Required Disclaimer: Disney: All things "Possible." Me: Not "Possible."
Chapter Nine – Who-go?
All was quiet on Vandamm Street.
The sun had set hours earlier and, as the moon rose higher and higher into the night sky, the houses had grown quiescent. One-by-one, each of the windows had gone dark and now the only illumination holding back the midnight gloom came from the occasional streetlamp interspersed along the blocks of Middleton, Colorado.
Off in the distance came the sound of a two-stroke engine and Fukushima stiffened, imagining that his gaijin nemesis had returned, riding his signature blue scooter.
Instead, a familiar silver scooter hove into view, slowly moving up the street and finally turning into the driveway of the Possible home where it stopped. The rider dismounted and, without removing his helmet, carried a valise up the steps to the Possible front door. The courier removed an envelope from the valise and tucked it into the door then returned to his scooter, secured the valise, and started his scooter once more.
Fukushima was across the street and removing the envelope from the door and substituting another before the courier had turned his scooter around and exited the driveway. The ninja had already retreated into the shadows before the porch light came on and a disheveled Dr. Timothy Possible, wearing a bathrobe, opened the door to peer out into the night.
As he had done on two other occasions.
Each time, the dishonored alumnus of Yamanouchi, had retrieved the letter from the Possible's errant daughter before any family member was aware of the clandestine delivery. They were unaware that Kim had now sent three letters detailing her hiding place and what she had been up to since her disappearance late last summer.
Her father, however, believed that his daughter had contacted him twice, now: after barely retrieving the first letter in time, Fukushima had carefully prepared counterfeit messages to replace the two letters that had followed.
The rogue ninja believed that Kim was unaware as her often clueless father: Fukushima had forged "her parents" responses, as well, to keep her unsuspecting and in the dark until the time was right for his vengeance.
And Fukushima was keeping Mastermind in the dark, as well: only he knew where Ron Stoppable's former partner had hidden herself: back-tracking the deliveries through the courier service had been surprisingly easy. It was as if the redheaded gaijin wanted to be found…
Well, once he had vanquished the American baka and obtained the Lotus Blade for himself, he would use the teenaged girl to draw the masked overlord into a trap that would seal the destruction of both.
But first, he would deal with the boy…
...as soon as he could figure out where Stoppable had gone to.
RSVP
Some miles away in Lowerton, a weary med student pushed her Anatomy textbook away and stood up from her tiny desk. She needed a larger study surface but her cramped, little apartment didn't have room for such niceties—even if she could have afforded it.
Tara King looked longingly as her bed as she stretched and tried to work out the kinks in her neck and shoulders. Another hour, she promised herself, she'd finish this chapter and then crack the next chapter in Advanced Chemistry. Then a solid five hours of sleep before getting an early start on her paper. Then she frowned: tomorrow was a "light" day—only three classes and a lab—but Bob was hinting at another evaluation for the EMT probies. Unless she missed her guess, they'd make her pack two full cases of emergency gear and hump them up and down six flights of stairs while timing her.
She sighed and walked over to the doorway to her teeny-tiny kitchenette. A parallel bar was affixed across the top of the opening and, after moment's hesitation, she jumped up and grabbed hold of the steel tube. As she hung there, her toes pointed down and just a couple of inches off of the floor, her baby-tee rode up high on her ribcage and her pajama bottoms slid down her suddenly concave belly to barely catch hold on the swell of her hips.
Blowing a loose strand of hair away from her face, she began a set of ten pull-ups. Catching sight of her reflection in the closet door mirror across the room, she took note of the new definition in her arms and her abs: the physical rigors of her EMT training—not to mention her personal workouts to "keep up with the boys"—had worked wonders on her baby-fat. Not that Tara had ever been anywhere near overweight. She had just always looked a little "soft" next to some of the more athletic members of the high school cheer squad. But, just as her platinum hair, wide blue eyes, and shy personality had masked a quick, sharp mind, her plush curves had masked a musculature that made her the equal of any Middleton cheerleader save for maybe Kim Possible, herself.
As she puffed and pulled her chin up to the top of the door frame, the combination of hanging from a steel bar and baring so much of her torso at the same time triggered a long-forgotten memory…
Fourth grade.
Middleton Elemantary School.
Recess.
She was trying to coax Ron Stoppable onto the monkey bars to climb up and hang with her. Literally.
She didn't know him well but had liked him even back then. He wasn't mean or rude or aggressive like a lot of the boys. He usually had a different take on things which made him interesting. And he could make her laugh: something that most women discover is an amazing aphrodisiac when they get a little older and more—er—mature.
