Required Disclaimer: Disney: All things "Possible." Me: Not "Possible."
Chapter Ten – Childe Roland
The head of the Uptopian Black-Ops Division stood at attention as the heads of the Admiralty ordered the chamber cleared and the great, heavy doors were closed and sealed behind him.
"At ease, Commander," he was told gruffly. "Have a seat."
The commander sat, considering the five highest ranking officers in the Uptopian fleet. He'd heard rumors…
"Commander, you've seen the data and read the reports from the Lowardian probe?"
"Sirs! It is my understanding that this information has not been declassified nor has it been disseminated outside of the High Council…"
"We are well aware that you have no official access to these reports. We are also well aware of your reputed skills. Please do not waste out time with a pretense of needing to fully brief you as to their import and perceived threat level."
The commander swallowed. "The being depicted in the Lowardian scans defeated the infamous Warhok and Warmonga and appears to be the leader of a very small resistance that destroyed a Lowardian invasion armada. Such a being might be a powerful ally against the green ones—or be a terrible enemy to the Uptopians."
The senior officers nodded and the Fleet Admiral almost smiled as he spoke. "Succinctly put, Commander. There are those in the government—and the military—who feel that the safe, pragmatic approach would be to launch planet-buster rockets at this 'Earth' and avoid the potential threat altogether."
The commander nodded and smiled knowingly. "And maybe earn a little favor with the Lowardians in the process?"
A throat was cleared. "That aspect has not gone unnoticed in the deliberations."
"Of course," the commander noted, "the Lowardians might also be angered by being denied the opportunity to take their revenge against this person—and his planet. This might finally give them excuse to turn their full attention toward us."
"This has also been noted," a rear admiral said gruffly. "Another reason why it has taken the High Chancellor so long to come to a decision…"
"Of sorts," the Fleet Admiral continued. "Commander, we need a short list of your very best covert assassins."
RSVP
Dr. Porter walked back into the makeshift laboratory and asked: "Okay, gentlemen, what have we got?"
"Actually, Dr. Drakken's B-B Project shows a lot of promise and could be viable a lot sooner than we initially thought," Dr. Freeman answered as he maneuvered a set of probes around the braincase of blonde-haired, blue-faced robot head.
Vivian crossed her arms in front of her and glanced over at the man whose face was disturbingly similar to the ones on the disassembled robots. She'd heard stories from Dr. Possible about his former colleague and wasn't sure which she trusted less: Drakken's questionable competence or his reformed nature. There probably wasn't an old saying along the lines of "once a mad scientist, always a mad scientist," but there probably ought to be, she thought. "Tell me," she said.
"Well, Global Justice has released the components of a number of the B-B units that were destroyed by Kim Possible and uh—" Dr. Freeman paused reflectively.
"Ron Stoppable," Vivian snapped. "Jeez, Kim's father told me how every one used to forget his name but, c'mon people, the guy just about single-handedly saved the world!"
"Hey, I helped a little…" Drakken complained.
"I heard you were rescued like a fairytale princess."
"Nngh! Lies and slander! I had gone on board the mothership ahead of everyone else to infiltrate the alien defenses! Besides, Kim Possible was captured, too."
"Whatever." She turned her attention back to the black cyberneticist. "Do you have enough usable parts to assemble at least one, functional robot?"
"More than enough," Dr. Freeman affirmed. "In fact, we could reconstruct two, maybe three."
"We don't have time for that. It looks like Dr. Director's fallback plan has fallen through so it's still up to us. We need to field a functional bot, capable of gaining access, and we need to get it in there yesterday."
"That's the beauty of it," Freeman said. "We think we can assemble three just as quickly as we can one. The components have a built-in design for self-repair."
Dr. Bortel held up one of a series of grey canisters. "I can program these nanites to repair the damaged circuitry and assist with the reassembly of the severed parts."
"Nanites?" Drakken asked.
"Microscopic machines—tiny robots, if you will."
"I thought they were called nanobots."
Bortel shrugged. "Potato, potahto."
"Okay," Dr. Porter mused, "but even if you wipe their memory banks and reprogram them, what's to stop them from eventually evolving to a higher level of consciousness, achieving autonomy, and deciding to rule the world? Again!"
"Two things. Three if you count the changes to their BIOS and their ROM. First, we adjust the neural pathways so that they're three, distinct entities. We think the hive-mind consciousness led to most of the problems. Then Dr. Bortel has come up with an additional line of defense."
