Sheryl

This fanfic is kind of in response to a challenge mentioned by Chris the Cynic in the notes to her story "Fusion", and is directly influenced and inspired by that story. Actually, it's more a response to the story than it is to the challenge.

Ron and Shego are melded by DNAmy, in an attempt to recover Monkeyfist from his state as statue. It seemed a fun and interesting structure. In her notes, Chris mentions the morality of splitting the combined person back into the originals. That seemed something fun to explore, but that takes an actual writer, and I am not one.

Note that I have not actually read the challenge, and am not claiming to meet it. I just felt like writing the story.

I've labeled this as humor, but it isn't really going to be all that funny.

Usual disclaimer: I own nothing of the Kim Possible universe.

Chapter 1: That's gotta hurt

Fuck, that hurts. In fact, everything effing hurts.

All I knew, those first few seconds, was that I hurt all over. A clear, curved door was opening, and I slumped out of the cylinder in which I was half-reclining and sprawled onto the floor. A floor tiled in cheap vinyl, white and black checks. No taste. If a lab were built in the community center of a Midwest America trailer park, it might look like this lab. At least the tiles were cool against my skin.

And it was a lot of skin. I was naked. My breasts pressed against the floor, and I pushed myself up. The effort felt good, and I did a couple more push-ups, just for fun. The pain flared in my arms, then lessened as I did them. Maybe I just needed motion and exercise. I rolled to my feet and stood, to find a stout, remarkably plain woman staring at me from several feet away. Her haircut was at once ugly and boring, and it looked as if gorilla feet were peeking from beneath her long, shapeless skirt. She was smiling for all she was worth, delighted by something. Probably me, which struck me as odd. I don't know how I knew it, but I knew that people were not in general delighted to be in my company.

"Amy". I knew this woman. Amy Hall, known as DNAmy, the best genetic engineer on the planet, and deeply, seriously crazy. I didn't remember her, exactly, but I knew her. And if I were stumbling out of a machine in any lab with which she had anything to do, it could only mean that I had been the subject of one of her insane experiments. Anger flared reflexively as I realized that. I let my head rock on my shoulders, stretching my neck as I looked around the large room. The muscles in my neck and shoulders complained, but responded.

It was a lab, for damn certain. There were power distribution panels against one wall, messy worktables and blocky machines scattered about the floor, shelves stocked with jars and canisters with cryptic labels (far too many of which had the radiation hazard symbol, or the skull and crossbones of poison, for my comfort), and of course the three interconnected over-sized cylinders, with pride of place against the only uncluttered wall. Battleship grey, the universal color of bureaucracy and other bad ideas. Smoke curled lazily from the top of the central cylinder, the one from which I had emerged; all three were now empty. The room was big enough for a jai alai match, and too cramped with unidentifiable crap to dance a decent jig. There were no windows. There were several doors, one a wide roller door that had to lead either to the outside, or a wide hallway leading to the outside.

I turned my attention back to the fashion disaster beaming at me. Ugly plain skirt, ugly plain blouse, ugly plain glasses. The ugly offended me. You're a genius, for goodness' sake! You're fucking brilliant, in your own weird stupid little world of double helices and soup of life crap, and you wear plastic rims and skirts from Smarty Mart!

Not to mention the gorilla feet. That was just wrong. Sick and wrong.

"Amy," I said again. "What the fuck have you done?"

For a few more seconds she just looked at me, watching as I rotated my hips and tried to work the lingering pain out of my muscles and joints. I did a couple of squats, my knees flaring apart, and her eyes flickered over me. There was only scientific interest there. She watched the motion of my body with medical detachment. I walked to the middle of the lab, working my legs and testing my balance. A couple of monkeys in white coats watched me from perches on lab benches. I looked away from them. I hate monkeys.

"You look great!" she gushed. "How do you feel?" She continued to look me over.