She was trying not to laugh now as he tried to explain why he wouldn't—or couldn't—get involved with anything that incorporated the word "monkey" in it.
Jungle-gyms? Yes.
Monkey-bars? No.
It was all very incomprehensible to the young Tara King but Ronnie Stoppable could be very entertaining even when his line of reasoning seemed…elusive.
That Kimmie Possible seemed to think so, too. The two were frequently inseparable and while Tara had yet to develop any feelings of jealousy—that would take a few more years—she certainly knew that spending time in the company of the tow-headed boy-without feeling like an intruder-was an opportunity to be made the most of.
So she tried to entice him with the idea that he could do something that fit with his recently adopted motto: Never Be Normal!
"If you were up here," she told him, turning around and hooking the backs of her knees over one of the parallel bars, "you could see the world in a whole new way!" Letting go of the bar above it, she swung down slowly until she was hanging, upside-down, her pigtails dropping alongside her head to look like platinum bunny-ears.
Ron grinned and, for a moment, she thought that she had convinced him to join her. Then he disappeared from sight as her top, a little loose and baggy compared to her blouses and tees, succumbed to gravity and dropped down to cover her face. The sudden loss of vision surprised her and she hung there for another minute as she tried to sort out what had happened. The rush of blood to her upside-down brain had momentarily confused her thought processes.
It was the gentle breeze blowing across her bared torso that alerted her to her predicament beyond being able to "see" it for herself. She grabbed the bottom of her pullover top and pulled the waist upwards, uncovering her face and recovering her chest and tummy. Ron Stoppable was still there but his back was turned to her, now.
With a sudden flush, she realized that he had turned away so that he couldn't look at her. The thought both pleased and disappointed her. He was being a little gentleman—even if her chest was the same as any boy's at that stage of her young life—and refused to take advantage of her unplanned exposure. Furthermore, she could now see that he had shifted his position to shield her from other eyes on the playground.
The thought made her blush with pleasure: he was looking out for her. Protecting her. It made her feel…what? Special? Yeah, that must be it. She started to swing back up while clutching her top with one hand. Then she stopped. She was perfectly capable of managing the move and maintaining her modesty. But this was an opportunity to be mined. His redheaded shadow was nowhere around and she was curious…
"Ronnie," she said softly, "can you help me?"
"Um, sure, Tara…er…what would you like me to do?"
Huh. Now that was the question wasn't it: what would she like him to do?
He still hadn't turned around.
"Ronnie, you can look: I'm decent."
"Of course you're decent, Tara," he said. "But are you covered up?"
She giggled and almost lost her hold on her wayward top. "Yes, I'm covered up. But I can't stay covered up and get back down unless you help me."
He turned then and clambered through the maze of pipes and bars to get up to where he could leverage her back up to a sitting position. It was more complicated than it looked and Tara was decidedly unhelpful as it seemed to prolong the process. There was more than a little pushing and pulling and hands ended up everywhere before she finally allowed him to get her repositioned. The Marines raising the flag atop Mount Suribachi on Iwo Jima surely had nothing on the two of them that mild spring afternoon.
The experience was very interesting for her. She didn't know what it was like for him as they were interrupted by a loudly cleared throat below them. They both looked down at a seemingly annoyed Kimmie Possible.
"Rooon? What are you doing?" she demanded.
"Fighting the good fight, KP," he answered with a goofy grin. "I was rescuing Tara from the evil Monkey-bars." No sooner had the words passed his lips than his face grew serious. Then terrified. "Aaah! Evil Monkey-bars!" he yelled, flinging his arms out as if the metal had suddenly become red-hot. He tumbled to the ground, striking every single tube, pipe, and bar in his path on the way down.
Evil Monkey-bars, indeed!
The long buried memory had carried Tara through her first set of ten pull-ups and now she was finishing her second set. As she completed the twentieth, she released her right hand but continued to hold on with her left. Now her right toe dropped enough to counterbalance her weight against the floor. Remembering the innocent touch of his hands those many years ago, she slid her own hand down the concave slope of her abdomen and trembled a little. Her cotton PJs shivered past the oval circumference of her hips to slide down her legs and puddle to the floor around her ankles. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to imagine that boy grown through his teen years, as she had known him, and on into young manhood…
Except the image that came to mind was totally unexpected: a muscled and sinewy warrior, stripped of all goofiness, and surrounded by a nimbus of green flames that burned and yet did not consume.