Bortel held a small glass container with a row of small, dark squares laid out in a line. "A variation on my moodulator chips," he explained. Designed for cybernetic interface instead of human. These will add an emotional component to higher forms of artificial intelligence. I'll program them to feel an affinity for humans. They won't see themselves as inherently different and therefore hostile."
Dr. Porter picked up one of the robot heads and considered its cold blue metallic features, repressing a shudder. She turned to Drakken. "You called them Bebes?"
He shrugged. "It was a nickname. The original project title was shortened to two initials. B.B. For beauty bots."
Her eyes widened. "You have got to be kidding me. Well, I can understand, now."
"What?" Drakken asked defensively. He didn't like this woman's attitude, it reminded him too much of Shego's.
"The first time they looked into a mirror: that's what drove them to the dark side." She considered the head again. "You know, I've been experimenting with some new polymers…" She suddenly put the head back down on the table. "Gentlemen, let's get started. We don't have much time." She turned and started a procurement list for Agent Du.
RSVP
The young, redheaded woman slipped into her room, set her nearly empty soda on her dresser, and carefully locked the door behind her. Then she turned off all of the lights save for the lamp next to the closet.
It was time for another mission.
She shed her blouse and jeans and then hesitated before removing her bra and panties. No, for mission-wear she would go full commando.
She paused before the full-length mirror on her closet door as she brushed out her fiery red mane of hair. Even though High School was nearly a year behind her, she still had a cheerleader's body: tight and toned but beginning to fill out in the best ways as she approached her twenties.
She slipped on her tan, cargo pants and the black, pullover midriff shirt and studied her reflection again: yeah, that was more like it. Now she was starting to look like the Kim Possible of old.
Going to her dresser, she drained the rest of her soda and then removed four short lengths of rope from her underwear drawer. She moved the Styrofoam cup to the nightstand beside her bed and then took the ropes and tied two slipknots in each piece. Dropping one of the loops of each piece over each of the four bedposts on her bed, she pulled each length tight and positioned the loops on the other ends just so. Then she tossed the lid and the straw from her soda into the wastebasket by the bed.
She closed her eyes for a moment to set the scene in her head.
On this mission…she had been captured by the evil Doctor Duncan—no, that wasn't right. Deacon? Dragon! That was it! She was now a prisoner of the evil Doctor Dragon, she thought as she crawled up onto her bed.
She slipped her bare feet though the slip-knotted loops tied to the posts at the foot of her bed and kicked her legs to pull them tight. Then she scooted upwards to slip her left through the looped end of the rope attached to the post on the left side of her headboard. She grasped the loop of the rope tied to the right hand post but did not pull it over her wrist as she had with the other.
Now she lay spread-eagled atop her mattress.
Or, rather, now she was tied down to the evil Doctor Dun—Dragon's torture table in his dungeon lair. Oh, my! She pulled at her bonds: she couldn't escape! What would happen to her?
It looked like it was up to her partner, Ron Stoppable, to rescue her!
'So, Kimberly Possible!' Doctor Dragon gloated as he leaned over her helpless form. 'Tell me where I can find your fine, fine partner and amazing lover, Mister Stoppable?'
"You won't get anything out of me, Dragon," she murmured defiantly.
'Oh, I'll break you, my Pretty!' he leered. 'You are helpless and totally in my power!'
Her right hand let go of the rope and picked up the nearly empty cup from the nightstand. Carefully tipping it over her torso, she gave it a series of gentle shakes until a single ice cube fell out and landed on her midriff.
Setting the cup back down, she grabbed the empty loop again and pretended to struggle in her bonds.
"Aaaahh!" she moaned. "You fiend! I'll tell you nothing!"
The ice cube slipped down her stomach and came to rest in her belly button.
"You monster! Release me at once!"
'Or what?' Doctor Dragon taunted. 'I have plenty of ice. I'll cool your hot little tummy down until you're begging for me to warm you back up!'
"You'll be sorry when my boyfriend, Ron Stoppable gets here. He turned back an alien invasion so he'll make short work of you!"
'Ron Stoppable may be strong and fearless but this lair is well hidden and he'll never find you in time!' And he began to laugh maniacally.
She reached for the cup and tipped it again to drop another piece of ice onto her stomach.
"Ahh! It burns, it burns!" she whispered as it slid down her freckled flesh and pushed the first cube out of her dimpled navel. That chunk of frozen water continued its slow melt and meandered further south, over her lower belly until it slid to a stop against the waistband of her cargos.