"I hurt. Every cell in my body hurts. It's getting better, but not fast enough." My voice came out harsh, a little rough. I didn't recognize it. I stretched my arms out to my sides, rotating the wrists and elbows in what I recognized as exercises from martial arts classes.

"Oh, yes." She waved a hand, brushing off my complaint. "That's unfortunate. I'll work on that."

"Yeah. Good, you do that. But first. What. The fuck. Have you done?" I was getting impatient. And annoyed. I waved a hand to emphasize my frustration, and an aura of green flame burst into life around it. "Whoa!" This was cool!

"Oh, goodie!" Amy clapped her hands twice, ecstatic. "The glow works! Can you use the Monkey Power?"

I ignored her. I waved my right hand, making circles, leaving glowing green traces in the air. I made a figure eight, a spiral, a big sweeping 'S'. "Badical!" Amy watched, smiling and clutching her hands together. After a moment, I calmed down and remembered where I was. Or, more precisely, I remembered that I had no idea where I was, nor how I came to be there.

"Amy." This time I put a bit of threat in it. "Explain. Now." I swirled a bit of flame on my fingertips for emphasis.

"I told you before. Well, one of you." Now she looked perturbed.

One of me? This was getting worse with every word. "Tell me again." I spoke slowly and clearly. I emphasized each word. I glared at her. She took a step back and swallowed.

"Oh. Yes. Well, you see, I need to change my Monty back to human, you know. He must be so bored being stone." She looked at me, clearly expecting me to agree.

Again, I knew who Monty was. Lord Montgomery Fiske, possibly farther around the bend than Amy herself. I didn't know he was stone, but it didn't surprise me. He screwed around with mystic powers and magic and other things that really ought to be left alone. He wanted to be the monkey master. He could have them - I fucking hate monkeys.

"This involves me, how?"

"Well, first I thought I would just zipper him to a monkey. He always wanted to be more monkey, anyway. But he's all stone, and my genetic zipper only works on living beings. Stuff with DNA. So, that wasn't going to work." She paused, waiting for a sign that I was following. I gave her one. Not the one I wanted to.

"Go on."

"Well, it seems to me that the only power that could change my Monty back would be the Mystical Monkey Power. But I knew Ron wouldn't use it to save Monty. He hates Monty. And he turned poor Monty to stone in the first place! So I thought it was only fair that he help turn him back." Her eyes glowed with her madness. This, clearly, was supposed to make perfect sense. I didn't know who this Ron guy was, and I didn't care. I waited for Amy to continue.

"So I blended the two of you, to make you. You should have both his monkey power, and Shego's green glow. The glow will amplify the the monkey power. I think. Anyway, you don't hate Monty, and you can change him back, and then I'll turn you back into Ron and Shego!" She actually clapped her hands again.

"The two of who?" I was getting confused, which felt a whole lot more normal than I cared for.

"You. I mean Ron and Shego. Now you're you. And you can help Monty!"

I gaped at her, awestruck by her stupidity. "Did it occur to you that I may not want to change Monty back? He's nuttier than a pecan grove. And he's a jerk. Not to mention, fucking dangerous. Why should I help him?"

Amy looked surprised. She told me again, speaking slowly and clearly, as if to a child. "After you make Monty human again, I'll change you back into Ron and Shego."

I thought a minute. I didn't know Ron, and I didn't know Shego. For that matter, I didn't know me. But whoever I was, I kind of liked being it. Even if it hurt, which it still did, and which was still making me kind of grouchy. Which also felt kind of normal. And while I didn't know much about myself yet, I did know that I don't like being pushed around. And I was coming to learn that I apparently had a pretty quick temper.

"Yeah, about that. I don't fucking think so." And I spun up a ball of fire. I don't know how I knew it would work, but it felt completely natural as I filled the sphere with power and flipped it across the room. It flew straight and true to the central cylinder, from which I had spilled, and hit dead center. The resulting explosion was bright and surprisingly muted. The cylinder was left a pile of shattered plexiglass and smoldering slag, the smell of roasted electronics wafting over to us.

"Booyah!"