Where did that come from?
Ultimately, it didn't seem to matter: her hand dropped lower and, soon, she began to "burn" as well.
RSVP
Another woman did not burn but slept again: a dreamless slumber, her first within memory.
When she awoke she sensed another presence in the room. Betty was standing between her bed and a second hospital bed on the other side of the room, facing away from her.
"Betts?"
"He's gone," the director said, staring down at the meticulously made bed. She ran her hand along the edge up to the corner where the sheets were crisply folded military style. "Did you see him go?"
"Oh yeah." She almost added a snarky "we kissed goodbye" but decided—for some reason—not to.
"Did he say anything?"
"We had…words."
"Did he say where he was going?"
Shego frowned. "He did not. Said something about a job and that he was 'on the clock.' That's about it."
Betty's shoulders seemed to slump. Then she pulled herself a little more erect and turned. "Stoppable will have to wait. Something's come up." She walked around Shego's bed and put her hand on the visitor's chair. After a moment's hesitation, she pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down.
Shego scooted back against the headboard and the wall so that she was half sitting. Despite the extra sleep she still felt exhausted. Depleted. She shook her right hand and willed the energy release.
Nothing.
"Uh, Betts…not feeling totally up to snuff, right now. You might want to reassign this one."
The director shook her head. "Sorry, Sheila. We've been trying to assist the Japanese government with a very special request since yesterday and we've hit a wall. It seems to all come down to you. No one else is capable of pulling this off, I'm afraid."
The former villainess slumped a bit. "Well, I hope it can wait a few days. I'm really not…myself…yet…" She hoped a few days would be enough. She was just…drained…for the moment. He couldn't have actually taken her comet powers completely away could he? Throwing giant aliens across a city and holding up a building—that was one thing. Borrowing her plasma powers—transferring them out of her body and transplanting them into his own—that was an entirely different kind of extraordinary.
"I'm afraid this can't wait." The director placed a laptop on the hospital bed stand and opened it. On the screen was a conglomeration of industrial structures and a pair of large, domed concrete blocks. Smoke was rising from one of the domes. "This is the Genpatsu Nuclear Power Plant," she elaborated. The quake compromised the containment chamber of Reactor Number Two, and the coolant levels have been dropping by the hour."
"What are you saying, Betty? We're headed for some kind of China Syndrome?"
"Technically speaking, it would be more of an Argentina Syndrome given the geophysical position of the reactor and hypothesizing a nuclear meltdown straight through the earth's core. But that's all superstition and hyperbole. Once the nuclear fuel reaches a sufficient temperature to melt through the bottom of the containment vessel, it will burn through everything in its path—"
"Until it hits water," Shego finished. "At that point the water will vaporize, turning to steam, and create an explosion that with throw radioactive material up, out of the ground, and into the air."
The director nodded. "Some of it will come right back down, some of it will be blown into the upper atmosphere where it could circle the globe via the jet stream. Anybody's guess where or when it comes down then."
"It could be anywhere…" Shego mused.
"Or everywhere." Dr. Porter added.
"And we only have a few hours before we hit the point of no return," Dr. Director concluded.
Why, Shego thought, is she saying "we" when I know she's really saying "me?"
RSVP
Dr. James Timothy Possible staggered back to bed, having slipped the envelope into his briefcase in his study. He couldn't read it here, now, when another family member might come upon him and discover Kim's strange missives.
Besides, he was tired—and Kim's cryptic comments were best left to interpretation once his mind was sharper. Rested. In his office at the Space Center.
He crawled under the covers, blissfully—well…grumpily—ignorant of his late night, close encounter with a ninja.
Jim and Tim Possible, however, were not.
Gazing down from their bedroom window, the twins watched the black-clad figure flow through the shadows between the streetlamps, slipping across the darkened road and into Mrs. Abercrombie's Azalea bushes.
"Hicca bicca boo?" Jim asked, turning to his brother.
"Hoo-sha!" Tim exhaled, nodding in return.
The moved apart, each going to a different station in their bedroom. Jim opened the window, pulled on a pair of transparent readout and display goggles, and picked up a wireless controller. Tim opened his laptop, awakening it out of sleep mode.
A small, model helicopter rose silently from Jim's desk as he worked a pair of miniature joysticks on the remote. Tim opened four separate "windows" on the computer screen, spacing them into four equal quadrants.
The helicopter flew out through the open bedroom window and the lower, right hand on-screen "window" began displaying a bird's eye view of the Possible yard and property.
