Summary : A future version of Kim Possible travels back through time to wreak bloody vengeance upon those who destroyed her life. Can Kim and Ron stop her rampage? Or will they, too, be caught in the crosshairs?
This is a revised release : I've been away from this story for quite a while, and now that I'm back, I've gone back through a tweaked a few things to better match what I've got planned. Sorry for the delays in continuing this story.
-------------------------------
KIM POSSIBLE: FUTURE IMPERFECT
Prologue
"What the Future Holds"
-------------------------------
Death lurked in the night.
An icy wind howled against the outside of the warehouse, causing crumbling ceiling trusses to groan in eerie harmony. A fine haze of dust drifted through the air, illuminated by the dim lights overhead, blown into spirals and whorls by chill drafts entering through boarded-up windows.
Mountains of containers and boxes dotted the interior like icebergs rising from a concrete sea, casting long, dark shadows upon the interior of the building.
A side door burst open and a man staggered through the opening. He was dressed in a long, slate-gray overcoat that was spattered with blood. A light blue scarf was wrapped around his neck, the blood-soaked ends blowing wildly in the wind that blew in through the doorway. His
balding head, only lightly fringed by a ring of silvery hair, was bare. His hands were gloved, the right holding a 9-millimeter pistol, the left a small metal sphere.
Unsuccessfully suppressing a violent shudder that had nothing to do with the near-zero temperatures, the man reached up and wiped his forehead with a sleeve, inadvertently smearing blood across his face. He then turned, put his shoulder against the door and - with no small
amount of effort - forced it closed, sealing out the freezing gale, sealing himself inside, away from the hunter that pursued him.
He turned quickly, eyes darting to and fro as he scanned the shadows, trying vainly to pierce the gloom with his failing eyes. Seeing nothing but shadows and darkness, hearing nothing but the roar of the storm outside, feeling nothing but the icy tingle of numbed flesh, the man staggered
deeper into the interior of the structure.
Reaching what he hoped was a secluded spot, he leaned against a wooden crate and gasped for breath, every exhalation billowing out in wispy clouds that hung over his head like a shroud. He cursed his clumsiness at dropping the satellite phone, but the suddenness of the attack had caught
him and his staff completely off guard. He snorted. What had once been his staff, at least. He doubted any of them were still alive. What a waste of talent. And he was next. His fist tightened around the pistol.
Somewhere inside the building, glass shattered. With it went the last of his resolve. He stepped away from the crate he had been leaning against and turned toward the door. A startled gasp escaped his lips as he stumbled backwards.
Standing before him was a shadowy figure, dressed entirely in a black form-fitting outfit. A similarly black bandolier covered with cargo pouches stretched from right shoulder to left waist, where it met a wide belt that was also studded with storage pouches. A close-fitting black hood
covered the individual's entire head, revealing nothing but a pair of eyes and a short ponytail of red hair that emerged from the back of the hood. Yes, definitely a "her" - the shapes and curves that the outfit revealed left little doubt in that regard. That fact did nothing to reassure him as she dropped down into a martial-arts stance with practiced, almost feline, ease.
"Wha-what do you want?" he stammered, stepping back. "Who are you?"
Saying nothing in return, the woman moved closer. It was then that he got a good look at her eyes. Those emotionless, unfeeling emerald eyes. Realization dawned. He'd heard stories - nightmares, really - about those eyes, and the woman behind them. The one everyone called "The
Reaper."
The world flashed red around him.
He screamed.
----
Global Justice agent Will Du raced across the street, followed closely by a squad of eight heavily-armed agents, praying that the moonless night and harsh weather would keep any civilians inside where it was nice and warm, and away from the operations area. As they approached the personnel door that opened into the warehouse he motioned silently. The squad split into two groups of four. One group continued to follow him, while the other broke off and sprinted towards the large overhead door in the distance. He ran up to the door and motioned again. The four agents following him assumed a standard opposed-entry formation.
