Disclaimer: if it was on TV, it's not mine. Soundtrack for this chapter: Infernal Machina by Jannick Top; Hamlet, score by Dmitri Shostakovich.
On the roof of some nameless building in a secret cavern beneath the sea, Kim clung tightly to Ron despite his warning, afraid to let go, afraid of what might happen. He was still unconscious; she felt for his pulse, felt a weak, rapid fluttering there that scared her even more.
A single tear rolled down her cheek, tiny indicator of the gigantic turmoil going on within her. She loved him, of course she loved him, how could anyone doubt it? They were meant to be together. She knew that. Knew it in the deepest fiber of her being. So how could she envy him? How could she…be jealous of him?
Just before their high-school graduation, Ron had confessed to her that he was afraid of the changes the future might bring, unaware that she was just as frightened. But they would face that future together, for better or worse.
They had.
And as her fame seemed to wane with the years, his own increased; the whole world knew that Ron Stoppable had ended the threat of the Lorwardian invasion, while Kim Possible lay unconscious on the ground. With every obstacle he scaled, every course he ran, every foe he vanquished, she'd felt an inexplicable resentment at his increasing skill. The arguments, the tension, even the indecision about her college degree, it all came clear. For weeks, months, she had wanted things as they used to be, when Ron was the silly one, the clumsy one, the one in distress, and she was the strong one, the skilled one, the one who saved the day.
And now he was in distress, and now she was the only one who could help.
Just like high school.
"I didn't want this," the young woman whispered, and repeated it to Ron, to herself, to God, if there was a God to hear her. "Ron… Ron, please hold on. I'm here. I'll get help. I'll –" She realized help could only come through surrender. There was no other answer.
She stood up and had almost turned when he opened his eyes, weakly reached up to her. "Don't." Barely a whisper.
"W-what?" More tears joined that first one. "Don't what?"
"You can't surrender. He won't let you." He groaned. There were blisters on his face, on his hands and arms.
"How… did you know?" That question would forever go unanswered.
"Get out of here. Now. We can't stop him."
"Shego thinks we can. She has some sort of plan, something she got from Cyrus Bortel." A sob caught in her throat. "Why – why didn't you call the Lotus Blade?" That supernatural sword was the heritage of the Chosen One; there was no substance on earth that could resist its edge.
"I hoped –" Every word was a burden. "I didn't want more ghosts…in my dreams. Tried to stop him without it. Without killing. "
"Maybe sometimes we – we have to."
"Only monsters want to," he murmured, and closed his eyes, fell silent.
"You must know how this will end, Shego," said the radioactive man. "Why does a beautiful woman pursue her own destruction? Are you that eager to die?"
"You've asked me that before, glowboy. I'm still here." Warily, she circled him, staying well out of reach.
"Yes. Tempt God at your own peril." Asafiev looked cannily about. "Where is your blue pansy-man? Why isn't he here to protect his reckless woman?"
"It's a giant hogweed, not a pansy," she snapped. "And I don't need anyone to protect me, glowboy." A bolt of plasma hissed through the air, followed by another. Both dissolved a yard from their target.
Asafiev shrugged, unconcerned. "Have you learned nothing? Ionized plasma is dispelled by hard radiation. And your childish insults mean nothing to me. I am not Drew Lipsky."
"I'll say."
From the loudspeakers stationed throughout the complex, the Leader's amplified voice was still barking commands. "COMRADES, EVERYTHING IS UNDER CONTROL. RETURN TO YOUR POSTS." As he repeated the orders in Russian, the still-wailing warning sirens defied his reassurance. "COMRADE QUA-CZAR! IMMEDIATELY CEASE ALL HOSTILITIES! BRING THOSE PEOPLE TO ME. ALIVE!"
The order brought a frown to Asafiev's already grim face. "Woman, you live a charmed life." His sickly glow dimmed, faded; a moment later the sirens wound down to silence. "Speak to me now as an ally, and the Leader will get his wish."
"I'm not the good fairy, Comrade Quasar. I don't grant wishes." The emerald harlequin laughed, jumped to the roof of a storage building. "Is that your supervillain name? Quasar…oh, I get it. Boy, that's awful." She smiled wickedly. "Is it Qua-C-z-a-r or Qua-T-s-a-r?"
