Chapter 2
June 6th, 1996
5:48 AM CST
A light drizzle diffused the blood and effluents oozing from the ruin of a man, crumpled in a trash-strewn Go City alley. Limbs and torso lay in a fallen heap, an occasional puff of vapor near some broken teeth and a weak mewling sound indicating the shattered hulk still lived. Sizzles and ozone flowed from a lithe figure crouched sumo-like above the pummeled body.
Great bursts of steam boiled off Shego's hands and shoulders, her raven hair plastered to her face with exertion and rain. She stood fixed above the ruined goon, her chest heaving, otherwise motionless. Rainwater drooling from leaky gutters and Shego's panting were the only other sounds in the deserted ghetto.
Her hands remained poised over the heap as if grasping a hidden ball, fingers splayed wide, every muscle taut, every tendon and sinew in her body stretched to the limit. Slowly, the young woman's deep breaths slowed, the gasps less labored, and her form straightened. Tiny rivulets of misty rain cascaded around her almond-shaped eyes and across the hard line of her mouth to drip unnoticed off her sharp chin. The face was beautiful, but the expression was terrifying. Bright green eyes stared down.
Oh... my... God... That was incredible!
Stepping away from the mangled henchman, loose teeth crunching unnoticed beneath her boots, she backed into a sooty brick wall and rested her shoulders against the grimy brick. Her shaking legs surprised her. The release from the last five minutes was the most intense, the most surprisingly sensual experience she'd ever had. Eyes closing, Shego relived the last few minutes, and the deep satisfaction she felt at seeing fear, then terror, rise in the goon's eyes as she pummeled him with blow after blow, long after he'd surrendered completely. She'd been sent by her brothers as an enforcer, to pump the thug for information about his superiors… but once she'd started punching, she found she just couldn't stop. The physical and emotional release of nearly driving the life from this henchman of a low-level villain filled Shego from boots to eyebrows, and her fingertips felt alive with an electricity altogether different than her usual plasma glow. Every inch of her skin felt hypersensitive, and the waterproof black-and-green outfit slid against her body with breathtaking sensuality as she breathed.
Her brothers would be here soon. The idiots would swoop in, as usual, expecting her to have made the collar for them so they could swipe glory and headlines. They had no idea what she was capable of, what she could - and would - do. Their narrow worldview couldn't encompass the kind of ecstasy she'd just experienced. Better not to be here when they finally stumbled into the alley.
Pushing herself upright on slightly wobbly legs, Shego peeked around the corner and made sure no one was near. With her newly-bolstered self-confidence, she strode out into the side street, never looking back.
Never looking back... Shego grinned to herself. The feeling – which was culminating in what she was about to do – had been building for months, she now realized. She'd been unconsciously planning the act for weeks, but it'd been vague. Hazy. Unclear. But now that pile of human muck behind her revealed her way out with the blinding snap-clarity of a spotlight. Her path was clear, her choice was made; she felt lighter and more real than she had in years.
It was an incredible twentieth birthday present.
In one lithe, expert movement, she swung a leg over the saddle of her waiting motorcycle and settled into the seat. The ignition flared, a thin, choking keen. Then the high roar of the souped bike's 1340 cubic centimeters boomed off the sheer sides of the urban slot canyon around her. Torquing the throttle, she gunned it hard, just for the hell of it, leaving a thick black patch of melted rubber on the wet pavement. Wind snapped her long, rain-heavy black hair back as she thundered onto a main avenue, then sliced through an onramp onto I-290, on her way out of the city.
Tightly gripping the handlebars, Shego hunkered close to the tank as her modified Suzuki crotch-rocket swished past morning traffic as though it was standing still. She was in no danger of being stopped by a cop - they were accustomed to seeing her zoom around the city, usually in hot pursuit of some bad guy or other. They knew her aggressive yet skilled riding wouldn't be a danger to the citizens of Go City.
Skimming a sea of pale expressway under a pasty gray dawn, she swished gentle s-curves around other oh-dark-thirty commuters, playing chicken with side-view mirrors.
Speed and the thrill of threading heavy traffic always made Shego feel more alive, helped bleed the pent-up tension from her athletic body, but today even this usually visceral entertainment paled in comparison to what she'd just done. She used the time on the road to mull over what to do next.