A bit lower, beneath the taupe colored fabric, she felt the pooling of more moisture, though somewhat warmer than the spreading pool on her stomach.
She writhed on the bed, pulling at the pieces of rope and imagined—not a semi-darkened college dorm room but a shadowy dungeon with hot, bright lights directed down at her taut, vulnerable flesh. As the imaginary villain gloated and leered over her helpless form, she fantasized her rescue by Earth's greatest hero—and her boyfrie—lover, Ron Stoppable!
After pummeling her captor into purple paste, he would tenderly lift her from her altar of pain and carry her away to their fortress of solit—love nest. Where he would lay her down on their bed—a bed that felt much like this—but bigger, of course—and would gently (at first) kiss away her pain. She could almost feel his lips…then his tongue…as they traced a burning path down—
Unexpectedly, a key sounded in the lock and the redhead hurriedly extracted her left hand from the noose that confined it.
She was loosening the loops around her ankles when her roommate, Jessica, entered their dorm room and flipped on the overhead light.
"Talk about crappy blind dates," she was saying, "I told Romeo I had a headache and he asked if I had a brain tumor! Can you believe that? He's lucky I didn't—" The freckled, blonde, ex-Middleton Mad Dog cheerleader stopped and stared at her sheepish roommate.
"Holy crap, Liz! You really need to talk to a professional about this stuff! I mean, I get the bondage stuff...but dressing up like Kim is kind of pervy, I think."
RSVP
The problem wasn't in finding a vehicle. There were hundreds to choose from as he jogged down the road. Trucks peeking out from under tons of rubble, busses angled into yawning crevices like diving submarines, cars stacked on top of one another or walls or buildings as if the tidal wave had possessed an impish sense of humor.
No, the real problem was finding a vehicle that would still run.
It seemed like providence when, after an hour or so of trudging through a collapsed city maze of broken streets and toppled structures, he found an abandoned but working sport bike.
A Kawasaki ZZR1400!
It wasn't just the 1,352 cc, four-stroke, liquid-cooled, four valve per cylinder inline four engine that lifted his spirits.
Or that it could go from zero to 60 miles per hour in 2.5 seconds with a top speed of 299 kilometers per hour-even more if he disabled the electronic limiter.
The ZZR1400-or the ZX-14 as it was designated back in the States-was known as the Ninja!
He took it as an omen.
More importantly, he took it and no one looked at him twice.
At least they didn't until he reached the edge of the evacuation zone.
Then the faces began to turn and look as he blurred by.
They didn't see him, exactly. He had always possessed a quality that rendered him invisible to crowds and unmemorable to witnesses. But these people were exhausted and dazed from losing homes and jobs and, in some cases, family and friends. They only looked up in time to sense movement in the wrong direction. Something was running toward the Invisible Death, not away from it as anyone in their right mind would do.
No one tried to stop him. Why would they? Even if they'd had the strength and were quick enough, it took too much thought, too much concentration to ponder the intent of someone so diametrically opposed to their own survival instincts. Perhaps of even greater importance, here, in this culture, it would not have been polite to interfere with another's so obvious death wish.
And that suited him just fine.
For awhile he almost felt alive again. The rush of the wind blowing through his hair, the fine stinging sensation of grit and dust pelting his face, the heady roar and thrum of power between his legs as he ratcheted up all of his senses to manage a rush of obstacles.
People moved aside as they could hear him coming a long ways off. Piles of masonry, abandoned carts and vehicles, broken pavement remained in his path as though indifferent, deaf, or blind and he had to react quickly or reduce his speed to that of a jogging man on foot.
And what would be the point of that?
Twice he extended his hand and sent a bolt of electromagnetic energy ahead to blast objects out of his path. It was necessary to try it out under such demanding conditions but imprudent to waste reserves that he could not yet measure, so he continued to dodge and detour and occasionally jump the hazards that lay in his path.
"Ahhhhh, booyah!" he cried once with the sheer joy of meeting each unfolding challenge. But the cry seemed forced and inauthentic and he did not yell again.
Before he knew it, the crowds had thinned away to nothing and an unnatural quiet had settled over the landscape. He could sense it, actually feel it—even over the roar of the motorcycle's seventy horses. He increased his speed, opening up the throttle as walls of the city fell away but, as he tore through the countryside, it felt as if he were slowing down, as if the world were revolving beneath his wheels and spinning ahead so that he was working harder and harder to make any headway.