The upper left hand view began showing a static shot of the front door of their house from the outside and from an elevated angle. "Rewinding video from the porch-cam," Tim announced. "And accessing tree-cams one and two." The other two "windows" came to life with alternate views of the front yard and the street.
"There!" he announced, pointing at the replay of the courier's late-night delivery.
Jim peered at the replay through the mini-copter's transparent displays on his goggle lenses. "What is that? An envelope?"
"Affirmative. I can't make out the address, much less a return address if there even is one: the angles are all wrong and the light is bad."
"Infrared is no good for enhancing non-heat sources. We should have added ultraviolet filters to the cameras."
"Next time. Now watch…"
They observed Fukushima's stealthy interception and followed his retreat on the two subsequent screens.
What they missed from the amazingly acrobatic sleight-of-hand, was that another envelope was substituted for the one taken.
Mr. Dr. Possible had performed his part of the "swap" almost as handily as the ninja, himself!
Jim then took the surveillance copter out of auto-hover mode while time enlarged the fourth window to fill the entire screen. "Switching to infrared," he announced as the stealth copter swooped across the street and began a systematic run up and down the block.
It wasn't long before they had photographic evidence of surveillance teams of two individuals, each, staking out the Possible and Stoppable houses, with a fifth individual serving as a "floater."
"What do you think they want?" Tim asked as he prepared uploads to be forwarded to Wade Load and Global Justice.
"Best guess?" Jim answered as he guided the helicopter back in through the open window. "They're looking for Kim or Ron."
"And if they were good guys, they wouldn't be hiding from us."
"Or stealing messages that might be from Kim or Ron."
"And while we don't actually know who the messages are from…"
"…it's the most logical assumption given all of the parameters!"
They stared at each other..
"So what do we do, now?"
"Inform Wade…
"…but keep GJ out of the loop…
"…in case they've been infiltrated by a mole."
A momentary gloom settled over the genius brothers. Losing Kim and Ron had been a terrible blow yet they harbored hope that both would return someday and be reconciled. But if Dr. Director was to be believed, then Rufus was gone for good. And the word "mole" had just renewed all of the grief and anguish that had haunted them, along with both families, for months.
Finally Tim's face hardened. "And, in the meantime…"
"…we upgrade our perimeter…"
"…with both defensive…"
"…and offensive…"
"…systems!" they finished together and punctuated it with a high-five. "Hoo-sha!"
RSVP
"So what's being done about it?" Shego asked, a sick feeling starting to grow in the pit of her stomach.
"The Japanese have done everything they can," Dr. Director answered. "More than forty plant workers have tried to seal the breech in the containment vessel. Those that aren't already dead will die within weeks if not days from radiation poisoning. I'll let Dr. Porter take it from here." She pressed a key on her laptop and the young, blonde roboticist's face filled the screen. "Were you listening, Viv?"
"Yes, Director." Dr. Porter nodded toward the webcam at her end. "Shego."
"A brief summation of the last twenty-four hours at your end, if you please, and then a little more detail as to where we are now," the head of Global Justice commanded.
"Right." The blonde was pressing keys on the computer at her location and a series of charts and photographs began to appear as she spoke.
"As you know, at the request of the Japanese government, I have been assisting with search and rescue operations this past week, utilizing multiple robot drones. About a half-dozen are remote-control, eyes and ears extensions while another fifteen are fully programmed automatons, capable of acting independently and seeking out survivors by infrared scans and enhanced auditory detection.
"The Japanese Prime Minister contacted me, himself, just over twenty-four hours ago, requesting any aid we might be able to give them at the Genpatsu facilities. Based on the initial reports and the schematics that were provided by the plant management, I modified a total of eight drones to function as robot welders. Three of them should be fully submersible. All are radiation-hardened."
"I know you must be exhausted, Viv," the director said.
"I am. But I've had a lot of help. A Dr. Freeman and a Dr. Bortel have just arrived and are offering some fresh, cybernetic solutions as well as two extra pairs of hands. I also understand that a Dr. Drakken is arriving shortly with additional data to those scans you forwarded to me and he's supposedly bringing along some decommissioned hardware related to his former robotics project."
Shego's eyes narrowed at the thought of her former employer having anything to do with a 'robotics project.'
"Unfortunately, we are running out of time," the director added. "And we're facing one known obstacle and one unknown one."
