After a short lunch break, Shego continued her story.
“One week later I landed my next gig. This time it was a professional assignment, although it wasn't a big one—I was hired by a loan shark to collect a debt by scaring the owner of a local restaurant. And I sure scared him! That was my big break; everything went smoothly for me ever since, and I was more and more in demand. Pretty soon I couldn't even keep up with all the calls from all over the world. It was like that for around two years. And then everything changed again.”

Responding to one of her many calls, Shego made a lunch date with a new client at the C'est Trop Cher, an incredibly expensive French restaurant. On schedule, she sat at the table reserved for her. Alone. The man who was supposed to have already been seated at the table, a certain Mr. Deruyter, hadn't yet arrived. Other than the waiter, no one even came close to her table for a full hour and a half.
At length Shego got fed up from waiting, stood up, and stomped off towards the exit.

“It was a miracle I even waited that long.”

She was just one step away from the door when the waiter tapped her on the shoulder.
“Excuse me?”
Shego turned and snapped at the man.
“What?”
The waiter took a step back.
“Uhm...Mr. Deruyter will see you now,” he said humbly.
“It's about time,” she huffed.
“Please follow me,” the waiter said, and lead her through the dining room and the kitchen. They stopped in front of a door.
“He's in here?” asked Shego and read the sign at the door. “This is the men's room.”
“Don't worry, we're at the right place.”
“This...is the men's room!”
While saying “Excuse me,” the waiter opened the door for her. “Please, step inside.”
Shego shot the waiter a hateful glance, and entered the men's room.
“Hello!?” she called, as the door closed behind her. “A lady's coming in here! Don't freak out!”
The door to the stall at the back of the bathroom opened, and a tall man in a dark suit stepped out.
“Please, come here,” he said.
“Please, you come here,” replied Shego.
The man pointed to the stall.
“Mr. Deruyter will see you in there.”
Shego's eyes opened wide. “Oh no, he won't,” she exclaimed, and turned around.
“I think you misunderstand. There's no toilet in there!” he called behind her. “It's an undercover office!”

“I didn't want to stay, but on the other hand I was too ticked off to leave just like that, after all the time I had invested waiting around in the restaurant.”

She turned around again and angrily tramped towards the supposed toilet office. As it turned out, they hadn't mislead her. Instead of a toilet bowl behind the plywood door with the coin slot, the stall was a nobly furnished office.
Even so, that didn't make her any happier.
“You must be Shego,” said Mr. Deruyter, sitting behind his desk.
Shego slammed her fist angrily on the desk.
“That's right. And I'm rather annoyed, too. No one makes me wait around! If anything, you wait for me! And what's up with this toilet office charade?”
Unfazed, Deruyter lit up a cigar.
“Y'know, somebody like me got a lot of enemies. And let's say some schmuck with a machine gun stormed into my restaurant...I guarantee you this would be the last place he'd look. I'm safe in here.”
“And what if he uses a bomb instead, and blows up the whole place?”
Deruyter let his cigar hang out of the corner of his mouth, and asked one of the four bodyguards next to him, “Why does everybody say that?”
Shego put her hands to her hips.
“So, what do you want?”
“I want you to steal something for me. A multi-trans-ultra...something. That one.” He pulled a file out of a desk drawer and handed it to Shego. “Everything you need to know is in there. Oh, and I'm advancing you 500 grand,” Deruyter tossed a suitcase filled with money on the desk, “Plus 4.5 mil if you deliver within five days.”

“The thought of earning five million from a single burglary made me forget my anger instantly, and by the next evening I was studying those files. I was to steal a 'multi-thermonuclear flux transmooker,' which was stored in a secret lab in downtown Las Vegas. Ironically, the lab wasn't really that secret; it was clearly visible from the streets between the hotels and casinos. However, its entry was disguised as a fast food restaurant. You know—one of those themed restaurants like the ones with the '50's diner' look, or the bistros decorated with props from classic films. This one was called 'Area 51' and was supposed to look like a secret government lab. Upstairs they sold 'Roswell Burgers' and in the basement they experimented with new technologies.”