She couldn't go back to that stupid island tower; that was for sure. After seeing the gory puddle she'd left back in the alley, Hego and Mego would want answers. After puking their guts up first, Shego thought with satisfaction. Wusses. It wasn't as if this would be a complete surprise to them; even a moron as dense as Hego should have been able to notice the increasingly violent glee with which his sister attacked the "bad guys".
But she was certain they wouldn't let it go. They'd never understand. And she didn't feel like wasting her breath.
So time for her to go. She go. Apropos, she thought. The thrill of publicity and attention she received as a hero had waned long ago. Hego, and especially Mego, seemed to live for the glare of the flashbulbs and video camera, where even their dumbest comments (and there were a lot of those) garnered front page ink. After the first year of hero work, Shego stuck to the background, even forgoing the idiotic mask the rest of Team Go affected. She was always in character.
Which took a toll, she admitted to herself as she wound through a nearly-stationary traffic snarl. Boys were intimidated by her athleticism, her sarcasm, her brains, and not least her penchant for punching holes in cement walls when angry. The whole "hero" schtick didn't help either, putting her on a pedestal that few males her age had the stones to approach. Which was probably why she decided to take up gymnastics and judo. The straining and physical exertion was a release from the always-building tension. It continually took longer to dissipate the energy her young body produced, took more physical effort to calm the knots in her shoulders, the spasmodic clenching of her powerful hands. She'd pushed herself harder and harder, becoming an expert in physical movement and combat, and it worked - to a point. Dangerous, speed-filled pursuits had helped too. Lately, though, those releases had been less effective, less powerful. Nothing she did completely relaxed her anymore.
Except the vicious pummeling of that goon.
He'd deserved it, she knew. He was of the "stealing-candy-from-a-baby" class of beetle-browed petty criminal, without the brains or ambition to do anything except what some slick underworld boss ordered. Messing him up had been a favor for the gene pool. Nothing about her attack generated any pity within Shego, which surprised her a little. She felt no remorse. Just deep satisfaction. She knew she'd do the same again, and gladly.
The freeway split, and she took I-88 at random, continuing west. The wind and rain had chilled her, so she stretched even tighter against the body of the cycle, chin almost touching the speedometer dial, lowering herself out of the frigid slipstream and into the eddy created by the tiny windscreen.
The highway divided yet again. Deciding that her previous left had felt good, she carved another low, sweeping left onto I-355 and finally settled onto I-55.
Blurred suburbs flowed past, eventually changing to boring farmland and genteel estates. Shego had no idea where she'd end up, but right now, riding on, pushing on, felt instinctively like the right thing to do. She had no other personal possessions that would cause her to return, no reason to go back to the tower in the harbor. Below her in the under-seat compartment, she carried a Jansport stuffed with standard on-patrol equipment: survival gear for roadside emergencies, her wallet and credit cards, a brick of cash (used for bribing her way out of unpleasant situations, if her preferred method of blowing the place apart would have ended badly), several fake passports for undercover assignments, and a tiny synthetic sleeping bag, crammed into a compression sack, for stake-outs. Armed with a rechargeable credit card, she could stay out indefinitely.
She smirked a little as she glanced at the date on her digital watch, the digits distorted by tiny mist droplets clinging to the glass face. The significance of it had never impressed her until now, and the irony was sweet.
June 6th. D-Day. Liberation Day.
Go City had seen the last of Shego.
She sped on with the rising sun at her back.
Fed by the still-throbbing heat of parched asphalt, tiny dust devils whispered around the gas pump while Shego filled her bike's tank. So ancient its readout wasn't even digital, the pump squatted in the center of a small, sparsely-populated parking lot in front of the town's only diner. Shego eyed a yellowed plastic sign and its shаttered neon guts with distaste; even the term "greasy spoon" was too good for this ancient dive. Greasy spork, maybe. Greasy used plastic spork.
But her stomach reminded her how long ago her pre-patrol breakfast in Go City had been. The day had flown as fast as she had; more than twelve hours of hard riding now separated her from that rainy sidestreet alley. Lethargically, she fitted the sleek cap firmly back onto her bike and plunked the battered gas nozzle back into its rusty cradle. Avoiding the peeling paint above the bent door handle, Shego walked into the diner and took a seat at the counter. About half the booths were filled, mostly with truckers whose rigs rested on the cracked pavement outside. A few yokels, out on "the town", noisily gossiped between booths while their scruffy children ran between tables playing tag.