"That name," growled her adversary, visibly annoyed, "is of no concern here. I am Andrei Asafiev."
"So tell me, Qua-Czar, are the C-z-a-r and the T-s-a-r the same person?" She cautiously moved just a little nearer. Mockery was a lot more effective when the mocker was in your face, she'd found. "I never paid much attention in history class."
"Stop. It is the Leader's invention. He thinks everything needs a catchy title, an acronym, a label. Too much business education."
"Wait a minute. That's his voice on the loudspeakers. That's what he was doing in the cell block..." She laughed again, a very unladylike guffaw. "Hank Perkins…is your Leader? You're kidding, right?"
"Friend or foe, Shego."
"So he finally made the big leagues. I knew I should have vaporized him, a long time ago. Then I wouldn't be stuck here with you, Comrade" – she snickered nastily – "Qua-Czar."
"Give me an answer. Now."
"Wait, wait just a moment, ok?" A giggle. "You could have done what I did. See, Sherri Gordon, She-Go, get it? Course, let's see, An-drei As-afiev – nah, you're better off with Qua-Czar."
"You will not mock my name!" The tattered radiation suit suddenly burst into flame, falling away, revealing his dark grey uniform, made of something that could endure this fury. The sirens shrieked anew as the glowing figure advanced. The Leader's voice still yammered from the speakers, but Asafiev no longer cared. "I made a vow before God, Shego. I vowed that if you came before me as an enemy again, I would kill you." He glared up at her, shaking a radiant fist. "A vow before God!"
She hastily leaped to another building. Threw two more plasma bolts, which disintegrated before they hit him, of course. So far, so good, she thought. Let him think he had her on the run. She checked her leg pouch, making absolutely certain that the thing she'd commissioned from Bortel was still there, still ready. Glanced up at another building, where Dr. D. crouched, concealed, anxious, nervous, awaiting her signal.
She motioned to a massive crane towering over some other nearby construction equipment. That would do.
Drakken frowned. Some of the plan was still touch and go. He didn't like it; he wanted everything to be written down, diagrammed, mapped and double-checked before beginning. Not that he'd ever had much luck with all that. The only plan of his that had ever worked was the destruction of the Lorwardian war machines, and he'd run through that one on the fly.
Maybe she did live a charmed life. Maybe her luck would bring them through.
Maybe, he thought, I'd better be ready to move. We'll only have a minute or two, at best. This is it, for better or worse. Richer or poorer. Sickness and health. Till –
His face a mask of worry, he watched as the woman he loved jumped nimbly from rooftop to rooftop, threw futile plasma bolts at an ever angrier Asafiev. And he waited for the moment.
Betty Director, chief of Global Justice, was skeptical. "A set of coordinates? Why do you think that's important enough for us to check it out?"
The young man on the viewscreen was obviously worried. "They're not far off the Dry Tortugas. That's where I lost the signal from Drakken's hovercar. And it's where Kim and Ron went, looking for him and Shego. Kim's not answering the Kimmunicator. I think she's in trouble."
After the scandal he'd accidentally caused the last time the Kimmunicator had gone unanswered, he had hesitated to bring Global Justice into this, but he was certain this was real. And perilous.
"You think she sent that message?" asked Director.
"There's a hit every five minutes, like clockwork. Same coordinates. Nothing else. I think it's automated. I'm sure this is a lead to finding –" He almost mentioned the wireless charger, caught himself. It wouldn't pay to know too much. "To the four of them," he finished, lamely.
Director's sign-off was abrupt. "Thanks for your information, Citizen Load. We'll take care of it from here." The screen went dark.
Standing at his side, just out of webcam range, Joss laid a comforting hand on Wade's shoulder. "Hon, Ah'm sure GJ can handle it. It's what they do."
He looked up at this wonderful young woman that he had come to love, and thought again of how much she reminded him of Kim. Did he really love her for herself, or was there some misplaced emotion deep within him that had found an outlet there? I've got to stop overthinking everything. Be glad for what we have. Stop analyzing it. "I wish I could be sure. GJ's done some pretty silly things in the past. But they're all we've got."
