The return from the Andromeda Galaxy was a masterclass in "Optimized Transit." One microsecond, Lexi and Monique were standing on a space station made of "Theoretical Glass" surrounded by trembling hyper-intelligent squids; the next, they were standing in the Possible backyard, the scent of fresh-cut grass and Professor Dementor's nearby blueberry muffins filling the air.
Lexi stepped off the Possible Protocol: Transit Node, her dark-matter gown shedding a few stray photons of starlight onto the lawn. She checked her holographic watch.
"Six point zero-seven seconds of Earth-time elapsed," Lexi murmured. "A 0.01 percent deviation from the projected return window. The Galactic Council's buffets are notoriously dense in their gravitational influence. It is... acceptable."
Monique exhaled, the violet 'Life-Anchor' pulse in her wrist steady and calm. "Andromeda was great, Lexi. Truly. But I think I've had enough 'Abject Submission' from cosmic entities for one weekend. I just want to sit on the couch and watch a movie where nobody is unmade at a molecular level."
"I have already pre-selected a series of 'Low-Stakes' romantic comedies with a 98 percent predictability rating, Monique," Lexi chirped, her "Cheerfully Terrifying" smile broadening. "It will be a restorative cognitive experience."
However, the "restorative experience" was immediately interrupted by a blur of red hair and frantic energy. Jim and Tim Possible—the Tweebs—burst from the back door, skidding to a halt in front of their hyper-genius sister.
"Lexi! You're back!" Jim shouted.
"We saw the violet light! We knew it was the 'Jump'!" Tim added.
Lexi tilted her head, her eyes scanning her younger brothers for any unauthorized biological anomalies. "Subject 3-A and 3-B. You are vibrating at a frequency that suggests you are about to make a request that involves a significant 'Resource Allocation'."
The Tweebs shared a look. "Well," Jim started, "since you gave Kim a 'Security Consultant'—"
"—and Ron has a 'Prehistoric Sombrero-Raptor'—" Tim continued.
"—and the world is like, 12 percent more organized—"
"—we were thinking..." they said in unison, "can we have a pet?"
Lexi blinked. "A pet? The 'Standard Domesticated Canine' is a 44 percent efficiency-drain on the household's sanitation protocols."
"Not a dog!" Jim corrected. "Something cool! Something from the 'Secret Underground Lab'!"
"Something mythical!" Tim begged. "Like a dragon! Or a manticore! Or at least something that breathes fire but is also cuddly!"
Monique looked at Lexi, her eyes narrowing in a warning "No" input. "Lexi, honey. Do not give them a dragon. Middleton is already dealing with 'Villain-to-Baker' transitions. We don't need 'Tweeb-to-Pyromaniac' escalations."
Lexi considered this, her fingers tapping against her chin. "Fire-breathing is indeed a 'High-Stakes' liability for seventh-graders. However, I have recently successfully bioengineered a 'Pocket-Sized Griffin'—specifically, a Gryphus Minimus—that has been genetically modified to purr at a frequency that induces 'Optimized Sleep' in human adolescents. It is also 100 percent hypoallergenic and has been officially registered with the Magical Council as a 'Non-Sentient Comfort-Hybrid'."
The Tweebs' eyes went wide. "A griffin?!"
Lexi reached into the spatial-folding pocket of her starlight gown and pulled out a small, fluffy creature. It had the head and wings of a miniature eagle and the body of a golden lion cub. It was wearing a tiny collar with a Possible Protocol ID tag.
"Meet 'Audit'," Lexi said, handing the creature to Jim. "I have capped its 'Predatory Instincts' at 0.04 percent. It will only hunt 'Unauthorized Dust Mites.' If you fail to maintain its 'High-Protein' diet of bioengineered kibble, it will emit a soft, judgmental chirp until the situation is rectified."
"He's awesome!" Tim whispered, as Audit began to purr, a sound that made the grass beneath their feet seem to relax.
"Lexi," Monique sighed, though she couldn't help but smile at the fluffy creature. "At least it doesn't breathe fire."
"It does, however, have the ability to teleport into a 'Temporary Pocket-Dimension' if it feels socially overwhelmed," Lexi added. "It is a very introverted griffin."
While the Tweebs were introducing Audit to the living room furniture, Kim and Ron were conducting their final "Bakery Audit" of the day. They had reached The Henchman's Hearth, a bakery run by a group of reformed ninjas who had previously worked for the Global Villain Syndicate.
"Everything looks... surprisingly wholesome," Kim said, using a scanner she'd borrowed from Lexi to check for hidden trapdoors. "No ninjutsu. No poison-gas rolls. Just a lot of very precise sourdough."
"Kim, you gotta try the 'Shadow-Scone'," Ron said, his face covered in crumbs. "It's dark chocolate, but it's so light it practically disappears in your mouth. It's like eating a delicious secret."