He crouched in front of the door and pulled a small cylindrical device from his pocket. Placing one end of the thermal imager against the door, he leaned forward and looked into the other end. A quick scan of the building's interior revealed nothing unusual. He looked again and noticed
something he had missed the first time. A faint heat source, apparently human. In the distance, sitting on the ground and leaning up against an interior wall or other structure. He watched for several moments, but the shape did not move. Agent Du glanced down at his wrist-mounted
tracker - it was pointing inside the building.
Agent Du allowed himself a small smile as he pocketed the imager, then he keyed his throat mike. "Control, we have a potential posit on target Tango Victor Three. Sector three-zero-one-delta, grid reference nineteen alpha. Preparing to enter structure now."
"Affirmative, Agent Du," a female voice replied. "Proceed with caution. Intel indicates that target Kappa Romeo One may be in the area. Acknowledge?"
His eyes widened slightly at the news. 'Wonderful.' he mused silently. Control queried again. "Roger, Control," he said aloud, "We'll keep an eye out." He reached down for the door handle, paused, and slowly withdrew his hand. He turned and pointed to one of the squad members, then
at the wall. The agent stepped forward and brought a wide-barreled weapon to bear. Agent Du and the others turned away and there was a tremendous BANG! When he turned back he saw that a ragged, man-sized hole had been blown through the cinder block wall.
Agent Du nodded in satisfaction, pulled out a small submachine gun, then motioned towards the opening. He ran forward and leapt through the hole, with the rest of the squad following close behind. Weapon at the ready, he quickly scanned the area for any sign of potential threats as he
moved across the floor of the warehouse with the combination of speed and stealth that only many years of training could bring. The group quickly closed the distance to the target, which was hidden behind a tall stack of cardboard boxes.
As they neared the target's hiding place Agent Du detected the faint but unmistakable stench of burnt flesh. He frowned and motioned for two of his squad to circle around the right side of the stack, while he and the remaining agent moved to the left. He tightened his grip on his weapon
and stepped clear of the boxes.
"Damn," he breathed. "Damn it all."
Doctor Timothy Vector was indeed sitting with his back against the stack of boxes. He was also very, very dead. Smoke and steam rose from a fist-sized hole that had been burned through his chest. His head hung at an odd, impossible angle. His face bore the wide-eyed horror it had held
upon death. The half-melted remains of his pistol were still clenched tightly in his hand. The capsule, however, was nowhere in sight.
Agent Du spun around. "Search the area! We need to find that device, now! Move!" As the squad scattered he keyed his throat mike. "Control, we have a problem. Tango Victor Three is dead. We are searching for the data capsule now, but it appears that someone beat us to it."
"Acknowledged, Agent Du," came the reply. "Be advised that Bravo team has located the lab. The lab has been destroyed, and all personnel terminated."
He sighed. "I see. Any indication of the perpetrators?"
There was a significant pause. "Affirmative. The available evidence seems to indicate Kappa Romeo One as the likely perpetrator."
"Acknowledged. Out." He turned towards the body of Doctor Vector and quickly searched it, finding nothing but an unopened pack of cigarettes, a small Zippo lighter, and ninety-three cents. Sighing in frustration, he rose to his feet and waited for his squad to return. "Anything?" he called out.
"Negative, sir," came the reply. "One open roof vent, nothing more. Whoever else was here, looks like they're gone now."
"I figured as much." Agent Du pulled off his wool cap and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "She wouldn't stick around. Not her style."
One of his agents walked up. "Who's style, sir?"
Du replaced his cap. "Never mind, it's not important." Glancing around the silent warehouse he added, "What a mess."
----
The cemetery lay quiet, blanketed under a thick layer of snow that glittered in the daylight. Will Du walked solemnly among the headstones and burial vaults, hands clasped behind his back, following the single set of tracks that led through the snow. The steady crunching of his footsteps
echoed loudly through the still morning air. Fortunately, he had decided against attempting a stealthy approach.
The tracks seemed to pause at a headstone carved in the shape of an angel. The angel's hands had been cleared of snow, and a single white rose placed there. He glanced down at the name carved into the base of the marker. "Ah, Monique," he said. "Of course." He murmured a quiet prayer, then continued following the tracks in the snow.
