STANDARD DISCLAIMER:The characters of Kim Possible, Dr. James Timothy Possible, Dr. Anne Possible, Jim and Tim Possible, Ron Stoppable, Wade Load, Steve Barkin, Bonnie Rockwaller, Monique, Tara, Felix Renton, Rufus the Naked Mole Rat, Drew "Dr. Drakken" Lipsky, Shego, Dr. Dementor, Lord Montgomery "Monkey Fist" Fiske, Señor Senior Senior, Señor Senior Junior, Dr. Betty Director, Special Agent Will Du, Global Justice and any and all other minor characters/locations from the television series Kim Possible are the sole property of the Walt Disney Corporation, and are used herein without permission or contest to their ownership for the sole purpose of personal, non-profit entertainment. Any and all minor characters that have not appeared in the television series, and this storyline, are the sole creation and property of the author and may not be reproduced without prior consent (if you want to post it, just ask).
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of the characters herein to any person or character, real or fictional (those mentioned above notwithstanding), living or dead, is strictly coincidental.
A/N: Here it is; Chapter Ten for your reading and reviewing pleasure! Thanks to shana elmsford, CajunBear73, KP's Man, spectre666, Rabula Tasa, Razial, hibeekeith, Mack53B, screaming phoenix and Katsumara for reviewing since the posting of Chapter Nine, and thanks also to Comet Moon, captainkodak1, kp83, Sentinel103, keth1 and Mr. Wizard (along with some of those mentioned above) for reviewing my recently-posted oneshot, Ron Stoppable: Husband, Father. Your continued encouragement and feedback help me to continue every day.
With that out of the way, on with the story!
CHAPTER TEN
The enigmatic man known as Hawk leaned back in his high-backed, leather office chair and put his hands behind his head, chewing on an unlit cigar. He was impressed with Peregrine's initiative in attacking Stoppable first; psychological warfare had never been one of her strong suits, but apparently she was diversifying her skill set… never a bad move, all things considered.
He'd just started having thoughts about calling his client to give him an update when his telephone rang. "Hawk," he said, picking it up on the second ring.
"Good evening, Mr. Hawk," the electronic voice said. Hawk wasn't surprised by this; his client wished to remain anonymous—for all he knew, he was speaking to Stephen Hawking himself (not that he believed he was)—and made use of the same type of voice synthesizer employed by the famous English physicist. "I've just seen the news reports of the incident in Denver; I assume that was your doing?"
"Indeed it was, sir," Hawk replied with pride. "I believe it was an inspired move, attacking the sidekick to break the target's spirit."
"I believe it was sheer idiocy," the voice replied, devoid of all emotion. "I told you I wanted Kim Possible alive and I don't believe that her boyfriend was the original target."
"What makes you say that?" Hawk said defensively.
"You may not be aware of it, but Ronald Stoppable is possessed with an ancient energy known as the Mystical Monkey Power," the robotic voice stated. "I've researched the footage of the night's events and, from what I've seen, Mr. Stoppable managed to move a total of thirty-five feet from the time the rifle was fired to the time he was struck with the bullet—a total of eight-tenths of one second. A rather impressive feat from a dead stop, no?"
"Impressive? That's damn near impossible!" Hawk exclaimed. "How do you know Stoppable wasn't the original target, anyway?"
"As I've said already, Mr. Stoppable moved thirty-five feet from the time the rifle was fired until it impacted him," the client repeated. "We both know that being thrown by a bullet's impact is nothing more than Hollywood theatrics, so how else would you explain this phenomenon?"
Hawk's normally suave demeanor started to crumble at his client's accusations. "Okay, so let's assume your theory about this whole 'Magic Ape' bullshit is accurate," he seethed, "how do you suggest we proceed from here?"
"Fortunately for you, my dear Hawk, I have no interest in Stoppable," the voice said, "whether he lives or dies is irrelevant to me. Miss Possible, however, is another matter entirely; I want her captured and brought to me… intact."
"I'll pass the word along to my operative in the field," the Phoenix leader replied flatly, shifting in his chair. "Now, before you go, could I ask you a question?"
"Of course you may," the voice intoned, "whether I will answer is, of course, up to me."
"Fair enough," Hawk conceded before continuing, completely dropping his calm façade. "Just what exactly is your interest in Kim Possible in the first place, and why the fuck did I have to sacrifice three of my men for you?"