Then, slowly, like a haunted castle appearing out of the mists on the moor, the twin domes of the Genpatsu Nuclear Facilities rose up like two ghostly giants, wreathed in shrouds of steam and smoke.
The security gate had been left wide open from the evacuation of four days before. He slowed the bike as he entered the inner courtyard. And as he glided into the building's great outer shadow, he felt a chill that went beyond the sudden absence of direct sunlight.
He dismounted the bike and took a moment to set it upright on its kickstand. Silly. As if he expected to need it again.
Shaking his left hand, he triggered a small wisp of blue-green flame It served no purpose, yet, except maybe to still the trembling of one of his hands.
And so Childe Ronald to the Dark Tower came...
RSVP
"So what makes you so sure that he's headed to the plant?" the director asked as she drove toward the makeshift robotics lab.
Shego sat, huddled in misery, in the passenger seat. "I saw inside his thoughts, Betts. For just a few seconds we were in each others heads and he's aware of the Genpatsu breach."
"He may have overheard me while I was on the phone with Dr. Porter and Agent Du," Betty allowed, "but you both were pretty comatose at the time."
"I'm thinking maybe it was just one of us."
"Still, it's a leap from hearing about a potential meltdown to charging in to fix it, yourself."
"Damn it!" She held up her pale, pink hand. "How do you explain him hijacking my powers and disappearing without a word? I saw a mushroom cloud in his mind!"
"If he's so worried about what might happen, why not let the more experienced human torch tackle the job? Why not collaborate with us in a team effort?"
Shego stared at her as if she couldn't believe her own ears. "Are you so used to ordering people on suicide missions that you can't conceive that maybe some of us aren't ready to die, yet?"
"Again my point, Sheila: if Stoppable felt there was a risk, why—"
"I'm not talking about Ron, you one-eyed asshole!" she practically screamed. "I'm talking about me! You had it all figured out while I was still passed out and compromised! Send in the green-skinned bitch! She's not human so not so big a deal! We'll roll the dice on Shego and maybe the radiation won't kill her outright! Maybe she'll live long enough to get the job done or fix enough of it that you can send a few more fools to their deaths to get the job done!
"And you know what? I probably would have done it! Yeah, even though it makes me so scared I want to puke my guts out! If nobody else had a chance, I guess I'd have to go! The guilt would be too great to do otherwise! I'm the bad girl, here's my chance to atone! What's my life compared to the thousands—maybe tens, maybe hundreds of thousands of lives damaged or lost if this thing goes unchecked?
"When you thought about how I'd figure that I had no other choice, did you consider that maybe I wouldn't want to? That I'd be out of my mind with fear? With self-loathing, as I forced myself to walk into a nuclear kill-zone?" She grabbed the director's sleeve, mindless of the danger of compromising her driving. "Well, Ron did! He knew that maybe I still had a life that I felt might be worth living! Maybe I wanted the time, the months and years to atone for the bad things that I've done! Do you know what he said to me when he took my powers?"
"You've been a little reticent about some of the things that have happened between the two of you—"
"He said now I could be normal!" Shego turned her head away. "Now I can be ordinary," she said softly, looking out the passenger window.
"I guess he doesn't understand the risks as well as you—"
"You don't get it, do you?" she snarled, turning back to the director. "I saw inside his head and his control slipped for just a moment. That synthodrone of Possible reached into his mind and his heart and shredded everything! He thinks that his best friend since before Kindergarten hates him! Worse: despises him. Holds everything he stands for, every sacrifice he's ever made—for her—in utter contempt and derision! That thing then killed his pet rat! Mock if you will but he loved that ugly little bugger as much as the princess! Maybe more! And she—it—killed the poor little thing! Right in front of him! And then…and then…" Shego's voice broke. Her head was filled with those origami images and emotions that unfolded in her understanding. Yori's love…the wedding…the love and the healing…a child conceived…and then the horrific understanding that even the universe doesn't think you are worthy of love.
That it holds your happiness in contempt.
That pain and sorrow and loneliness and rejection are your lot in life and if you dare to aspire to more, the universe will come back to bitch-slap you again and repeat the lesson that you. are. not. worthy.
She understood that cosmic revelation better than anyone else.
But she could not put it into words for anyone else.
"He has a death wish," she said finally. "It's not just that he thought he could spare me…" Let this cup pass from my lips, she thought. "…but that he doesn't care now if he lives or dies."
"You're saying he's suicidal," Betty said flatly.