Besides Shego herself, only one other person looked out of place in this dive, a young man a bit older than Shego but on the opposite end of the cool spectrum. He didn't have a pocket protector, but that was about the only thing missing. He sat huddled in a corner booth, shadows from the dusty air mostly cloaking him. A mud-flecked taupe backpack slouched beside him against the vinyl seatback. Shego wouldn't have noticed him if she hadn't been accustomed to doing a threat assessment wherever she went.
"...Nice outfit, sweetie," a cracked voice said from the other side of the pitted counter. The waitress tossed a menu in front of Shego. "Special's on th' front, we're outta the sirloin." Shego looked at the waitress, and was surprised to see how young she was under the wrinkles and crow's feet. The sun - and time - had not been kind to this woman.
The menu was nearly as ancient as the establishment, food stains covering the paper and nearly obscuring the dessert list, such as it was. The thin paper had soaked up so much spilled grease that it was almost translucent, like parchment. Holding the brittle paper up to the evening light that streamed in through a grimy window, Shego could see the type on both sides. Absolutely nothing looked interesting, despite her growing hunger.
She sighed. "...I don't suppose you have any salads," she asked, without much hope. "...Or Jello, even." Even wearing gloves, she handled the toxic menu gently, pushing it away with distaste.
Gum popped behind the waitress' nicotine-stained teeth. She looked deep in thought, then told Shego, "I... think we may have somethin', hold on and lemme check... Want something to drink?" Shego asked for a diet cola, not trusting the water, and nodded when the waitress suggested a day-old Caesar salad. She just hoped it had been refrigerated.
While she waited for whatever horror the salad turned out to be, Shego leaned back into the cracked low-back vinyl stool and thought about where she was going. Not anywhere in particular, and most certainly not here, not for long. She didn't think she was running from anything, but she really had no idea where she was going to.
Anywhere that her brothers weren't was a good start.
It wasn't like she had any permanent commitments. Her only family was a gaggle of self-involved goofballs, and her parents were long gone. Nor did she want for money; her share of rewards from nabbing various criminals amounted to a comfortable sum in her Swiss bank account. Of course, that hadn't stopped her from swiping gas during two stops earlier today... she shivered a little at the thrill of petty thievery. So much better than mindlessly following the herd; playing by somebody else's rules. It didn't compare to the whupping she'd given the goon early this morning, of course. But it was definitely the chocolate icing on her cake of freedom.
So for now, head west. It was certainly sunnier than the windy city she was used to.
Highway 55 had turned into I-44 long ago, and I-44 had become... she'd forgotten, and really didn't care. Highway cruising had become boring, and she'd turned off onto a smaller state road a few hours ago. She'd continued on her westward push, having no interest in the hot, sticky, humid climate of the Deep South. Doing a quick review of her ride, she dead-reckoned she was somewhere near the border of Arkansas and Oklahoma. The Ozarks, for certain; the winding highway had made for slower going, and she was unused to mountain riding, though it did not present much of a challenge in terms of technical skill. But beyond that... she had no idea.
Now she had time to stop and think, she wondered if she was unconsciously drawing herself toward the pulse of Las Vegas, or, slightly less tackily, Los Angeles.
Los Angeles, she decided firmly to herself, the conclusion so strong that she actually nodded. The city was big, crime-ridden, and she could slip through the cracks easily.
Her salad arrived in a chipped plastic bowl, wilted and sad. It was better than nothing, barely, so Shego gagged it down with liberal swigs of soda. Not the greatest combination, and it definitely gave her cramps, but she did feel better after wrestling it down.
The sun was low enough on the horizon to stream directly into the diner's windows, but Shego wasn't tired. And there was no power on the planet that would keep her here in Podunk any longer than absolutely necessary. The town – and she used the term liberally – was nestled in the bottom of a river valley, and consisted of a single string of dingy buildings lining one side of the state highway, sprouting from a strip of sandy, chalky soil between the highway and an adjacent river like so many weeds. She'd only stopped because the mountains had eaten more of her fuel than she'd expected, and she didn't want to be stranded out in the middle of nowhere once night fell.
