Mission: Possible 007 (Chapter One)
Chapter One: The Team
The scent of twenty different types of Mexican dishes (including
but not limited to nachos, burritos, and tacos) helped Kim to relax after the
stressful night she had in San Francisco. Bueno Nacho was a popular hangout
spot for Middleton High students like her and her best friend, Ron Stoppable.
There they sat in their usual booth, Kim relaying the details of her recent
mission while Ron munched on his “naco” (his personal invention of combination
nachos and a taco) with Rufus, his naked pet mole rat.
“And he had the nerve to thank us for helping him and then tell us not to get in his way
again!” Kim vented, slamming her fists down on the table every time she
enunciated on “us.” “I swear if I ever see that guy again, he’ll be sorry he
got in my way! He practically ruined
my mission, wearing Alistar Krei’s face!”
“Ew! Kim!” Ron groaned, just as he was about to take a
bite out of his naco. “I’m tryin’ to eat here. Can we change the subject? Tell
me more about that asset…” He suddenly burst with laughter, unable to bring
himself to say “asset” without doing so – much to the annoyance of Kim. “I’m
sorry, K.P. It’s just the funniest word ever.”
Kim shot him a cold stare, her arms folded. “Yeah,
Ron…hilarious. The asset is just fine.” Again, Ron couldn’t compose himself.
However, he quickly did when Kim mentioned, “Sadly, his brother died in the
explosion.”
“Aw, man,” Ron sheepishly said. “I’m sorry to hear that.
How’s he holdin’ up?”
“No idea,” Kim answered. “I’ve been waiting on an update
from Wade. He’s also supposed to get me some info on those three other agents I
encountered last night.” Just then, her Kimmunicator beeped. She answered it
right away, and Wade’s pudgy smiling face filled the screen. “Go, Wade.”
“I got the info you requested, Kim,” Wade said over the
feed. “The name you gave me, James Bond, only comes up through classified MI6
records… a lot of redacted stuff.
As far as the guy who disguised himself as Alistar Krei, I wasn’t able to find
anything on him without much else to go on.”
“What about the platypus in the fedora?” Kim asked.
Wade paused for a long time with a quizzical expression
on his face. “Seriously?”
Kim gingerly slammed her head on the booth table,
exasperated by the lack of details on the co-conspirators. “Just look further
into Bond for now, Wade,” she tasked, though her voice sounded muffled with her
face smushed on the table.
“What did you say?” Wade asked her, checking his audio
settings.
Ron, mouthful of naco, leaned in over the Kimmunicator,
so that Wade could see him. “She said look in on the Bond dude,” he said,
spitting out bits of food onto the Kimmunicator screen. “Oops! My bad!” He
fixed his blunder by licking the bits from the screen.
Wade felt like he was going to throw up, watching Ron
lick the Kimmunicator screen, an act that created dog-like slobbering noises
over the microphone. “O.K., I’m just gonna hang up now and bleach my eyes,”
Wade said, switching off the feed as quickly as he could.
Beneath the pile of her own luscious
red locks, Kim groaned, “Why did this conspiracy have to happen on the day of
Nationals?”
-----------------------
Bond mentally couldn’t shake off the oddities that
occurred the previous night: a green woman with flaming fists, a man who wore a
hyper-realistic facemask, and a platypus in a fedora. Nonetheless, he reported
to MI6 headquarters the next day, more business than usual. He arrived at the Q
branch lab, a space enclosed within Plexiglas walls and doors, hoping for a
ready analysis on the footage recorded from the ocular cameras he wore during
the assignment.
M was with Q at the moment of 007’s arrival, presumably
there to see the footage analysis as well. “007,” M greeted Bond. As always, he
didn’t waste time on pleasantries, getting straight to the point. “We were able
to gather intel on the individuals you encountered in San Francisco.”
“Facial recognition tells us this,” Q brought up the
images of the teenaged redhead and the Krei imposter. Bond curiously looked on
them as they were projected on the holotable. “Kimberly Ann Possible – Age: 16,
no known aliases,” Q said of the girl. “As far as we can determine, she’s
freelance, not affiliated with any bureaus or government organizations, except
for Global Justice on occasion.”
“What of the American male?” Bond pointed to the Krei
imposter.
“A field operative for the U.S. government’s Impossible
Missions Force,” M briefed. “His name is Ethan Hunt.”
Bond then noticed a third image beside Possible and Hunt:
the platypus in the fedora. “Got anything on this one?”
Q paused for a long time with a quizzical expression on
his face. “Seriously?”
Moving past it, Bond proceeded to inquire, “How is it
that I managed to be assigned to the same mission that three other agents from
three other agencies were? And who were the three assailants that targeted
Krei?” His frustrations became clearer with each inquiry. They were
specifically directed towards M. “There was quite a bit about this assignment I
wasn’t briefed on. Why is that?”
In response, M used Q’s computer to bring up one enlarged
image above those of Possible, Hunt, and the platypus. It was a 14-year-old boy
of Asian descent with messy black hair and a slight gap between his teeth.
“This is the asset you were sent to watch out for – Hiro Hamada,” M identified.
“His technological brilliance has been sought after by the League, a coalition
of four of the top terrorist organizations, including SPECTRE.”
“I’m well aware of who they are,” Bond said in reference to the one aforementioned
organization.
“Agencies are gathering in response to form the Team,” M
continued.
“And these other agencies are the ones that employed our
three friends? Including the platypus in the fedora?”
