Shego stared out the grimy window of the bus. Some dramatic exit. Villains got explosions and desperate escapes on, oh, hovercars or whatever. Heroes bought a damn bus ticket.
Other than that, she saw no difference in the sides anymore. It was just one huge stalemate. Attack, counterattack in an infinite cycle.
She could still just about hear the yammering in the classroom echoing around her head. No. She wouldnt do the mild-mannered secret identity thing. Not on your life.
So she was defecting. If it was all just a farce, a large-scale game of cops-and-robbers, shed rather be on the side that had fun and–while inherently flawed and doomed to entropy–was at least smart enough to have fancy lairs on tropical islands.
“Different Names For The Same Thing” – Death Cab For Cutie