She watched a large group of yokels drag their whelps out the door and was contemplating whether or not to stiff the waitress when she saw two burly thugs thump through the doorway. They weren't truck drivers, not wearing matching maroon dusters, black leather gloves, and thick nylon utility belts. After an initial en garde, Shego sized them up and immediately settled down. She could take them, singly or together, without getting out of the stool. The only way they could hurt her was if she let them fall on her. They were big pieces of meat, but the way they moved spoke more of pig than steer. Without the brains or grace of either animal.
The pair stopped just inside the door and thoroughly scanned the interior. Their presence was soon noticed and conversation stuttered into silence. One goon gave a grunt and lumbered toward a dark corner where Shego had earlier spotted the pencil-necked geek. The second followed his partner, and both stopped in front of the sandy-haired young man, who was desperately looking for a way past the duster-clad menaces, surreptitiously squirming into his backpack's shoulder straps.
The first maroon goon spoke. "We kin do this th' easy way or the hard way… And we've decided it's gonna be th' hard way." His speech was slurred, slow and low. But it was better than his partner, who apparently only had enough gray matter to nod. The object of their wrath tried backing ever deeper into the filthy vinyl-covered bench, which wasn't having any of it.
Shego watched the show, along with the rest of the diner's patrons, but was conflicted. Her hero training urged her to step up and chuck Thing Two and Thing One through a window, thereby improving the interior decoration. But her newfound independence kept her in her chair, watching. She had no skin in this game, and was content to see how it played out. Kind of too bad, she thought, since the geek wasn't actually bad looking, if in need of a shower and new wardrobe.
But he was wilier than she'd thought. Surprising the meat squad by lunging first left, then right, he went boneless and slid underneath the table, emerging between two chunky sets of legs. He scrambled to his feet, patent leather shoes scrabbling on the ancient food-stained linoleum, and powered toward the door just ahead of his pursuers. His path took him near Shego, who swiveled to watch him flee. Just as he reached the door, the thugs came abreast of Shego and the second one flailed his arms, trying to keep his balance on the dirty floor. One meaty hand latched onto one of the backrest tines of Shego's barstool and wrenched wildly, unbalancing the top-heavy chair. Shego crashed to the ground and the stool came down on top of her, tangling her up in its long legs.
"I… don't… think… so!" she snarled, blowing apart the chair and sprinting through the door. All thoughts of paying for her food had disappeared.
Her retribution didn't take long. Before the first thug even knew his compatriot was down, Shego bounded over the limp form of the second thug and pulled the first off the geek, who had tripped on a large crack in the asphalt. One punch did the trick, and she didn't even have to light up her plasma.
The goon's head sounded like a hollow coconut when it bounced twice against the blacktop.
Unexpectedly, another set of arms wrapped around her from behind. Before she could fling them off, she heard a breathy "Thank you!" in her ear. She turned her head to see a mop of greasy hair and a big smile. He kissed her cheek. "Thank you!" he said again, and let her go.
"I-I didn't know they followed me, or could follow me, I thought I was home free, y-you know? And then they came stomping in like they wanted to pound me into the pavement, and I didn't know what to do and I would've probably been killed if you hadn't saved me!" It all came out in one long breath, which Shego didn't even try to interrupt. "Can I come with you? Please?"
Shego frowned, wiping off his kiss with the back of her hand. "You're joking."
"No, really, look, I'm serious, I took the bus here and the next one isn't due for hours and hours and they'll come around and then if I'm still here they'll get really mad..." Shego put a black-gloved hand over his running mouth to shut him up. His eyes darted around the parking lot and came to rest on the sleek black and green motorcycle parked by the gas pump. Backing toward the bike, he gushed, "I can ride second, you won't even notice me!"
The parking lot was beginning to fill up with gawkers, including the waitress, who waved a slip of paper of Shego. "Your bill! You've gotta pay your bill!" Behind her in the restaurant, people were goggling at the smoking wreckage of what used to be a barstool.