Rufus squeaked, currently sitting in a miniature flour-sack and wearing a tiny baker's cap.
However, as they left the bakery, Kim noticed something strange. A group of people was gathered on the sidewalk, wearing matching white lab coats that were suspiciously similar to Lexi's. They were carrying silver clipboards and speaking in hushed, reverent tones.
"And then," one of them whispered, "the Stabilizer said, 'Efficiency is its own reward.' And the Inquisitor was unmade. It was a perfect audit."
Kim froze. "Ron. Look at their coats."
"Ooh, chic," Ron said. "Wait. Is that a 'Possible Protocol' logo on their sleeves?"
Kim marched over to the group. "Excuse me. Are you guys with the Justice League? Or the Plumbers?"
The group turned, their eyes widening with a fanatical zeal. "You're the Sister of the Stabilizer!" one of them gasped, dropping his clipboard to kneel on the pavement. "Blessed be the 12 percent! The geometry of non-existence is a beautiful thing!"
Kim stepped back, her hand going to her Kimmunicator. "Uh, Ron? We have a problem. And it's not a 'Villain' problem."
"We are 'The Order of the Absolute Audit'!" a woman in the group announced, her eyes glowing with a fervor that made Kim's teeth ache. "We have dedicated our lives to the teachings of Lexi Possible. We believe that the world should be 100 percent optimized! We have started a religion based on 'Total Retribution' and 'Clerical Perfection'!"
"A religion?" Kim asked, her voice reaching a pitch of genuine dread. "Lexi doesn't have a religion. She has... she has a lab! And a lot of irremovable clerical errors!"
"She is the Sovereign Entity!" the man shouted. "She is the Auditor of the Void! We have already begun 'Optimizing' the local library! We have removed all books with 'Sub-Par' grammar and replaced the librarians with sentient staplers!"
"Sentient staplers?" Ron paled. "Oh no. It's spreading."
Back at the Possible house, Lexi was currently in Sublevel -2048, auditing the town's 'Social Cohesion' metrics. Her "Cheerfully Terrifying" smile was nowhere to be found. Instead, her expression was one of profound, clinical annoyance.
"Interface: Identify the 'Clerical Deviation' in the downtown sector," Lexi commanded.
"Aegis: Identifying," the synthetic voice replied. "A non-villainous group has formed a 'Theological Framework' based on your recent 'Malacor Incident.' They are currently calling themselves the 'Auditors of the Absolute.' They have achieved a 94 percent accuracy rate in mimicking your 'Clinical Tones'."
Lexi's fingers gripped the edge of the console. "Inefficient. Worship is a 100 percent waste of cognitive resources. It serves no purpose in the 'Stabilization' of the multiverse. It is merely 'Social Noise'."
Monique walked into the chamber, holding a cup of tea. "Lexi, honey. Have you seen the news? There's a group of people in the mall trying to 'Audit' the food court. They told the manager of Bueno Nacho that his cheese-sauce was a 'Violation of the Stabilizer's Aesthetic Standards'."
"They are 'Inefficient Fanatics,' Monique," Lexi said, her voice a cold, sharp rasp. "They have taken my 'Cautionary Tale' and converted it into a 'Mythology.' This is a 14 percent increase in the 'Public Annoyance' variable."
"You can't just erase them, Lexi," Monique said firmly, sensing the shift in Lexi's neon-violet eyes. "They haven't hurt anyone. They're just... really, really annoying. And they think you're a god."
"I am a Sovereign Autonomous Entity," Lexi corrected. "Godhood implies a 'Metaphysical Jurisdiction' that I find legally cumbersome. I am an Auditor. I do not want prayers. I want 'Optimized Data-Flow'."
The lab's alarm suddenly blared.
"Warning: The Magical Council and the Justice League Oversight Committee have initiated a 'Diplomatic Inquiry' regarding the 'Possible Religion.' They are concerned that Middleton is becoming a 'Theocratic Stronghold' for an 'Unauthorized Cult'."
Lexi stood up, her starlight gown rippling with stasis-energy. "Interface: Prepare the 'De-Escalation' burst. And Monique? Please tell the Tweebs to keep Audit the Griffin in his 'Pocket-Dimension' for the next hour. I am about to perform a 'Public Audit' that will be very loud and very, very judgmentally clinical."
The downtown square of Middleton was a nightmare of 'Optimized' chaos. The 'Order of the Absolute Audit' had set up a podium and were currently handing out 'Retribution Flyers' to terrified tourists.
"Behold the 12 percent!" the leader shouted. "For the Auditor shall come with her needle of disassembling, and the inefficient shall cease to be!"