"You agreed to send your men on that mission for me, with the knowledge they would likely not be coming home alive," the client replied, "however I don't believe it was due to sub-par cyanide capsules; I believe it was your express orders to all members of your organization—death is preferable to imprisonment."
"I'll give you that one, but it still doesn't explain why you're so horny to get Kim Possible to yourself."
"Interesting choice of words, Hawk; although my desire to acquire Miss Possible is most certainly not sexual in nature," the Phoenix client said. Even though it was an antiquated voice-box doing the talking, Hawk was sure he could almost detect a note of humor in the voice as it spoke. "I merely wish to be the one that can finally claim, once and for all, that I've defeated her, wholly and completely."
"And you couldn't do that if she was dead?"
"If she were killed, then the credit would go to the one that had her blood on their hands," the voice replied. "I want her to admit to me, face-to-face, that I am the one who broke her and defeated her."
"So this is an ego trip," Hawk summarized. "Fair enough, however I'm afraid I'm going to have to add an insurance charge, payable upon delivery of Miss Possible to you."
"And if I refuse…?"
"Then you will witness the death of Kim Possible at the hands of one of my operatives… who will subsequently take the credit, leaving you with nothing more than a much emptier bank account. Of course," he added, "you would save the insurance policy's cost that way."
"How much is this 'insurance policy' you've decided to add to the original charge?"
"Same as the original contract price—one million."
There was a lengthy pause as—Hawk assumed—the client pondered this sudden surcharge. "Very well," the voice finally said, "I will have the funds ready, payable upon delivery of Miss Possible to me."
"Excellent," Hawk said, "I will keep you informed."
"See that you do," the voice intoned, followed by a sharp click indicating the end of the call.
Hawk exhaled deeply, replacing the telephone's handset in its cradle and picking it back up almost immediately, dialing a number from memory. His call was answered on the second ring. "Peregrine," the voice on the other end said crisply.
"Peregrine; Hawk here," he said shortly. "I just had a call from our client—apparently he wasn't as satisfied with our performance as I was."
"Care to elaborate on that, Boss?"
"He seems to believe that your original target was Miss Possible and called to reiterate the fact that he wants her alive," he replied with a hint of anger. "Was he correct in his assumption?"
Peregrine could be heard heaving a sigh before answering his question. "Yeah, he was," she admitted, "I wanted to take Possible down once and for all. I mean, she makes life a living hell for us without even trying; imagine what it'd be like if she did!"
"I understand your concern, Peregrine, and I can't say it's unfounded," Hawk said in an attempt to mollify her, "however our main concern right now is the client's wishes; in this case, the client wishes us to capture Possible and deliver her to him—alive and intact. I will advise you to make every effort to do so… but I have also advised our client that an insurance policy equal to the contract's original price now applies."
"Hey, for the extra cash I'll even wrap her up in a pretty pink bow," the mercenary quipped. "Okay, Boss; I'll make sure I get her in one piece… did the client say anything about a timeline?"
"No; apparently patience is one quality he possesses. Keep me informed on your progress."
"Will do," Peregrine replied, disconnecting the call. Hawk replaced the receiver in its cradle with a sigh and leaned back in his chair again, this time running his hands over his face. He was used to dealing with fussy clients, but this one was a creature all its own—one that he was beginning to regret ever having taken on, but the prospect of a double payday numbing the regret.
This is not good, Kim thought as she wrestled with her adversary. She couldn't remember anything of the mission up to this point, other than wherever they were was raining and dark. She assumed they must have been directly below a streetlight, for they were fighting in a cone of light; often moving to the edges but never stepping fully into the darkness.
She couldn't tell who her adversary was, other than it was definitely a woman—made evident by her almost skin-tight martial arts gi—and her skill matched (if not exceeded) her own. Every attack Kim tried, her opponent would dodge, parry or block with ease before going on the offensive herself. Kim was able to dodge or parry most of her attacks, but it was taking a much greater effort on the former cheerleader's part to do so.
"Who are you? What do you want with me?" Kim finally asked after having another of her attacks blocked.
Rather than speak, the woman Kim had been fighting merely stood in the center of the circle of light and faced the redhead. Reaching to the base of her neck, she pulled the mask over her head, revealing her face for the first time.