That was enough to make Shego want to leave, immediately. "Fine, hop on, but watch where you grab – or they'll call you Lefty, got it?" In three strides, Shego was on the bike and brought it to life. Her unwanted passenger hopped on behind her with surprising speed and grace and tightened his backpack tight against his thin shoulders. Tires squealing, Shego sprayed the dismayed waitress with gravel on her way out of the parking lot.
Shego had cruised past the town's dilapidated, paint-chipped police station on her way into town, and her lone potential adversary was a rusty black-and-white Chevy Caprice that she doubted could do zero-to-sixty in six hours. Still, years of fighting crime had taught her that complacent criminals were the ones that got caught, and she put thirty miles of hard, fast riding behind her before she eased off the gas long enough to talk with her passenger. "...So," she said over the slipstream, "Why were those goons after you? Did you, like, tie their shoelaces together, or call them a cute couple?"
The answer was a long time coming. At first, Shego thought his silence stemmed from her maneuvers at twice the 45-mile-an-hour speed limit. However, as the seconds lengthened, she noticed he was not quivering, and realized he was thinking.
"I... used to work for a guy," he said at last, carefully picking his words, "But... it turned out he wanted to use my inventions, my work, to do really bad things... So I quit. But I don't think he took my resignation well. I... think he thinks I know things that could hurt him. ...Not that I ever would!" he added hastily to Shego's hungry look, "…But I don't think he wants to offer me an advance on my retirement plan, if you know what I mean."
"…Nice." Shego shrugged indifferently and concentrated on driving, a little disappointed he hadn't gone into more detail on the "really bad things."
Night fell quickly once the sun dipped below the valley walls, and though it was only June, the temperature dropped rapidly. It wasn't a problem for Shego, but she could feel her passenger's grip tighten, and she thought she felt him start to shiver. He had no coat.
They passed up and over two ridges of mountains in quick succession, and as she coasted down the back of the second ridge, the reflective tape of a roadside sign reared out of the gathering twilight. Squeezing the brakes slightly to dampen road noise, she pointed toward the advertisement. "I'm gonna stop at that motel up ahead...." They'd ridden at least forty miles from the diner, distance enough to pull over. "You can get a room, or something... and I've gotta use the restroom." He half-nodded, half-shook his assent.
The motel could've been a twin of the dilapidated diner they'd visited earlier. The two-story structure, tastelessly dolled up to look like a German timber-frame hostel, was wedged into a small bowl valley a river had carved eons ago. Shivering, her passenger stumbled off the bike and into the coffin-sized reception area. In the meantime, Shego stuffed the contents of cycle's under-seat compartment into a backpack and wheeled the bike around to the back of the motel, out of sight of the main road. Finding a quiet moment to herself, she leaned the bike against a thick decking post and sighed. This wasn't the ideal place to spend the night, that was for certain; but then, she realized she hadn't really considered where she'd sleep once the sun went down...
I guess the twerp's got his uses... she thought, shaking her head with a slight smile as she locked the bike against the post with a chain.
Walking back around front, she entered the lobby to find her passenger in the process of registering a room. The proprietor, a short, ratty-looking man with thinning brown hair, looked up from the front desk as a set of bells above the front door tinkled softly. His eyes widened slightly as he took in Shego's figure. Seemingly putting two and two together, he glanced quickly from Shego, to her passenger, then back to Shego, and his face broke into a singularly nasty leer. Her rider, absorbed in the paperwork, didn't notice the exchange.
Shego leaned sultrily against the desk, forearm resting on the chipped faux-wood veneer. As she winked heavily at the proprietor, neither he nor her rider saw her slip her left hand forward.
The receptionist's lewd sneer wilted and disappeared as Shego crushed his hand against the tabletop and began hyperextending his fingers. He squeaked and tried to pull back, but Shego kept his palm clamped to the desk and continued inexorably bending upward until she was reasonably sure she was on the verge of breaking his fingers. As the receptionist's mouth formed a wavering, softly-wimpering little circle and his eyes watered, Shego leaned forward until their foreheads almost touched. "...Sick little minds get them-selves into trouble..." she murmured, just loud enough for him to hear, rhythmically punctuating her words with pulses of pressure. The owner nodded frantically, face whiter than her own.
"...And not a word… we were never here..."
He nodded swiftly again, neck on a spring.