M detected the hint of sarcasm in 007’s tone. “Correct,”
he confirmed Bond’s spot-on deduction. “I’m assigning you the task of finding
Kimberly Possible and bringing her to the rendezvous point near Mount Rushmore
in South Dakota. Because she’s a freelancer, the only way of contacting her is
through her young associate, Wade. He’s been looking into you particularly.”
“I’m flattered,” Bond dryly remarked. “I suppose you’d
want to recruit him as well.”
M grinned. “We’re already on it.”
“And what about the other two?”
“They’re being ordered by their superiors to the
rendezvous point also.”
“Including the platypus in the fedora?”
“Yes, including the platypus in the fedora, 007.”
Q snickered. “Wish I could be there just to see him sitting with the rest of you.”
“A platypus in a fedora? Seriously?!” IMF operative Benji
Dunn sat outside the “La Ratatouille” bistro with his fellow agents, Ethan and
Luther, as both men recounted their recent mission in San Francisco to him.
“I’m just relieved that I’ll never have to worry about
those people or that platypus ever
again,” Ethan said, sitting back in his chair and taking in the comforting
atmosphere.
His moment of tranquility didn’t last long.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Ethan,” Luther
uttered, right before he handed Ethan a tablet computer that he retrieved out
of the black bag that he brought along with him to the bistro. Ethan figured it
was just the usual computer he always carried with him. He should’ve known
better.
He let out a depleted sigh, knowing exactly what was to
come.
Taking the tablet from Luther’s hands, Ethan powered it
on and a video automatically played with a man’s voice speaking over it: “Good
evening, Mr. Hunt. As you know, your mission in San Francisco was to ensure the
protection of the asset, Hiro Hamada. While you were successful in your
mission, the threat of the League remains. In response to this threat, the
British and American governments – in cooperation with IMF – have joined to
form the Team. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to rendezvous
with these agents near Mt. Rushmore in South Dakota.”
When Ethan saw the agents in question were the same three
he encountered in San Francisco, he irritably groaned.
“Good luck, Mr. Hunt,” the video concluded prior to
giving the usual warning: “This message will self-destruct in five seconds.”
After exactly five seconds, the tablet self-destructed with a poof of smoke
emitting from it.
Smoke might as well have also come out of Ethan’s ears in
his frustration.
It didn’t help much to hear Benji still going on about that one detail from his San Francisco mission. “A secret agent platypus,” he pondered aloud. “Who’d come up with something that bizarre?”
“Mom! Mom! Mom!”
Perry jolted at the sound of Candace’s frantic calls for
her mother, Linda Flynn-Fletcher, as she rushed inside their residence. Anytime
Candace called for Linda in that manner, it could only mean one thing: Phineas
and Ferb had developed yet another invention that Candace deemed “bust-able.”
Linda was in the process of feeding Perry at the time
Candace rushed in. “What is it, Candace?” Linda asked with a breath of
irritation.
“Mom, Phineas and Ferb are in Hill Valley right now,
building a time machine!”
“Didn’t they already
build a time machine?” Linda couldn’t believe she even had to ask that.
“I said the exact same thing,” Candace admitted. “But
this one’s out of a DeLorean! And they got that crackpot old lady, Doc Brown,
to—!”
“Alright. Candace, you really need to get your stories
straight, because I’m starting to lose track of where you are with this one.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just yesterday, you said the boys found jobs as
Ghostbusters in New York City.”
“They did!”
“So how can they be in Hill Valley building a time
machine out of a DeLorean with Doc Brown?!”
“Two words, Mom: Teli-Pad! They got it in the garage
right now! C’mon, I’ll show it to you! C’mon! Let’s go!” Candace was already
halfway through the house before Linda could even move a toe.
Having been distracted by her daughter, Linda reminded
herself that she still needed to feed Perry. However, when she looked down, all
she saw was Perry’s bowl. “Huh, that’s strange,” she muttered. “Where’s Perry?”
Unbeknownst to Linda, as she was distracted, Perry stood
upright on his hind legs, put on his fedora, and slipped through one of the
secret passages within the Flynn-Fletcher household. Sliding through a series
of tubes that were something out of a water park ride (just without the water),
he arrived in his lair where he landed perfectly in his chair and faced the
large viewscreen that already had a live feed of Major Monogram’s mustachioed
face.
“Good morning, Agent P,” Monogram greeted. “I must
congratulate you on your hard work in protecting Alistar Krei…even though he
turned out to be another guy disguised
as Alistar Krei.”
“That mask was so real,” the nasally voice of Carl Karl
(O.W.C.A.’s hapless intern) spoke off-screen. “It’s like rubbery human flesh.
It’s so disgusting!”
“Not now, Carl!” Monogram grumbled.
“Sorry, sir,” Karl whimpered.
“Anyway, Agent P,” Monogram recommenced. “We monitored
your assignment in San Francisco and learned more about the other agents you
encountered.” Images of the three agents superimposed beside Monogram on the viewscreen.
“I understand you prefer to work alone, Agent P, but the government has asked
that we cooperate with some of the best counterterrorist agencies in the world
and protect the asset, Hiro Hamada.” Hiro’s photograph appeared on the feed,
overlapping the three from before.
“You must rendezvous with the other agents at Mt.
Rushmore. You remember Mt. Rushmore, don’t you, Agent P? We did a fun,
heartwarming episode there back in Season One.” The deadpan look he noticed
Perry giving him urged the major to get back on topic. “You know what to do
now, Agent P. Get to that rendezvous point in South Dakota pronto!”
Perry saluted to the major and leaped away, taking another
secret passage out of his lair. Shortly after his departure, Carl asked
Monogram, “Sir, is it true that one of those other agents Agent P’s working
with is a cheerleader?”
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