Kim blinked, disbelief etched on her face as she took in whom she'd been battling. "Yori…?"
"My apologies, Possible-chan," Yori bowed, an almost regretful tone in her voice, "but it is Ron-kun's destiny."
If Kim was confused before, Yori's cryptic statement merely helped to compound her confusion. "What are you talking about, Yori? What's Ron's destiny? Why are you fighting me?" she asked, hoping for clarification. Again, rather than speak, Yori motioned for her to follow, apparently no longer interested in fighting. Brushing a damp lock of hair out of her face, the teen hero followed the lithe ninja, not bothering to notice that the "streetlight" followed them, keeping them both illuminated.
They walked for some time until they came upon another area bathed in light, this one roughly double the size of the area the two women occupied. Kim was following close enough behind Yori that she couldn't see anything within the illuminated circle ahead of them until their own light merged with it and the ninja stepped aside. When she did, however, Kim's blood instantly ran cold.
Ron lay, wearing his mission clothes, on a stone table with ancient kanji engraved down its sides. Each corner was adorned with a meticulously carved Buddha and the ends were curled, making the entire structure look like an unfurled scroll laying upside-down. Several candles were burning along the perimeter of the structure and Kim was almost sure she could smell some sort of incense—the same incense she'd smelled the last time she'd been to Yamanouchi.
It wasn't so much that Ron was laying on what looked for all intents and purposes to be an altar that worried Kim so much as it was his current state of health. Rather than looking like he did when she and Kate had been to visit him before, the towheaded teen looked more like he did when the paramedics had first gotten to him; his face was pale, sweat beaded on his forehead and his breathing was shallow and labored. Looking at his abdomen, she saw the gunshot wound looking as fresh as ever, blood soaking into his sweater in an ever-growing stain surrounding the hole.
Fighting back tears, Kim shoved Yori aside and knelt beside her beloved, taking his hand in hers and brushing the matted hair back from his forehead. "Ron?" she half-whispered, half-sobbed, begging for a response from him, "please, Ron, speak to me, baby."
"He cannot, Possible-chan."
Kim's head snapped up, searching out the owner of the new voice. Standing directly across from her, on the other side of the altar, was Ron's Sensei from Yamanouchi. As usual, between his long, flowing beard and mustache, facial expressions were all but obliterated. They didn't, however, keep her from seeing the melancholy look in his eyes. With tears pouring from her own eyes, she stood and faced the old man. "Sensei, what happened to Ron? Why isn't he still in the hospital?"
"Stoppable-sama has been tainted and is no longer worthy to carry the title of Tai-Xing Pe'Kwar master," Sensei intoned gravely, "and as such, must face the consequences."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she spat; her despair forgotten as anger enveloped her. "Every time you and your so-called ninja warriors need help and call on Ron, he's answered without question or complaint; if it wasn't for him, you wouldn't even have a damn school!"
"While that may be true, Possible-chan, you have led him on a path of darkness from which there is no escape," Sensei replied ominously, "except for death."
"Okay, this is seriously whacked," Kim said, bringing her left arm up so she could call Wade, only her Kimmunicator wasn't on her wrist. "What the…?"
Kim didn't get a chance to finish her thought as Yori and Hirotaka (where he came from, Kim had no idea) took her by the arms and effectively restrained her. Sensei nodded approvingly at his charges before disappearing from sight behind the stone altar. She cast glances at both ninja that held her and saw the sorrow in their eyes, but their faces remained neutral as Sensei reappeared, this time holding the Lotus Blade in his hands, chanting in Japanese. She couldn't understand a word of what the old man was saying, all she knew was it couldn't be good.
"Yori, what's going on? What's Sensei saying?" Kim asked frantically, wrestling with her captors to no avail. Yori and Hirotaka both held her fast, neither of them saying anything as they observed their school's master. As he chanted, his voice started taking on a sinister quality, rising in pitch and fervor until he was almost bellowing.
"Ron! You've got to wake up!" Kim screamed, still struggling against the viselike grip of the ninja that held her. Sensei was still chanting with the Lotus Blade held above his head in a two-handed grip, the honed edge of the sword shining menacingly in the light. Again she screamed, hysterical tears pouring down her face. "Ron! For the love of God, wake up! Please… wake up..." She was fully crying now, only upright because of the unrelenting grasp of Yori and Hirotaka.
