Disclaimer: Disney owns the characters and situations from Disney's Kim Possible that this was derived from, and I seek no profit in using them solely for my own (and others') entertainment.
Summary: One shot alternate take on "October the 31st." Did you notice that the Centurion Project was still on Kim's wrist at the end of the episode? There's a reason for that.
Pairing: None; Kim-Ron friendship.
Notes: A one shot based on the episode "October the 31st." This isn't the big story I have planned (eventually) as a spin off from the episode, but I've still had it in mind for quite a while since I had intended this to be a bonus or side story to that one. I've still got lots of works in progress, but this one was short, if a bit talky, and 'tis the season. Anyway... Happy Halloween!
"Doctor, I think she's waking up!"
Kim groaned, and squeezed her eyes more tightly shut. She ached all over, and while the woman's voice wasn't loud, it seemed to reverberate through her skull like a bass drum.
"Kimmie? Can you hear me?"
The strain in her mother's voice was obvious, and demanded a response. Despite the way she felt, Kim managed to mumble, "'m tired... let me sleep."
"Talk to me, Kimmie," Mrs. Dr. Possible urged. "You've been unconscious for almost a week."
"A week?" That shocking fact knifed through her general feeling of malaise, as Kim struggled to think what could have taken her out of action for so long. "What happened? I remember fighting Shego... No surprise there..."
Kim opened her eyes and began to blink as they immediately started to water. Even with the overhead lights switched off, the ambient level seemed much too bright thanks to the sunlight sneaking around the curtains in the windows, and the fluourescents coming through the doorway. "A week?" She tried to put a demand for an explanation into the question, but even to her own ears she simply sounded tired, the words mumbled and almost inaudible.
Instead of answering, her mother bustled about, checking the displays on several of the machines surrounding Kim's bed before gently dabbing her eyes clean with a tissue. "You've been very sick," Mrs. Dr. Possible finally admitted, once she'd exhausted the other tasks that could distract her from answering the questions.
"What happened?" Kim asked.
"It was the Centurion Project," she answered, pulling a chair up beside the bed. "You remember about that, right?"
Kim slowly nodded, and her eyes moved down to her wrist. Although her arm felt much too heavy to lift, even without moving, she could still vaguely see the metallic band that encircled her lower forearm lying atop the bedcovers.
Her eyes shifted away from her arm, ranging over the beeping machines that surrounded her as best she could without moving her head. She was shocked to see so much equipment filling almost all the available space in the generously sized room. "That's not a good sign..." she realized. "I'm in intensive care?" "Wha...?" Kim began, but couldn't quite manage to finish the question.
"What happened?" her mother guessed. At Kim's brief movement of her head, which she rightly interpreted as an attempt to nod, she explained, "Well, remember that the scientists who built it were trying to create a support system that would keep a soldier alive and healthy in a combat zone, and in this day and age that means one that could have many hazards - chemical, bacteriological or biological, or even nuclear. The idea being that if the combat armor could handle the decontamination and protection, there wouldn't be a need for a hospital facility or decontamination unit, and so on for the front line troops - meaning the soldier could stay in the field longer while remaining combat effective."
Kim cautiously nodded her understanding, and her mind seemed to become clearer as she continued to think. "Makes sense."
"But the model that was stolen - and ended up on your wrist - was only a prototype," Mrs. Dr. Possible pointed out, and Kim could hear more than a hint of bitterness as she added, "and the scientists who made it used some... shortcuts... when they built their 'cutting edge nanotechnology.'"
Kim's eyes widened. Her mother's air quotes around that last phrase seemed especially laden with mockery.
"Uh oh..." Kim thought. She struggled to sit up, then gave up when it proved to be beyond her current capacity. Eventually, she simply asked, "What shortcuts?" Even though she was feeling better, the question still sounded oddly breathy and weak.
Visibly forcing herself to remain calm, Mrs. Dr. Possible explained, "One of the effects of radiation poisoning, as well as some toxins and some types of biological attacks is genetic damage, and nanotechnology is theoretically one of the best ways to repair it. Now, in a fully functional, working production model, the Centurion Project would have the user's individual genetic profile - or could scan for it if a new user wore it - and it would correct any anomalies found based on that individual's unique genetic pattern.