She smiled twistedly and released his fingers. "Good man..." The proprietor yanked his hands off the desk and backed into the wall two or three feet behind him, cradling his fingers and gasping.
Ignoring him, Shego leaned over her passenger's shoulder and saw he had rented a room as "Sheldon Smith."
"All done?" she whispered.
"Yeah… Just finished." He looked up and smiled cheerfully at the innkeeper, who tremulously handed him the room key, his eyes locked fearfully on Shego. He accepted the money tenderly from Sheldon, wincing as he worked the cash register with his traumatized hand. Giving the innkeeper a happy wave, Sheldon slipped the keyfob in his pocket and made his way up the stairs toward the room.
"...And, please, please, don't tell me that's your real name," Shego muttered, following him. There were no public restrooms; she'd have to use the one in his room. "But don't get any ideas," she growled as he turned the key.
As the door swung inward to expose the accommodations, Shego did not have her expectations exceeded, and she was glad she'd set them low. The room was dark, dingy, low, and continued the heavy half-timber theme. It couldn't have been more than twenty feet wide by fifteen long; the short wall formed part of the hallway, the door crammed in the bottom left corner of the room. The bed, a twin extra-long, was located slightly off-center against the right wall. To the right of the bed, a slim door opened into a tiny bathroom.
Furnishings were sparse. There was a wardrobe between the left wall and the bed's footboard, leaving a four-foot isle between the two. A small nightstand stood to the left of the bed, but beyond that, the room was bare. There was no carpet. Perhaps the only thing nice about the room was that it afforded a surprisingly good second-story view of the river floodplain through a jettied bay window.
Grimacing, Shego dumped her backpack beside the wardrobe, stripped off her gloves, and made her way to the bathroom.
When she emerged a few minutes later, Sheldon had turned on the lone overhead light and was tidying up the bed. Shego wasn't certain if she just preferred moonlight; the weak, yellowish overhead light highlighted the appalling state of the wallpaper.
Sheldon turned around as he heard her reenter. "Oh... hey." He gestured toward the bed, palm open. "...Do you want it? I think it's a double, but with the two of us, it'd be kinda, uh... be kinda tight..." He fumbled with his shirt collar, looking embarrassed he'd considered that sleeping arrangement, but recovered. "So... I'm fine with sleeping on the floor, if you want."
Shego arched her eyebrows, slightly touched by his offer. "Thanks... but..." she eyed the stippled, less-than-white sheets with disdain, "Dunno how long you've been around the block, but there's no way in hell I'm trusting motel linen…"
Digging in her backpack, she retrieved the sleeping bag stuff-sack, loosened the compression straps, and opened the roll-top. At her tug, the synthetic bag slithered out of the bag, expanding like a foaming magic trick. Snapping it once like a whip to revitalize the loft, she wafted it to the floor between the wardrobe and the foot of the bed. Dust bunnies scurried under the bed as it radiated a ripple of air at landing.
Smoothing out the bag's wrinkles, she looked up at him. "Floor ain't the greatest, but I've bunked on worse… So, hey, be my guest. Bed's yours."
"Thanks..." said Sheldon, now looking at the bedding with second thoughts. He gave the mattress a bump with his hip to square it with the metal bedframe. Digging under the comforter, he drew the top sheet forward and stuffed the loose end under the pillows, covering up unappetizing undersheet. Nodding happily to himself, he trotted into the bathroom and proceeded to brush his teeth with an immaculate travel toothbrush he withdrew from the chest pocket of his polo. Shego joined him a few moments later, declined the offer of his toothbrush, and scrubbed the front of her teeth with an index finger.
Finishing, Sheldon swung around the doorframe and popped into bed, fully clothed, and pulled the comforter over his knees.
Shego laughed dryly, a smirk twitching up one side of her mouth. "Cute."
"Yeah…" He laughed. The chuckle brayed discordantly, as though long out of practice. "'Specially after what you said about the sheets…" He trailed off. Resting his elbows on his thighs, he planted his chin atop his clenched knuckles, head canted slightly to one side. "...I-I'm sorry, if I've asked before, but... did you ever tell me your name?"
"Nuh-uh," she said shortly. "Sorry. Shego."
"She-go?" he repeated incredulously, "That's a real-?"