Two nights later at the Area 51 burger joint, two slightly bored guards stood in front of a heavy iron door in the basement.
“Hey Bob,” said one of them. “How long have we been at this now?”
“What day is it, Bill?”
“Sunday, Bob.”
“I see. What's the date today, Bill?”
“March 26th, Bob.”
“I see. What year, Bill?”
“2000, Bob.”
“I see. Exactly 912 days, Bill.”
“912 days, Bob?”
“912 days.”
“That's two-and-a-half years!”
“Yep. And in all that time, not a single interesting thing has happened here.”
While they were engrossed in their conversation, Bill and Bob didn't notice Shego coming in from inside the air shaft.
“Hey, Bill.”
“Yes, Bob?”
“Does that mean we do a great job?”
“Maybe.”
“Or do you think it means that nothing interesting happens here anyway and they'd get along even without us?”
“Maybe.”
“Do you think anybody'd notice if we took a night off?”
“Maybe. But I don't think so. To the movies?”
“To the movies. I'll buy the popcorn.”
“Cool.”
Bill and Bob dropped their weapons and disappeared. They were barely out the door when Shego climbed out of the air shaft, shaking her head in disbelief. Then she studied the heavy iron door.
To unlock it, one had to type a six-digit combination on a keypad next to the door. Shego didn't know the combination, so she just kicked in the keypad. The consequent short circuit was more than enough to unlock the door.
Two more guards stood inside the lab.
Startled by Shego's appearance, they aimed their weapons at her and shouted, “Stop!”
Then one of them asked, “What happened to Bob and Bill?”
Shego answered truthfully, “They went to the movies.”
“Without us?”
“How could they?”
“Let's go, too. Nothing interesting ever happens here, anyway. Maybe if we hurry we can catch up to them.”
The two nodded to Shego.
“Hold the fort for us, honey.”
The guards tossed their weapons to the strange, green woman, and hustled outside to spend an evening at the movies. Shego, with an odd expression on her face, watched as the men ran outside. She threw the weapons to the floor, and prepared to undertake her assignment.
She walked down a steel stairway to a huge glass cylinder, which held a small metallic cube, barely larger than a Rubik's Cube. This was the multi-thermonuclear flux-transmooker.
While she cut with a green glowing index finger a hole into the glass, Shego said to herself, amused, “I wonder if anything interesting is gonna happen today.”
The instant she said that, Shego was stunned as a tremendous blast ripped a gigantic hole in the wall behind her, and she was immediately engulfed by a dense cloud of dust.
Instinctively, Shego squeezed her eyes shut and covered her mouth and nose with her forearm.
As the dust began to settle, she gradually opened her eyes. Squinting, she could barely discern the silhouette of a man moving towards her through the breech in the wall.
“Stop!” the man called. Put the multi-thermo-thingy back immediately! I won't allow you to take it just like that.”
Shego was now able to see a few more details on the man. He was tall, muscular, had short black hair and wore something that looked like a superhero outfit.

“For all I could tell, he was wearing pajamas. I still wasn't able to see that clearly.”

Shego eyed the man from top to bottom, and coughed slightly. She staggered to a completely dust-covered Coke machine a few steps away from the man, tore a hole in it with her claws, grabbed the first can within reach, popped it open, and took a few gulps. The man watched her calmly.
“Better, now?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you. It was just a little bit dusty in here.”
“Oh, sorry. It sometimes happens when you blast holes through concrete walls.”
“I'm sure it does. Oh, and by the way, who are you and why do you think you can keep me from stealing this dumb little cube?”
The man put his hand to his hip, made a clichéd gesture towards the sky, and proudly declared, “I am...La Maravilla Enmascarada!”
“Yes, uhm, you aren't masked,” said Shego, unimpressed. “And you did a nice job with the hole in the wall, and you are admittedly pretty handsome too, but calling yourself a marvel is probably a bit of a stretch. And a Luchadore already goes by that name.”
“Aw, crap. I'm still working on the name. It's tough to find just the right one. Well, you can call me Jack 'till then.”
“Okay...Jack. Why does a nonentity, nameless superhero like you think that he can get this legitimately-stolen thermo-nuclear flux-transmooker back to its rightful owner?”
Jack strutted to a lab table right in front of him.
“I'm not a superhero, I'm a villain. And I don't wanna give that thing back, I wanna steal it, just like you. We're after the same goal. But since we work for different employers, it looks like we'll have to fight for it. And if you'll pardon my saying, I'm a bit stronger than you. Watch out for the table.”
Jack picked up the heavy table and threw it directly at Shego, as though it were nothing more than a football.
Shego didn't move an inch. She just slashed it one time with glowing hands and, harmlessly, it splintered into a thousand pieces.
“I should be angry about this,” said Jack, “But for some reason I'm happy this evening is getting interesting.”
“I feel the same way.”
“Shall we have a drink first, before we begin?”
“Of course. The vending machine is already open.”

“And so began the longest and greatest fight of my life. Conventional wisdom always touted Kim Possible as the only person able to match my fighting skills. Well, that's not true. Jack was just as good as her, if not better. At least I never fought Kimmie thirty hours at a stretch! And despite his strength he didn't restrict himself to simple maneuvers. He didn't even use his superpowers while we fought! He knew at least four different types of Kung Fu, and even some martial arts styles I never even heard of! We fought all over the city! We fought each other on the streets, on rooftops, in bus stations, in hotels, in casinos, in restaurants, in elevators, on elevators, on escalators, and even in a fountain or two. And anyone who tried to stop us got a punch or two, too. Please don't get me wrong; I'm not masochistic or something, but like every good fighter I just love my adversary to test my abilities and limits. And this was the finest test of my life! Neither of us were about to surrender. In the end we were so exhausted, we flopped onto a park bench and slapped each other repeatedly—as if in slow motion. At least we tried to. At that point we couldn't really hit that hard anymore. And then we couldn't remember what happened the next fifteen hours. That particular blackout led to something I call 'The sitcom episode of my life'.”