Shego considered. "Not exactly. He'll go in and do his damnedest to finish the mission. But, once he's done, I think he'll be disappointed if he's still alive."
Betty nodded. "Not suicidal. But the next best thing."
"Yeah."
ABOUT THE CHAPTER TITLE: "Childe Roland" is a shortened version of the title of the classic Robert Browning poem, "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came." It was inspired by a line from Shakespeare's play, King Lear: "And so Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came." Which is also the last line of the Browning poem. This line is echoed in the last sentence of the scene where Ron enters the Genpatsu facility: "And so Childe Ronald to the Dark Tower came..."
Other author's have drawn inspiration from this work, including Wm. Mark Simmons in "One Foot in the Grave," book one of his "Almost a Vampire" series.
Authors/Notes:
I'm noticing that the "Hits" and "Visitors" stats suggest a possible aberration when I repost multiple chapters. After reposting three chapters last night, I've watched the numbers pretty much double for the last chapter while the previous two show half as many visitors. Either readers are skipping ahead to the last chapter on the pull-down menu without realizing that there were three reposts in all—or they're re-reading all three but coming back to the last chapter to see if the next is available. I'd have more faith in the latter theory if it wasn't for the spike in "Visitors" stats, which don't duplicate like the "Hits" numbers do. Perhaps I should limit the reposts to one chapter a day…
(6/15/2014) Uberscribbler suggested the motorbike change to the Kawasaki Ninja and says I should come up with a last name for Liz so there's no confusion between the two redheaded former Mad Dog cheerleaders. I need some help, people! Last names for more of the KP cast?
REVIEWS FOR CHAPTER 10
Pavelius 4/20/11 . chapter 10
So.. time to catch up with the recent chapters... FF didnt like me last week (couldnt sign in and such...).
Done the same to me from time to time, especially when I want to post a chapter…
For the long/short chapter issue... personally i like longer chapters, but i can imagine its a bit hard to handle 20 pages of Word in a row... so its up to you how you write it...
Longer takes longer, shorter is quicker. As a reader, I prefer long chapters. As a writer…?
Onward to the review: Stealing Shegos power? Hmm.. Shego without green.. reminds me of the Barkin/Shego episodes...
Now that was just creepy…
Dunno how i feel about the nuclear plant thingy... its really close to the reality out there.. but then again.. its your story, you could have raiding dinosaurs in the Middletown mall and it would be working ;)
No fair hacking my computer files: the dinosaurs are supposed to be a surprise later on!
So Ron is really trying to kill himself or at least not really trying to survive... lets see how this works out.. and im still waiting for Kims reappearrance..
Maybe I should do a reverse "Tootsie": Ron dies, Kim cuts her hair, dyes it blonde, changes her make-up to include freckles…hey, the story is supposed to be about Ron…
And for the lack of reviews... dunno... maybe it is because you dont ship the most popular pairings (K/R... Kigo).. and that your theme is rather dark after the first chapters.. i like it that way, but as my (really short) profile says, i am a passionte reader, but i suck at frequent reviews (at least the amount of them) and i can imagine, some other readers do so too..
Hmmmm…a little late to change this into a KIGO story—guess I'm screwed. But since it's Ron-centric, maybe a RONKKEN?
Keep it up..
Pavel
Thanks man! I aways enjoy your feedback. Even when you correctly guess what's coming next.
;-) R~13
Sentinel103 2/9/12 . chapter 10
Ahh has Eckles been working with you on this one Rip? It has the feel of one of his charater assessments.
Larry (Sentinel 103)
Alas, no. Just the one PM awhile back and I haven't heard from him since. R~13
Uberscribbler 12/8/12 . chapter 10
I'm trusting that someone made the connection between address and source material, else you wouldn't have spilt the beans so quickly. Le sigh. And here I thought I was being clever.
Yes, there was a footnote at the end of last chapter that Feudor came up with correct answer around Chapter 19. I'm happy to give that away now while still trying to keep actual plot points a secret. But yours was a good guess and quite logical considering the other factors—head of family working at Space Center, .
That said...this is waaaaaaaaay beyond anything I was expecting. First the scene in the college dorm, next the confab between Shego and Betty...agog doesn't quite cover my reaction. I'm seriously starting to wonder if Rufus isn't the lucky one to be well out of this lunacy.
"Agog"? I'm concerned that you're agog before the real lunacy truly begins... R~13
Some Dude 8/24/13 . chapter 10
Damn... Ron's really losing it huh?
Oh, yeah... R~13