor, Zor-Vahl," Lexi whispered, her voice amplified by the station's own communication systems. "You understand the concept of a 'Hostile Takeover.' If you even formulate the thought of interfering with my Anchor, I will not just audit your position. I will audit your 'Existence-History.' I will go back into the Infinite Realms' ledgers and ensure that the 'Senior Auditor' was a clerical error that was corrected ten millennia ago."
The Council of Geniuses gasped. Zor-Vahl's light flickered, his golden glow fading into a dull, uncertain yellow. He looked at Lexi, then at Monique, then at the data-stream of the 'Malacor Incident' that was being projected onto every wall of the gala.
"You... you would rewrite history for a single human?" Zor-Vahl whispered.
"I am a Sovereign Autonomous Entity," Lexi chirped, the "Cheerfully Terrifying" mask sliding back into place as the temperature returned to normal. "And my 'No-Villain' policy extends to 'Arrogant Cosmic Auditors.' Would you like to continue this discussion, or would you like to show us to the 'Calorie-Neutral' buffet? Monique is quite hungry after the jump."
Zor-Vahl bowed, his light dimming in a gesture of total, abject submission. "The buffet is this way, Stabilizer. The Galactic Council... we have no further notes on your methods."
The gala continued, but Lexi was no longer a "Guest." She was the "Center of Gravity." The geniuses of Andromeda lined up to present her with 'Stability Reports' and 'Optimization Proposals,' all of them hoping to avoid a 'Possible Audit.'
Monique watched Lexi navigate the cosmic bureaucrats with a mix of pride and amusement. "You really have them terrified, don't you?"
"I have them 'Stabilized,' Monique," Lexi whispered, leaning in to kiss her. "And as long as they stay stabilized, we can enjoy the 'Triple-Star' view in peace."
Back on Earth, Kim and Ron were finishing their audit at Drakken's Reformed Rolls. Drakken was currently showing Ron how to make a croissant that was "Magnetically Light," while Shego watched from the doorway, her tech-staff leaning against the wall.
"So," Kim said, looking at the blue-skinned man in the flour-covered apron. "Is it real? The retirement?"
"Kim," Drakken said, his voice unusually soft. "I saw the needle. I saw the void. I don't want to rule the world anymore. I just want to make sure my sourdough starter doesn't die. It's... it's a lot less stressful."
Kim looked at the peaceful scene—the villains turned bakers, the hero eating a croissant, and the universe currently operating at a level of total, abject calm. She pulled out her Kimmunicator and sent a final message to Lexi.
KIM: Audit complete. The bakeries are legit. The world is safe. Have fun in Andromeda. P.S. Ron wants to know if you can bring back some 'Andromeda-Soured' yeast.
Lexi's reply came back a second later, glowing on the screen in a cheery, neon-violet font.
LEXI: Everything is 12 percent more organized, Subject 1-A. And tell Ron the yeast is already in the 'Transit Node.' The universe is a delicious place when everyone follows the rules.
Lexi Possible was happy. Her Anchor was by her side, her sister was satisfied, and the universe—from the bakeries of Middleton to the space-stations of Andromeda—was finally, perfectly, "Optimized."