"Ron and Kim are a solid team. They'll be okay." The confidence in her voice was quite convincing, quite insincere. She'd seen them last at the annual Possible Christmas get-together, several months past, and they weren't quite the same couple they had once been. Or had she just been so young when she first met them that she couldn't discern their flaws? There had been an argument over an adventure years past, something to do with Monkey Fist and an overdue library book. They'd settled it, but not before harsh words had been spoken and the jolly Christmas spirit dispelled.
"Everythin'll be fine, hon," she said, and they both wished they could believe that. "Maybe – maybe we might could pray or somethin'."
"I don't know how, Joss." He had never thought much about religious things; his faith was in science, but now they needed help that science couldn't provide.
Joss wasn't very religious either, but she knew when all else failed, this was where people turned. "Then just hold my hand and I'll pray. You…just agree with me. In your heart." Their eyes met. "Can you do that?"
For answer, he bowed his head, as he'd seen people do, and Joss began a simple prayer, unadorned with scriptures or clichés. Just asking someone, somewhere, for help, as they both tried to muster the faith to believe that someone who could help was listening.
A supersonic Global Justice troop carrier flew over Middleton, but neither of them heard it.
"You cannot escape me, woman," shouted Asafiev. "God is on my side."
We'll see, she thought. A memory flashed through her mind, a bruised little girl in a dark closet, praying in a frightened whisper, praying that God would take her Daddy away, so he couldn't hurt her brothers and her Mommy and her any more.
Daddy had still been there the next morning. Worse than ever. From that moment on Sherri Gordon made her own destiny.
She raised her hands, crackling with emerald flame, and watched her monstrous opponent approach. Briefly wondered if he had an upper limit, or if this would end in a nuclear explosion. Should have considered that earlier. No turning back now. The warning sirens still wailed, but the Leader's instructions no longer thundered through the complex. She didn't like that; if Perkins wasn't at the microphone, there was no telling what he might be up to.
"Come on, then, Qua-Czar. I'm ready for you. You ready for me, Comrade?"
The radioactive man stalked toward her. "Do not blame me for your short life when you stand before –"
The shadow of the crane's tall boom fell across them both.
"Yeah, I've heard it before," she jeered, and flung two bolts of emerald plasma that arced high above the surprised Russian and found their target just beyond him.
The crane exploded in flame.
As the boom toppled, she leaped deftly onto it, springing from there to another rooftop, watching with vicious satisfaction as her clumsier, bulkier adversary, his mass increased by the nuclear reaction within him, was caught and pinned beneath the twisted steel wreckage. She had imagined this would end in a parking building or near a signal tower; the big machine had come as a stroke of luck.
Not that it would stop him for long. She snapped open the leg pouch, held the tiny object therein high in the air. "Dr. D! Now! NOW! "
A single flowering vine stretched across the distance , plucked the little device from her hand, and with one fluid motion whipped it toward their enemy, furiously struggling in the metal debris. As the vine neared Asafiev, it began to wither, but the plant was a symbiotic organism; Dr. D. himself would not be affected.
Shego watched, realizing she'd almost left her husband behind at the lair, recognizing how impossible this would have been without his help. With the vines, they could subdue this maniac at a safe distance.
Pride swelled within her; they made a pretty good team.
Momentum carried the dying vine the final few feet, just as Asafiev broke free; it lashed across his forehead, dropping its payload there as it crumbled. An arc crackled from the postage-stamp sized circuit chip, sparkling briefly across the Russian's brow; his howl of rage was suddenly cut off as his eyes went blank and he stiffened robotically.
"Power down!" Shego commanded. This was the moment of truth.
The nauseating glow faded to nothing in the artificial light of the cavern lair.
Andrei Asafiev stood silent and still, awaiting further orders, the compliance chip slightly off-center on his forehead. It was designed to function in a radioactive environment; Bortel had raised a curious eyebrow at that stipulation, but asked no questions. "That will be easy enough, if you have the money," he'd told Shego. "Child's play."
And, apparently, it was.
Drakken clambered down from the building, ran to his wife's side. He had no idea how she would have accomplished this without his help, but he knew she would have come up with something. Shego didn't accept defeat. He was simply glad he had been there for her, and that the worst of the terror was over. Nothing Perkins could throw at them could be as dangerous as Qua-Czar, and now he was under their control.
They hoped.