"The drones can't get to the containment chamber," Dr. Porter elaborated. The seismic damage to the buildings caused some structural collapses." The screen showed an interior corridor where a part of the wall and door frame had buckled. "I sent Oliver in to clear a path and this is the last video transmission I got from him as of three hours ago." As the door came closer, a human-like hand reached out and tried the knob. It was quickly apparent that more and more force was being brought to bear until the doorknob broke off. Subsequent attempts to force the door open caused the walls and ceiling to give way and the video feed was suddenly terminated. Another video feed from one of the smaller drones at the other end of the hall showed that the corridor was now impassible and the large humanoid robot was completely buried under the debris.
"I might be able to modify some of the drones to excavate a path and change out the welding gear for cutting torches. But all of that will take more time."
"More time than we have before the coolant levels drop too low and the fuel rods go critical," the director elaborated.
There was a significant pause.
"And…so…you want me to do something…?" Shego guessed. She was still tired, her brain fuzzy. Grabbing on to his weird blue glow and using it to supercharge her electromagnetic blast had saved both their lives but had pretty much emptied her. And no telling what Ron had done to her in the process of hijacking the effect she liked to call her plasma gloves. Damn you, Stoppable, she thought, you picked a fine time to mess with me! And her anger was suddenly sidetracked as she wondered if she meant physically or emotionally.
"Sheila…" the director said carefully, switching to her "Betty" voice for her next words. "…someone has to go in there before it's too late. Someone has to burn a path through that rubble. Blasting a path or forcing more doors may just bring down more of the building. Burning your way in is the only viable answer. And then, fusing any cracks or leaks will need to be done quickly. Systems will have to be reset and brought back on line before the fuel rods can begin to cool. All of this—the variables, the judgment calls, the operation of the internal control systems—are problematical for drones and even Oliver, if he was still functional, would have a hard time with the welds and the threat assessments. We need a human to go in."
"Sounds like you need a whole army of humans to go in," Shego mused.
"Yes, well, the problem is, it's a suicide mission for most humans thanks to the levels of radiation that are bathing the area now. And those levels are rising with each hour that passes."
She didn't like the direction that the director was taking this. "What? Don't you have any kamikaze volunteers? I thought the Japanese were really into the whole sacrifice-myself-for-my-homeland kind of bushwhack code!"
"Bushido code," Dr. Porter corrected from the laptop.
The former villainess shot her a look that said: I know that, Blondie!
"It's not that we lack for volunteers," Betty answered gently. "There are men and women willing to die a protracted, agonizing death within days if their sacrifice will avert such a disaster. The problem is the radiation levels have elevated to the point that they would be dead before they could complete even a portion of the mission."
"So," Shego said, "if robots can't complete the mission and humans can't complete the mission…" She waited.
Betty nodded.
"You don't really think of me as human, do you."
"I said most humans."
Shego just stared at her, half sick with the idea that she wasn't looked upon as being fully human, the other half sick with dread.
"I wouldn't ask this of anyone—not even you," Betty was saying, "but you're the only logical choice. Think about it. You could melt through most obstacles to the containment chamber with the least risk of further collapses. Using your plasma powers, you could reseal any cracks or leaks a lot faster than a team of welding drones could. You could manage threat assessments, do on-the-fly problem-solving, and adapt to changing circumstances faster than any robot with limited programming. And finally, your comet powers give you the best chance for surviving the radiation. Hell, Sheila: your body channels radiation like you're a walking, breathing x-ray machine!"
"What my body does with the particular form of energy that damned comet cursed me with is one thing! Gambling that another form of radiation won't hurt me—hell, won't possibly kill me even faster—is another! But you're about three hours too late! I'm not your Glow-girl any more! I'm normal, now! This may be a hard concept to wrap your head around given my past but I'm human, now." She bowed her head feeling unaccustomed tears flood her eyes. Sorrow? Relief? Joy? "Just human."
"What are you talking about?"
"Go get a Geiger counter and check me out, Director. At first I thought I had just run my batteries low with that house-buster blast. But Stoppable walked out of here a while ago with my flames around his fingers and they were dyed a monkey-mojo blue. And until he brings them back, I think just going outside without sun block could be hazardous to my health!"
"Wait! You're saying Ron Stoppable has neutralized your comet powers?"
"Run the tests, Betts. But I feel as empty as a dry well right now and I think it's no coincidence that he walked out of here looking like my fraternal twin, Blue-glo."
"If he took it, then he can probably give it back. Did he say where he was going?"
Shego shook her head. "Just that he was in a hurry. Said he was 'on the clock'." Then the final, disparate image from her mind-link with Ron snapped back into focus: the cloud…
A mushroom cloud!