Sensei chose that moment to stop chanting and eyed Kim dangerously. "It is because of you that Stoppable-sama is here," he said, his voice booming. "Modern weapons bring dishonor to the Monkey Master; you have tainted that which we hold dear. This is the only way to return purity to the Mystical Monkey Power!"
Kim was openly crying now, wrestling all the harder against Yori and Hirotaka's grasp. Desperation was giving her strength she never knew she had; she didn't care how she would do it, all she knew was she had to get to Ron before Sensei had a chance to do what she knew he was about to do. With a final, Herculean effort, she managed to wrench her right arm free from Hirotaka's grasp, taking him off-guard. Pressing her advantage, she swiftly kicked him in the knee before swinging around and punching Yori square in the nose, freeing herself from the young woman's grasp. Before either of them could hope to re-capture the redhead, she was darting toward the altar just as Sensei finished his chant and brought the blade down.
"NO!" she screamed, diving across Ron's prone body.
Kim awoke with a start, her scream dying in her throat as she crossed into the waking world from the hell of her nightmare. Sitting bolt upright in her bed, the teen drew her legs up and propped her elbows on her knees, resting her head in her hands. Breathing heavily, she stared at the blanket covering her knees as she attempted to calm herself, sweat pouring from her brow and eyes glistening with unshed tears as she mentally chided herself. Get a grip on yourself, Possible! It was just a nightmare!
Or was it, her own voice countered in her mind. Are you sure it wasn't a sense of premonition?
Of course not! Yamanouchi doesn't practice human—or any kind—of sacrifice!
Don't be so literal; perhaps the path you've chosen for yourself and your boyfriend will result in his demise.
Kim gave an involuntary shudder as that last thought crossed her mind. She'd never been one to believe in fortune-telling or dreams being anything more than a product of one's subconscious, but the suggestion that had just invaded her thoughts gave her pause. What if, somewhere down the road, something might happen to either her or Ron? Could one of them stand to lose the other to some overly-ambitious megalomaniac? It had already come close to happening once—twice if one counted Lowerton—so the possibility most certainly did exist.
Thinking about the possible ramifications of her chosen life's path caused the tears she'd so far been able to quell to finally start falling. She knew that, whether she liked it or not, her life had just arrived at a crossroads and the time to choose was upon her. Once the current mission was completed, would she continue to take on these assignments, or was this Team Possible's swan song? By now the teen had started outright sobbing, grabbing a handful of the blankets and stuffing them in front of her face to muffle the sound, hoping not to disturb the green-skinned woman sleeping in the bed next to hers.
It didn't work, however; Kate had woken up when Kim jolted awake from her nightmare and chose to feign sleep in case the redhead decided she'd rather be alone. Once she heard Kim start sobbing, however, she decided it was time to quit acting and talk to her. "Kim?" she said tentatively, testing the younger woman's reception to conversation.
Sniffling, Kim pulled herself together a bit before answering. "Sorry, Kate; didn't mean to wake you up," she said demurely, her voice still thick with tears.
By now, Kate had turned on the lamp between their beds and sat up to face the teen. "Never mind that; what's wrong?" she asked, concern etched on her face.
"I'm okay," Kim replied, wiping the last of her tears away, "I just had a bad dream."
"And it's got you shook up," the mint-skinned woman retorted, "so tell me what's on your mind."
Sighing heavily, Kim rolled onto her side and propped herself up on her elbow, facing her substitute partner. "I dreamt Ron was executed by his Sensei because of this whole sitch and the dishonor it brought on him," she said softly. "I know human sacrifice isn't something that ninja believe in, so obviously that would never happen; but what if there's a deeper meaning to it all?"
"Like what?"
"Have you ever watched the man you love fight for his life?" Kim countered, the tears threatening to spill again. "Nothing has ever scared me more in my life than the thought that Ron would end up coming home in a body bag. As soon as I saw him laying there with that bullet wound in his stomach, that's exactly the thought that crossed my mind."
"I can see how that would be pretty scary," Kate commented. "I've never been there myself, but that's not the issue; the fact that you have is eating at you, and I'm guessing that because of it, you're starting to question whether or not you can handle the possible consequences."