"But that's the plan for the production model. The prototype isn't nearly that advanced; it only monitors some predetermined, 'universal' sections of the genetic code that would be found in all the test 'pilots,' more as a placeholder for the code that will eventually be in place, rather than as a true working test model - although the scientists were quick to point out that the scanning enhancement was planned to be implemented in the next version."
"So what happened?" Kim asked faintly.
Mrs. Dr. Possible sighed. "Simply put, the Centurion Project determined that you had suffered a devastating genetic breakdown, and, once it determined that you were no longer in a hazardous environment, set out to fix the damage. It wasn't your embarrassment at being caught in your lies that shut down the combat armor mode, it was the activation of the ABC repair protocols."
"'Devastating genetic breakdown?'" Kim's blood seemed to freeze in her veins as she quietly parroted the chilling phrase.
"Since the Centurion Project didn't have a baseline template of your original genetic code, it obtained a sample from an uncontaminated source," Mrs. Dr. Possible paused, then asked delicately, "Do you remember hugging Ronald?"
Kim slowly nodded, still feeling better physically, even if her emotional and mental outlook was eroding.
"Using the scan of Ron's DNA as a template, the Centurion Project began to initiate 'repairs' to the 'damaged' portion of your genetic code."
Wincing, Kim mumbled, "Oh, boy..."
"After you collapsed, we rushed you to the hospital - which wasn't difficult, since we were in the parking lot. You've been receiving a virtual soup of minerals and fluids intravenously ever since. We had to catheterize you - twice, actually - but considering everything that was happening, it was very much the lesser evil."
"That explains one thing at least," Kim thought, feeling relieved to hear an explanation for why she was feeling distinctly odd in an indelicate location. "Am I...?"
"You're fine, now, dear," Mrs. Dr. Possible smiled, and even though it was a bit strained, there was still a wealth of relief in it. "Even though your potassium levels spiked dangerously low, and it was touch and go a time or two until we found the right mix of compounds to, for lack of a better phrase, 'keep the nanobots happy,' it looks like you're finally out of the woods."
"Great," Kim muttered. "Ron as a template?" she wondered. Her eyes rolled up, but no matter how she turned them, she couldn't quite see her bangs. "So what 'genetic breakdown' got fixed? Am I a blonde now? Or did my eyes turn brown? Ooh, can I cook now?" she asked, imbuing an utterly false sense of casual curiosity into her voice that was ruined by the occasional quaver that leaked through.
Despite her best effort to remain optimistic and cheerful, Mrs. Dr. Possible unconsciously winced. "It's... a bit more profound a change than any of those, Kimmie - well, except maybe for the cooking. You see, the genetic monitoring routines were comparatively... high level," she explained, her hands fluttering as she unconsciously tried to illustrate her explanation. "Um," she began, then hesitantly added, "they're... really at the chromosomal level."
Kim's eyes widened, and she croaked a startled, "Nooo..."
"If it's any consolation, the Centurion Project's research team has been very happy with the results." Mrs. Dr. Possible winced a bit as she added, "They say you've advanced the technology a decade or more - which I suspect is more of an explanation for their satisfaction than your survival. Regardless, they're covering all your medical bills, and have offered you a job as a test operator once you graduate," Mrs. Dr. Possible added. "At least it means the change doesn't necessarily have to be permanent.
She smiled; it was a bit sickly, but still a valiant effort. "And I've hardly been able to keep Ron away. He's still your friend - that hasn't changed at all. And that's a good thing, since we've been having him keep touching the Centurion Project to prevent a potential mixing of genetic templates and to keep the base pattern unaltered in the project's programming. He's been very sympathetic and understanding, and has stuck by your side the whole time..." Under her breath, she mumbled, more to herself than to her offspring, "Not like that 'Josh' fellow."
"Chromosomes... Ron as the template... Catheterized twice..." The hints her mother had been so delicately offering as an explanation for the changes seemed to echo through her mind, drowning out the rest of her mother's explanation.
Breathing heavily, Kim forced her arms to move, despite the loginess weighing down her limbs. "Why would you need to recatheterize someone," she realized, "unless the plumbing the catheter had been connected to... changed?"
Kim slowly lifted her bedclothes, as her mother reluctantly helped. She looked under the covers, down the length of her unclad body and confirmed her fears.
And when she screamed, and discovered that her voice had shifted registers, becoming a pleasant tenor, she screamed some more. Finally, stressed beyond measure, she fainted.
"She... er, He took that well," Mrs. Dr. Possible muttered as she tucked the covers more securely around her offspring.