"Oh, dear God!" she said, finally understanding Ron's endgame.
ABOUT THE CHAPTER TITLE: "Who-go?" is obviously a play-on-words. Take the "Go-Team": Hego, Mego, the Wegos, even Shego—and count Ron's hijacking of Shego's "go power"—then ask the question that the crisis dangles before them all…who goes?
Author's Notes:
A little more history on chapter changes: The current revision and report of Chapter 9 has an added scene taken from the previous edition of Chapter 10. Confused? So am I. The best course of action is to just reread any reposts…
(2/8/12) And another new scene…along with the requisite revisions.
If Kim's actual address was ever listed in any of the original episodes, I have yet to run across it. Please correct me if it has and I will correct this chapter.
Bonus Quiz: In the absence of having an actual street name for the Possible residence, I have arbitrarily named it Vandamm St. Why? The first reader to come up with the correct answer can win the first RSVP "You're All That" Prize and have your name or non-de-plume incorporated into the storyline. Text me, beep me…*
*The answer was finally given at the beginning of Chapter 19: kudos to Feudor for doing his research!
So many characters in the KP-Verse have first names only. Trying to come up with last names for these stories, we Fan Fiction writers turn to a variety of fixes. In Tara's case, I went with a Fan Fiction trend: more than a few stories here have decided that Tara's last name is King and I am happy to fall into line.
Now, I need suggestions for the other characters' last names. Starting with the cheerleaders: Liz, Jessica, Crystal, Hope, and Marcella...
REVIEWS FOR CHAPTER 9
readerjunkie 4/17/11 . chapter 9
Excellent work so far on the story can't wait to see more of it.
Thanks man! But given the dearth of reviews here I'm wondering if it's not time to kill off another character…
;-) R~13
Sentinel103 12/6/12 . chapter 9
OK I don't remember if I reviewed this chapter before so lets try it! Fukuhead is feeding bad mail to Jimmie Possible (who is now being played like a harp from hell) so if Kimmie thinks that she's getting thru she's outta her mind and she should have better operational security. Wade should have taught her that much.
At this point we only know that Fukushima is intercepting messages before they can be found by the Possibles. We don't actually find out about the content of the substitutions and who they're targeting until Chapter 15.
And you're right: Ron and Kim have been bamboozled rather handily. That's why I wrote the "misunderstanding" in Chapter 1 to be so "brutal." Not just for the purpose of splitting them up, but making it so traumatic that they couldn't bear to even think about it in any detail afterwards. That makes it harder for each to notice the inconsistencies and OOC-ness of the other's part in it.
Lemme see Ronnie boy's going out on a one way trip with the hopes of being with his Yori again.
Ya know I think Sensei is gonna want to have a talk with a certain rogue ninja.
ST-103
As for a little sit-down with Sensei? I think it might be more effective if we set him up for an appointment with a certain "doctor." And I don't mean Drakken. R~13
Uberscribbler 12/7/12 . chapter 9
Fuk-head is utterly insane to be playing this game with mastermind's instructions. Didn't having his nervous system fried by remote control teach him anything? Thank you for the hint concerning KP, btw. It puts my mind...not even remotely at ease.
Ron, in contrast, is so sane I'm even more scared of him now, especially with his having slipped that 'warning' (intentionally or not) to Shego.
Fukushima really is pretty obsessive when it comes to Ron and his possession of the Lotus Blade—sort of like the late Monkeyfist and his obsession over Ron's possession of the MMP and the title of Supreme Mystical Monkey Master. Maybe Shego will get all obsessive about Ron's possession of the glowy plasma powers…
"Vandamm" wouldn't be a semi-nasty play on the name "Von Bruan", or just a sign you're a fan of the Muscles from Brussels?
To see why I named the street that Kim lives on as "Vandamm" you can Google (the Hitchcock movie) "North by Northwest" and "Vandamm house." Tell me that doesn't look something like the Possible home.
Awaiting the next update with semi-bated breath. I've no desire to take on Drew's skin-tone, thanks.
You might try some mouthwash—that whole "baited" breath thing can be so socially embarrassing…
;-) R~13
Batamut 12/9/12 . chapter 9
well that is new, does that mean Tara made it to the finals?
Do you mean "the finals" in regard to Ron's core crew? Time will tell. But I must admit that I have a soft spot for the exquisite Miss King. R~13
Some Dude 8/24/13 . chapter 9
You... are an awesome author.
Thanks, Dude. I assume part of your enthusiasm comes from being a Tara fan? R~13