"Yeah," Kim nodded, swinging her legs out so she could sit on the edge of the bed and face the former villainess more directly. "Even though I love going on missions and having Ron beside me, I have to wonder if losing him is a price I'm willing to pay to keep doing them?"
Kate swung her own legs from the bed to mimic Kim's position, facing the teen. Leaning ahead with her elbows resting on her knees, she spoke in a measured voice. "Let's put the shoe on the other foot for a minute," she said, locking eyes with the younger woman. "Suppose you were the one that took a bullet and Ron was the one sitting here with me right now—would I be having this same conversation?"
Kim thought about this for a moment before answering. "Not quite," she finally said, "he'd probably be asking where he went wrong and if you thought I would blame him for what happened… which would probably lead to him thinking he wasn't good enough to be my partner and that I wouldn't want him to go on missions with me anymore."
"Would you blame him and want him to quit going with you?"
"Of course not!" she exclaimed indignantly. "He might be a bit of a goof and have a short attention span, but I know that when the chips are down, he's where I need him when I need him there."
"So if it happened the other way around, you would believe it was beyond his control and that he made every effort in his power to prevent it," the former villainess summarized.
"Exactly."
"Okay, how about this: if it did happen the other way around, would you want to give it all up in favor of a quieter and safer lifestyle?"
"No."
"What if Ron told you he wanted you to stop taking on these missions because he didn't want to lose you?" Kate challenged, driving home the point she wanted to make, measuring Kim's reaction to her inquiry.
As expected, the teen's mouth shot open to offer a quick retort, but no sound escaped her lips as her mind processed her companion's challenge. Closing her mouth again, she pondered the question for some time before finally speaking again. "I think it would probably cause the two of us to sit down and have a long talk about it," she finally said with a rueful grin.
Kate nodded, Kim's reaction confirming the conclusion she'd already drawn. "Okay," she said, "let's try this: do you enjoy what you do?"
"I love what I do; it's who I am."
"Would you love what you do and call it who you are if Ron wasn't part of it?"
Again Kate's question gave Kim pause. Would she enjoy going on missions and doing what she did as much if Ron wasn't with her? Even better, could she do it without him? Once she asked herself these questions, the answer came as painfully obvious. "Not even close," she said with conviction. "I wouldn't—I couldn't do it without him."
"So it's not so much who you are as who you and Ron are."
Kim couldn't help but smile at Kate's statement. "Yeah," she said, "it is."
"One last question," the older woman said, wanting to finish her point, "you said in your valedictorian speech that, even though many people have told you to leave the world-saving to somebody else, you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you did. Suppose, despite saying that, you did give it all up in order to keep Ron out of harm's way… what do you suppose would happen to your relationship?"
For the third time since they'd started talking, Kim fell silent as she considered Kate's question. What would happen? When she considered the possibilities, the answer was, again, blatantly obvious. "I'd end up losing him," she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks again. "I'd end up resenting him for making me give up something I love and he'd feel guilty about it… he'd probably leave me 'for my own good'."
"Care to elaborate on that?"
"He'd say that leaving me would be the 'honorable' thing to do; if I wasn't worried about him, I could concentrate on the mission and get the job done," she replied, the tone of her voice suggesting she thought the idea ludicrous.
"And you'd probably both end up living miserable, lonely lives after that," Kate theorized. "Sure, you'd go numb to the pain after awhile; you might even meet somebody else, get married and have kids, but you would always have something missing out of your lives… each other."
Kim couldn't help but smile ruefully at the green-skinned woman's observations. "Ron's been my best friend for practically my whole life; I can't imagine him not being a part of the rest of it. Even if something happened that we did break up, I always assumed we'd be able to at least stay friends," she said softly, "but if that was what broke us up… I can't be so sure we would."
"I think if you broke up because you realized you were better off friends and just weren't compatible as a couple then your friendship would survive," Kate said matter-of-factly, "but I think you're right; something like that breaking you up could very easily ruin your friendship, too."
Again, the younger woman smiled ruefully—this time with a chuckle—at her friend's comments. "How does somebody that claims to not have many social skills get so good at this kind of thing?"
"I might not be the leading authority on romance or how to make friends, but I did minor in psychology when I got my Childhood Development degree," she replied with a shrug. "Now, you feeling better?"