Gingerly they approached the motionless figure, ready to fight or flee, desperately hoping neither would be necessary. "Not too close," Drakken cautioned. "He's probably still emitting low-level radiation."
"Yeah." She stopped, regarding her enemy with loathing. Remembering the way he'd fondled her in the vault, as she lay sick and suffering. "Bark like a dog."
Gruff yaps filled the air.
"Okay, enough." An evil gleam shone in her eyes. "Do the Hula."
Asafiev clumsily twisted about, his face expressionless.
"Shego," Drakken whined, "stop playing around! It's dangerous. What are you trying to prove?"
"I want him to know what it's like. To have someone force themselves on you." She stepped a little closer to her foe. "I know you can hear me in there. I've been chipped before." There was no response. "When you think back on this, remember that we didn't have to kill you to defeat you. In fact, I like it better this way." She smiled. "Tell me who's in charge, Qua-Czar."
"You are, Shego," he mechanically replied.
"You bet." She turned to Drakken. "Go see how the buffoon's doing. I think this scumbag hurt him pretty badly. See if you can give Possible some help."
"No! I'm not leaving you with this –"
"I'll be right behind you. Qua-Czar's done. Finished." She stood before the motionless figure, stared into his unblinking eyes. "You'll stay here till I tell you otherwise."
"Yes, Shego," came the droning response.
"I hope you rot in GJ's tender care. I hope they have a lot of tests to do, probes to insert, experiments to try. For a long, long time." She stepped forward and slapped him, hard, her clawed gloves leaving bloodless ruts in his cheek, ruts that almost immediately sealed over. "Did you feel that, Qua-Czar? I hope so."
In a blur of lightning motion, too fast to avoid, rough hands seized her, slammed her to the ground. She stared into the impassive, suddenly phosphorescent face of Andrei Asafiev, the chip still on his forehead.
"Did you feel that, Shego?" he asked, his tone horribly jovial, conversational. "Give thanks to God. I feel so little now. No organic neurology. That is the cost of power." A burning hand clamped brutally around her throat. "I recognized the compliance chip immediately. I was briefed on all your exploits. It could not affect me, but a soldier will endure humiliation to gain the advantage."
His sudden smile was cold, savage. Feral.
"I was tired of the chase. But I thank you for the acting opportunity! I was in Hamlet, many years ago. We got very good reviews." She writhed, twisted, battered and kicked, fighting to breathe, feeling the hard radiation digging into her body. The monster was still chattering on. "Of course I was not the star. Asafiev has never been a leading man."
He yanked her to her feet, smashed her with bonebreaking force against a wall. Just beyond him she saw Drakken, eyes wide, mouth gaping, too shocked to think, too horrified to move. It figures, she wearily thought, and suddenly realized this was the end.
Asafiev laughed, seeing that realization dawn in her eyes. "But that ruthless Shakespeare lays our little lives bare. 'To be… or not to be.' That is the question, Shego. It is always the question." Without warning he drove his searing hand upward, under her sternum, caught something wildly beating deep within her and tore it free, ripped it from her body and crushed its wet, pulsing mass beneath his boot. Stepped back, wiped the chip from his brow, and looked on hungrily, a terrible desire in his glowing eyes. "Heal that."
She staggered, hardly able to comprehend what had been done to her, looking down at the hole in her chest, seeing the dark blood, the tiny, brilliant emerald flashes in the red ruin, dying cells frantically trying to rebuild what had been lost. Pressing her hands to the gaping wound, she fell back against the wall, shaking uncontrollably. No weakness. I can't let him know he hurt me. I won't. I won't give him the satisfaction, she thought, and knew that she already had.
Her legs gave way and she fell, all her wishes and hopes and tomorrows falling with her. Somewhere, a million miles away, Dr. D. was screaming her name, finally free of terror's chains. Too late, too late.
Something was moving in front of her face; with a tremendous effort she focused on it, realized it was her left hand, gloved fingers twitching. A lifetime ago there had been a scar on that hand. She remembered that it was gone now, and knew that was a miracle. She tried to remember how she got it, and couldn't, and knew that was a blessing.
She was so tired. A long night beckoned, with its promise of dreams. She closed her eyes. A little smile played about her lips. And for the first time since she was a very young child, she relaxed completely, fell back into the dark waters and let them wash her clean.