Turning a corner, he spotted his quarry and slowly closed the distance. Stopping ten paces distant, he said quietly, "Hello, Kim."
"Will," she acknowledged, not turning from where she knelt in front of a black marble headstone, four white roses lying on top where the snow had been cleared away. "Fancy meeting you here."
"I know the significance of the date for you." He shrugged. "I thought I'd find you here." More softly, he added, "My condolences."
She didn't immediately reply. Instead, she rose slowly to her feet, eyes fixed on the graves in front of her. He took the opportunity to look her over. Dressed all in black, as usual. Knee-high riding boots. Denim trousers. Leather jacket. No gloves. A wool cap was pulled down over her
ears, her hair poking out from under it, not quite reaching her shoulders. Quite like her mother wore her hair. Well, used to.
She brushed snow from her knees before turning to regard him with a wary gaze. "What do you want?"
"To talk." he replied. She raised an eyebrow and he spread his hands, palms up. "Honestly."
She turned and began walking. "Talk is cheap."
He waited a beat before following behind her. "Not always. And besides, what could it hurt?"
"You'd be surprised." She looked back at him. "I've got things to do, so if you don't mind, spare me the pleasantries. What do you want?"
He paused by the headstone marking where her family lay interred and offered a silent prayer. Then he hurried to catch up with Kim, who had continued walking. "Like I said, I came to talk."
She chuckled humorlessly. "Somehow I doubt that. Considering what happened yesterday, I'd wager this is about Doctor Vector and his precious experiment." She stopped in front of another gravesite. Bending down, she began brushing snow away from the small stone marker, which lay flush with the ground. He waited silently as she worked. Then, apparently satisfied, she turned her head and looked at him, her face showing no emotion whatsoever. "You've come to stop me, right? Neutralize me? Isn't that what you call it?"
He paused, surprised at her bluntness. "That's not why I'm here," he said, hoping she didn't see through the half-truth. "What you've been doing, Kim, it won't bring them back." He motioned to the grave at her feet. "It won't bring him back."
"It's not about bringing them back, Will." She reached out and gently, lovingly brushed her fingertips across the name enscribed on the marker. "It's about justice."
"Justice, or revenge?" he asked.
"Is there a difference?" She smiled up at him. "Besides, how can it be revenge when all the people I would want to wreak my vengeance upon are long dead?"
"By your hand." He pointed out.
"Funny you would put it that way," she said, glancing down at her right hand and flexing the fingers. "Besides, does it really matter what I call it?" She pulled a small red rose from under her jacket and placed it gently atop the marker. "You've already made up your mind. Why else would you be armed?"
'Damn. So much for the element of surprise.' He shook his head. "This isn't about me, Kim. It's about them. It's about him. It's about you trying to make up for the sins of the past through murder and destruction."
"Sins of the past? So now it's a religious thing?" she laughed. "I lost my faith a long time ago, Will. In God, and in human nature."
"And that excuses what you've done?"
She shrugged. "You hear me making any excuses?"
"That's not what I meant." He took a step closer to her. "You said it yourself - all the people who did you wrong are dead. The ones who did this" he motioned to the cemetery around them, "are dead. Call it justice or revenge, they all paid their dues in blood. But you haven't stopped. You've gone mercenary on us, Kim. And for what? Justice? I doubt it." Will paused, briefly pondering the wisdom of what he was about to say. "The things you do now, it's about revenge. About making up for things that went wrong years ago. But it doesn't change anything, Kim. You can't change what happened. You can't change the past."
She spun to face him, eyes ablaze. "That's where you're wrong, Will. That's where you're wrong!" She rose to her feet and stepped towards him with such intensity that he almost fell backwards in surprise. "'The future is what you make it,'" she said. "I remember hearing that. Or reading it. Whatever. At the time I thought it was rather simplistic. But now... let's just say that I've learned to look at things a bit differently."
"I don't understand."
"Of course not," she replied. "I didn't understand either, not until recently. Not until I saw some of Vector's work. Saw the potential in it. It got me to thinking about my life. My reason for doing what I do. My purpose, as it were. Like you said, I can't bring them back, can't change what happened." Her eyes seemed to glow, glimmering even in the daylight. "Or should I say, couldn't."