Kim nodded, swinging her legs back into bed. "Yeah, I am… thanks, Kate."
"No problem," she replied, turning the lamp off before crawling back under her own covers, "but now you owe me breakfast."
"Deal," the redhead laughed.
Ron was confused. Last thing he remembered was lying in a hospital bed in Denver and telling Kate to make sure Kim kept her head screwed on straight while he was laid up before he went to sleep; now, however, he was standing in the middle of an Oriental rock garden that looked vaguely familiar, wearing his usual red jersey and cargoes and feeling no signs of his injury. Looking around, he tried to find an identifiable landmark so he could discern his location, but to no avail; all he saw were non-descript trees and stone benches… and a familiar figure sitting on one of them, facing away from him.
"Sensei?" he said tentatively, hoping to get the man's attention.
Turning to look over his shoulder, the elderly man sitting on the bench saw Ron and smiled, rising to face his young charge. "Stoppable-sama; it is good to see you again," he said, bowing to the young man, who reciprocated. When they returned erect, he motioned to the bench with an outstretched hand. "Come, sit with me."
"It's good to see you, too, Sensei," the towheaded teen said warily as he sat down beside his mentor, "but where the heck are we, exactly? Last I remember I was in the hospital."
"Indeed you are," Sensei replied with a twinkle in his eye, "however right now, we are in your mind—which, I might add, has conjured a fairly accurate model of the Yamanouchi rock gardens, but for the location of the cherry tree; it resides in the opposite corner."
"My bad," Ron said sheepishly. "So what brings you into my brain, anyway? I know you don't normally just pop into somebody's head without a good reason."
"You are quite right, Stoppable-sama; I do not use this ability frivolously, however it seemed appropriate this time rather than risk appearing in your hospital room and have a staff member see me."
"Hang on a sec," Ron said, confusion etched on his face once again, "how did you know so fast? It's not like you watch the six o'clock news or anything."
"The Lotus Blade apprised us of the danger you were in; it reacted the moment your life was in peril."
"I didn't know it could do that."
"It has always been attuned to the Monkey Master's health," the old man replied. "It will not react if you have a cold or break your finger, but should you be placed in mortal peril, the Blade will react."
Blinking, Ron took a moment to absorb this information and to debate whether or not to ask the question that came along with it. Curiosity, however, got the better of him. "So it reacts if I get hurt really bad," he began hesitantly, "this might sound morbid but… what would happen if I got killed?"
"If you were to die of natural causes or honorably in battle; nothing," Sensei replied somberly. "If, however, your life were ended dishonorably, both the power of Tai Xing Pe'Kwar and the Lotus Blade would die along with you."
"It would?" Ron said incredulously.
"It most certainly would," Sensei confirmed, nodding. "Every true Master of Tai Xing Pe'Kwar up to now has died either of natural causes or honorably in battle with the exception of one… it was he who endowed the four idols before he perished."
"Pretty deep stuff," Ron muttered. After a moment of silence, another question came to mind. "What happens to the power if I die an honorable death?"
"It will return to the Lotus Blade, provided you do not endow another object with it first, but now is not the time to concern yourself with such matters," Sensei replied, wanting to change the subject. "The other reason I have come is to advise you that when you awaken, you will not be alone."
"I knew that; Kim and Kate are supposed to be here in the morning, and nurses are probably coming and going constantly."
"Indeed you are correct, Stoppable-sama, but they are not of whom I speak; Yori-chan will be in your room when you awaken."
"Yori?" Ron repeated. "What's she doing there… here… wherever?"
Sensei's beard twitched in amusement as he watched Ron be Ron. "As you are probably aware, Possible-san will most likely be concentrating on the task of seeking vengeance against those who would harm you; Yori-chan has been assigned the task of standing sentry while you mend."
"Oh, okay," Ron nodded, not questioning Sensei's logic… mostly because he felt the same way. "Should somebody tell Kim? She'll be in to see me in the morning with Kate."
"Perhaps you could do that yourself," Sensei suggested, "Yori-chan will remain concealed until you advise her it is safe to emerge."
"That works, too."
Nodding, Sensei stood and turned to face his young charge. "Very well then, Stoppable-sama, I will leave you to awaken now; I believe it is breaking dawn where you are."