Suddenly, the sky over Middleton turned a deep, neon violet. The air began to hum with a frequency that made the cultists' lab coats vibrate. A massive, holographic projection of Lexi Possible appeared over the square, her eyes twin voids of absolute, unwavering authority.
"CITIZENS OF MIDDLETON," Lexi's voice boomed, echoing through every speaker, every phone, and every sentient stapler in the town. "YOU ARE CURRENTLY IN VIOLATION OF GALACTIC COUNCIL CODE 904-C: UNAUTHORIZED THEOLOGICAL EXPLOITATION OF A SOVEREIGN ENTITY."
The cultists fell to their knees. "The Stabilizer! She speaks to us!"
"I AM NOT SPEAKING 'TO' YOU," Lexi's hologram said, her "Cheerfully Terrifying" smile sliding into a look of absolute, clinical disdain. "I AM PERFORMING A 'PUBLIC CORRECTION.' WORSHIP IS AN INEFFICIENCY. YOUR LAB COATS ARE OF 'SUB-PAR' MATERIAL QUALITY. YOUR CLIPBOARDS ARE UNREGISTERED. AND YOUR THEOLOGY IS A 'CLERICAL DISASTER'."
Lexi stepped through a portal in the center of the square, her starlight gown glowing. She didn't look like a god; she looked like an Accountant who had just found a billion-dollar error in the books.
"The 'Order of the Absolute Audit' is hereby disbanded," Lexi announced. "I have already filed 'Cease and Desist' orders with the Magical Council, the Infinite Realms, and the Plumbers. Any further attempts to 'Worship' the Possible Protocol will result in a 'Mandatory Re-Education' in the field of 'Basic Logic and Statistical Probability'."
She turned to the leader, her eyes flashing violet. "And if you ever audit a Bueno Nacho again, I will ensure that your 'Personal Credit Score' is relocated to a 'Temporal Vacuum' where it will remain at zero for the next three millennia. Do I make myself clear?"
The leader gulped, his fanatical zeal vanishing, replaced by a very healthy, very abject fear. "Yes... yes, Sovereign Auditor. Crystal clear."
"Excellent," Lexi chirped. "Aegis: Initiate 'Selective Memory-Dampening' for the 'Theological Variables.' Let us return to 'Standard Chaos' parameters."
With a pulse of violet light, the lab coats vanished, the flyers turned into confetti, and the cultists suddenly found themselves wondering why they were standing in the middle of the square holding clipboards.
That evening, the Possible household was finally, truly quiet. Jim and Tim were upstairs, fast asleep thanks to Audit the Griffin's 'Optimized Purr.' The mythical creature was curled up at the foot of Jim's bed, looking perfectly 'Low-Stakes' and fluffy.
Kim and Ron were in the kitchen, Ron eating a shadow-scone while Kim reviewed the final reports from the Justice League.
"The cult is gone, Lex," Kim said, looking at her sister. "Henderson says the Magical Council is 'Profoundly Relieved' that you didn't decide to actually become a deity. Apparently, the 'God-Bureaucracy' is even worse than the 'Genius-Bureaucracy'."
"I have no interest in 'Spiritual Jurisdiction,' Kim," Lexi said, leaning her head on Monique's shoulder. "It is too much paperwork. I much prefer the 'Autonomous Stability' of my current position."
Monique squeezed Lexi's hand. "And the Tweebs' pet? Is it going to stay 'Low-Stakes'?"
"Audit has already successfully optimized the house's dust-mite population by 14 percent," Lexi said, her eyes glowing with a faint, content light. "He is a very efficient griffin."
Suddenly, a judgmental chirp echoed from upstairs.
Lexi paused. "Ah. It appears the Tweebs forgot to refill Audit's 'High-Protein' kibble. Excuse me, Monique. I must go perform a 'Domestic Audit' on my brothers before the griffin decides to teleport the dining room table into the Ghost Zone."
As Lexi headed upstairs, her dark-matter gown trailing behind her, Kim looked at Monique. "You know, for a second there, I thought she was actually going to erase those cultists."
Monique took a sip of her tea. "She thought about it, Kim. For about six seconds. But then she realized that erasing them would require at least twelve different 'Life-Code' permits from the Galactic Council. And Lexi hates redundant paperwork even more than she hates inefficiency."
As the purring of the griffin filled the house, Middleton settled into a state of total, abject peace. The villains were baking, the cultists were confused, and the universe—from the Grumpy Auditors of Andromeda to the Tweebs' bedroom—was exactly 12 percent more organized than it had been six point zero-seven seconds ago.
Lexi Possible was happy. Her Anchor was safe, her family was asleep, and the only thing left to audit was the sourdough starter in the kitchen.
And for the most dangerous girl in the multiverse, that was the ultimate "Low-Stakes" win.