“Well, there I was. My life as an outlaw had officially begun. I took a late breakfast in a quaint little café, still within sight of the hotel. I meanwhile had put on my normal clothes, of course. Then, while I started on my pancakes, it dawned on me: why not go out and see the world? I've been chained to my family long enough. Now that I was free, I should really enjoy my newfound freedom.
I started by traveling locally: America's big cities. Then I tried Canada. I liked Toronto so much, I rented an apartment in town. This gradually became routine: whenever I found a place I liked, I'd establish a permanent residence. For a while I rented or owned...I think something like sixty-five houses and apartments around the world. Fewer, usually. You should always have a place where you can retreat to, if necessary. Whatever.
Then I went to South America for a few months. After that I left the Americas for Europe, for Australia, for Asia. In less than three months I had eight arrest warrants issued against me from four countries on three continents. Still, I kept a relatively low profile during my first world tour; I wasn't nearly as raucous as I was that one night in Loterton. I came back to the States eight months later, in the fall of 1998. By then I had squirreled away little stashes for myself all over the world. Nest eggs and hideaways. However, I didn't know what to do with myself. The world wasn't much of a challenge for me anymore. And so I figured I'd try something new: give the police an anonymous tip where they could find me, and let them come and try to arrest me.”

Shego was in a cottage in Apsley, Canada. The glow from the fireplace cast long shadows upon the opposite wall, while Shego, tense with anticipation, sat in a huge armchair and surfed the cable channels. When she'd come across a news channel, she'd pause occasionally to glance at the clock on the top corner of the screen. “It's almost eight-thirty already. What's taking them?” she mumbled. “I know Canadians are friendly, but they won't even bother an international criminal?”
The instant she said that, the door busted open amid a loud crash. All around her windows shattered, and within seconds the cottage was filled with SWAT team commandos. The men around her shouted the usual things like “Freeze!,” “Put your hands where we can see them!” or “Down on the floor!,” but it was already clear Shego wasn't about to follow their orders. Instead, she jumped right into the group, giving anyone who didn't duck in time a black eye.

“It was supposed to look real, like I was battling with all my strength. But while I was fighting them, I held at least one hand behind my back the whole time.“

Despite that, it took a while before they could apprehend Shego.

“Like I said, it was supposed to look real. After that, everything happened fairly quickly. In record time, I was sentenced to Eisner Prison--often nicknamed 'The Saddest Place on Earth'.”

As the barred door slammed behind her, Shego looked around her prison cell. The cell wasn't too big; it had a single cross-barred window, a loft bed, and to crown it all, a toilet in one of the back corners. The walls had graffiti written on it such as “C.H. loves A.M.,” and “The warden smells.” Another inscription, “I'm innocent”, was apparently later completed by someone who added, “Ha ha, me too.”
“Wow, looks just like it does on TV,” she said to herself.
To her surprise, a quiet voice answered: “Strange, isn't it? Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.”
A petite woman with short, black hair and glasses emerged from under the lowest bed.
“I suppose you're my cell mate,” Shego said sourly.
“You're right. I'm Anja.“
“Shego.”
“You can have the upper bed. If not, at least let me take the lower bunk from time to time. It's the only place here where I can occasionally be alone.”
“Well, okay,” Shego said, with a slightly uninterested sound in her voice.
“And don't worry--I usually don't talk that much. So if you don't begin talking, I won't either, most of the time.”
Shego climbed to the upper bed, fluffed her pillow, and sprawled on the mattress.

“Pleased to hear that,” she said. “The less you talk, the less I gotta hurt you.”
“But if you have any questions, feel free to ask whenever you like. Otherwise, I'll be quiet from now on.”
“How's the food here?”
“Oh, on Wednesdays and Fridays it's great, otherwise...not so good.”
“Okay. Why?”
“Got no idea. Nobody knows. It's like that.”
Anja slunk back into her solitude under the lower bunk, but Shego's curiosity was piqued. “So, what are you in here for?” Shego asked. “Not that I really care, but if we have to share a cell...”
“Arson.”
“Oh,” Shego said, looking a little edgy.
“But don't worry, I only torch buildings I can leave. As long as I'm locked up in here, you won't witness any bad surprises from me.”
“Noted. I'm here because—”
“I already know. They arrested you for crimes you did in this country alone.”
“How did you know that?”
“Whenever anybody goes to prison, there's always at least one person who knows why they're in there. That person relays the info to at least three other people, who each tell three more, and so on.”
“Sounds familiar.”

“Actually, the cell was kind of comfortable. Still, I had no intention to stay there forever. One week at the most. Even then, by the next morning I already couldn't take it anymore.“

“That was the most disgusting crap I've ever eaten,” Shego complained, when she returned to her cell after breakfast.
“I see you've never been to Norway,” Anja said. “Next to their food, this breakfast was delicious. Tomorrow's Friday, though. It'll be better then.”
“I'm not sticking around to find out; I'm busting out of here. Wanna come along?”
“No, thanks. My parole is next week.”
“Didn't really want you to tag along anyway, sis. I just asked out of...oh, politeness or something.”
“Okay. And? What are you gonna do when you're out of here?”
Shego thought for a moment. “I've...got to admit, I haven't the faintest idea. Cruise the world, steal stuff, wreak some havoc. Same old, same old. I still need a change of pace. Any suggestions?”
“You could--”
Shego interrupted quickly. “But nothing that has to do with arson.”
Anja scratched her head a few seconds. “What if you put your criminal talents up for sale?”
“Uh, say what?”
“Become a freelancer. Take out a classified ad in Villain magazine. Villains are always looking for someone with your qualities for special assignments. So far, you've only started fights and stolen clothes. But as a freelancing villain, you could really sharpen your skills—and you'd be paid top dollar, too. You'd get hired to break into high security buildings such as government labs, or to recover debts, or to be somebody's bodyguard.”
“Sounds interesting; I might just give it a try. Well Anja, it's been nice.”

The old Shego took a sip of water. “At first, I just blew off Anja's suggestion. I didn't leave my brothers just to become someone's lackey. But after a while, the idea started to grow on me. I began thinking, what a great way to start networking, in a way that could be very useful later. I could also make a name for myself among the villains--until then, I was known only as a highly dangerous troublemaker. But most importantly, I finally had something to do again. The boredom was killing me. So after I busted out of prison, I placed an ad.”
“Excuse me,” Julian interrupted, “May I ask how you broke out?”
“The same way I did my whole life.”
“Well...how, exactly?”
“Like always,” she said, grinning widely. “The ad wasn't anything special. I just listed my talents and what I wanted to do. A week hadn't even gone by before I got my first phone call.”