"Got a problem?"
"N-no, it's just kinda unusu-"
"Sheldon Smith?"
He raised and lowered one shoulder, smiling apologetically. "Point taken."
"Where'd you take it?" She grinned crudely at her joke and turned toward her sleeping bag. Pausing, she turned halfway around, mouth parted slightly in thought, fingernail of her index pensively stroking the pad of her thumb. After a brief moment of thought, she grudgingly made her decision.
Might... might as well do it under a situation I can control, I guess... This'll minimize the damage... He'd find out anyway, sooner or later.
"Sheldon?" she said softly.
"Hm?"
"There… There's one more thing about me I didn't mention..." Snapping around on her heel, she ignited both hands. A dazzling burst of green light and an angry sound like the ignition of an enormous gas burner filled the room. Twin teardrops of otherworldly power engulfed her hands to the wrists, the tongues of energy crackling halfway to the ceiling.
"This."
She studied his reaction carefully. He recoiled spectacularly, head slamming against the drywall, his face masked by equal parts shock and terror, eyes wide. To her relief, however, he didn't scream, go into blabbering hysterics, or attempt to claw his way through the wall.
"Sooo..." Shego said after a few stunned seconds as nonchalantly as she good, glancing casually from one hand to the other, "I… uh... thought I'd better get this out of the way before we got too far along."
She extinguished her glow, her palms still smoking faintly. After the bright light, the room suddenly plunged into dimness, the shoddy lightbulbs unable to refill the contrast. She blinked twice to readjust. The odor of burnt paint tinged the air; heat from Shego's plasma had scorched the ceiling above her.
Sheldon continued to stare, dilated pupils fixed on the now-empty air above Shego's hands. "That... was... flaming stuff." His chest rose and fell shallowly, voice a broken squeak.
"Yeah. Figured that one out quick enough."
"Coming… from… your… hands."
"'Pressive, huh? …I have to admit, you took it a lot better than most people. A lot just faint."
Ignoring her, he continued to squint at where her plasma had been, as if trying to resurrect it through sheer willpower. His breathing slowed, and a pensive look broke over his face "So... that's where..."
Her neck went cold. "What?"
"...I knew... I'd seen that… before... somewhere…"
Wordlessly, Shego stared at him with a horrible disemboweling sensation that the world was crashing down around her. "What?!"
Jogged from his trance by her near-scream, he flinched, defensively holding up his palms. "S-sorry, sorry... In between breaks on... projects," he gulped shallowly at the word, "I'd... browse backissues of the Examiner Online... Didn't have anything else to do... Came across a few articles an' press snippets mentioning people... people in Go City with... powers... and... stuff... But I'd never put together you and… Never believed..." He trailed off.
Shego relaxed. If he was going just by press releases – and old ones at that – it was likely he knew very little. With a chill, she realized she was kidding herself if she'd thought knowledge of her existence was exclusive to Go City.
To dispel that disturbing notion, she kneed and slipped off her boots, throwing them next to her backpack.
Sheldon tossed on the mattress, grimacing as box springs created pressure points in the cheap mattress. "…Catch the lights?" Nodding, Shego clicked off the overhead. The room faded into semidarkness, but moonlight outside the bay window provided enough ambiance to make out objects.
Without so much as a glance at her roommate, she popped a zipper cover on the front of her uniform and slid the pull-tab all the way down her front. Wriggling out of her bodysuit, she kicked it awkwardly into a corner, leaving herself standing in her lingerie.
She heard Sheldon make an explosive choking noise behind her. Spreading her arms to show off her deltoids, she peered slyly back over her shoulder, grinning. "...You like?"
He merely continued to hyperventilate, not daring to answer. Finally, he settled on a fragmented, "I... I... I... didn't... expect… th-that…"
"Hey... I've only got one set of clothes, and sleeping bags get stuff grody quick." Kneeling, she unzipped her bedroll and slid herself in.
Sheldon hiccupped. "Ri-right... Ah... Oh, God..."
Laughing quietly, Shego twisted onto her side and twined her arms into a makeshift pillow to cushion her head against the hard floor. "Heh… Sweet dreams, punk..."
June 6th, 1996
Boston Mountains, Arkansas
8:34 PM CST
...To be continued...