His mouth went dry. He began to regret not asking for backup. "What?" he croaked.
"Global Justice funded him, Will. You mean to tell me that you don't even know what it was he was researching?"
"Well, yes, of course I know," he replied, mind racing. What was she getting at? "But his work was all theoretical."
"Wrong again, Will," she corrected, waving a finger at him. "He moved beyond theory a while ago."
Will felt his face go pale. "That's impossible. We would have known!"
"Suffice it to say the good Doctor was skilled at keeping secrets." She shrugged. "Well, from Global Justice, at least."
He swallowed with some difficulty. "And this means that you...?" he asked, leaving the sentence unfinished, dreading what she might say next.
"I'm going to save them. I'm going to save all of them. Doctor Vector made it possible. It was so nice of him to give me the key." She broke into a smile that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight. "He had such a good heart, don't you think? Shame I had to break it. Along with most of his ribs." She turned away from him, glancing down at the marker at her feet. "And his neck."
Will reached for his sidearm, suddenly convinced that the profilers had been all too correct about Kim's mental state. Before he could unholster the weapon she spun and brought her right arm up so quickly that it seemed to move in a blur. He found himself staring at her open palm, which flashed and was suddenly engulfed in a globe of roiling red flame. No, not flame, he realized. Plasma. She had a plasma generator. Damn.
He froze, then slowly spread his arms wide. "Upgrade?" he asked slowly.
"The wonder of modern prosthetics," she replied with a nod, the smile never having left her face. "Got the idea from Shego, took it a few steps further. Like it?"
"It's..." He hesitated, searching for an appropriate word. There had been nothing in any of the reports about a plasma generator. Apparently Doctor Vector wasn't the only person skilled at keeping secrets. "It's unexpected."
"I know. I like to be full of surprises. Keep people on their toes. That sort of thing."
"I noticed," he replied, wondering what else she was hiding. "What now?"
Her smile turned to a frown. "I don't know. I could kill you, I suppose. Probably be easier to kill you. You have a knack for finding me. It's annoying." Eyes focused on him, plasma-wielding hand never wavering, she slowly knelt down and, with her free hand, placed something else upon the marker.
"If you kill me, Global Justice will spare no expense hunting you down," he said slowly.
"They're free to try," she answered. "Lots of people have. Not that it did any of them much good."
"They will find you. It's only a matter of time, Kim."
"Exactly!" she exclaimed, startling him. "It's all a matter of time! Time! That's the key to everything! Nobody ever has enough of it. Never enough. Then along comes Doctor Tim Vector and now, well, I've got a lot of it to spare. Unlike, for example, you." A feral smile spread across her lips.
"Wait, Kim! You don't have to-" he shouted.
The plasma sphere flared into a blinding brilliance too painful to look at and he was forced to avert his eyes. A kaleidoscope of blazing colors danced in front of his eyes. "Then again," she continued, "Maybe I won't kill you. This time. 'The future is what you make it,' Will. I'm going to remake it. You'll see. I'll make it all good again. You'll see."
"But how-"
Her voice began to fade. "Goodbye, Will. See you around." Then, even quieter, "Look me up if you get the time."
"Wait, what does that mean? Kim?" he called out, blinking to clear his vision. "Kim!"
She was gone.
"Damn," he muttered. "Now what's she up to?" He walked over to the gravesite Kim had doted upon. "Forgive me, Ron," he said softly, peering down at the second item Kim had laid atop the marker.
A watch. Small, masculine style, brown and black in color. Nothing special about it. He picked it up, turned it over. On the back was enscribed "Doctor Timothy Vector. Congratulations. Love, Mom." Turning the watch back over, something caught his eye. Looking closer, he realized that the readout was counting backwards, running in reverse. He pressed a button, displayed the date.
Will Du stood bolt upright. "Beyond theoretical," he whispered. "Oh, no."
He turned and raced out of the cemetery.
He had to stop her.
If only he knew how.
----
End Prologue