As the villains retreated, Austin straightened his cravat. Foxxy Cleopatra dropped from the ceiling on a silk rope, striking a pose. "You did it, Sugar. You saved the moon."
Austin flashed a toothy grin. "Standard procedure, baby. Now, how about we find a spot with some decent fondue? I’m feeling hornier than a toad in a trombone factory!"
"My hamstrings! They are too tight for the boogie!" Goldmember cried, spinning into his own smelting vat.
"Careful, Mini-Me! He’s got the mojo!" Austin dodged the tiny terror with a flamboyant spin. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his secret weapon: a vintage 1970s disco whistle.
Suddenly, the floor hissed open. Out rose Dr. Evil in a hover-chair, clutching a tiny, golden-furred kitten. "Don't forget about me, Austin. I’ve reached a deal with Goldmember. He gets the moon, and I get... one trillion dollars ! Or at least a very generous gift card to Starbucks."
The year was 2026, and the world had moved on from velvet suits and chest hair—but Austin Powers had not. Thawed out once again for a mission of "global groovy-ness," Austin found himself in a neon-drenched Tokyo skyscraper, staring down his oldest, flashiest rival: .