"Thanks for the heads-up, Sensei," Ron said as he rose to stand facing the wise man, "I'd rather be expecting Yori than have her just pop out of a shadow in the corner."
"Which is why I decided to tell you now," Sensei replied, his flowing beard twitching as he grinned again. "Again, my wishes for your speedy recovery, Stoppable-sama," he said with a bow.
"Thanks, Sensei," Ron replied, returning the bow with his eyes closed. When he opened them, however, he was back in his hospital bed and painfully aware—no pun intended—of the wound in his abdomen again. Remembering his conversation with Sensei, he spoke to the room at large. "Yori, if you're here, come on out."
"Good morning, Ron-kun," the ninja's voice lilted from a corner of the room. Following her voice, Ron was able to see the lithe young woman's form emerge from the shadows as she continued to speak, a soft smile on her face. "I am guessing you have been in contact with Sensei?"
"Yeah, he told me you were coming," he confirmed with a slow nod. "How's things with you?"
"I am well, thank you," she said, bowing slightly before motioning to a chair beside his bed. "May I?"
"Of course," he replied with another nod.
Smiling her thanks, Yori took a seat in the chair, folding her hands in her lap. "It is good to see you are out of danger," she said softly. "Sensei and I were most distressed when the Lotus Blade warned us of your condition."
"Yeah, well, I think it was as much the 'Ron Factor' as anything that saved me," the young man replied with a sigh. "Considering where I was shot, I'm lucky it didn't rupture a kidney or my liver—among other things—and it's only because we were so close to a hospital that I didn't end up dying from peritonitis, according to the doctor."
"You are, indeed, most fortunate," she agreed, "but I believe there is more than your 'Ron Factor,' as you call it, at work."
Ron was about to ask for an explanation when a new voice interrupted him. "Good morning, Ron… and Yori?" Kim said, her voice betraying her surprise as she spoke the young ninja's name.
Rising, Yori turned to face the newcomers standing in the doorway. "Good morning, Kim-chan, Shego-san," she said, bowing. "I apologize for my unannounced presence, but Sensei felt it prudent for me to, as you Americans say, keep an eye on Ron-kun while he is injured."
"It's true, KP," Ron said, "Sensei visited me in a dream last night and told me."
"I wouldn't believe that if I heard it from anybody else," Kate muttered, rolling her eyes.
"That makes two of us," Kim acknowledged in an undertone. In a normal voice, she continued. "When did you get in, Yori?"
"I arrived here roughly fifteen minutes ago, just before Ron-kun woke up."
Kate did some quick mental math. "That's only twelve hours from the time Ron was shot until you got here!" she exclaimed incredulously. "How the hell did you get here from Yamanouchi so quick?"
"I cannot tell you everything; suffice to say we were informed quickly of Ron-kun's condition and Yamanouchi does have supersonic travel capabilities," Yori replied.
"Right," the mint-skinned woman drawled.
"She's telling the truth, Kate," Kim interjected before turning back to Yori. "Did Sensei say why he felt Ron needed a babysitter?"
"Sensei felt that it would be prudent if I were here to stand guard over Ron-kun so you and Shego-san could concentrate on finding the baka-ka that put him in this position," Yori replied, her face darkening at the mention of the culprit responsible for Ron's injury.
"The what?"
"Stupid asshole," Kate replied dryly, "I took a semester of Japanese in college… picked up all the bad words first and went from there."
"Why does that not surprise me?" the redhead muttered with a grin.
"Any leads yet?" Ron asked, bringing the conversation back to the topic at hand.
"Nothing yet; Global Justice is looking into it right now and Dr. Director said she would contact us the second they find anything out."
"What about Drakken and Dementor?"
Again, Kim shook her head. "Nothing there, either; Wade said they were being transported to Florence last night sometime, but I haven't heard anything since."
"Y'know, something about that just doesn't add up," Kate said, folding her arms across her chest. "I mean, yeah, Drakken said he wanted Kim dead, but the way he went about it doesn't add up… even without the grand schemes of global conquest, that wasn't exactly his style."
"Maybe GJ can offer some insight into that after they question him," Kim suggested with a shrug. Moving over to Ron's bed, she leaned down and kissed him tenderly. "Get some rest, baby; I'll give you a call later and see how you're doing."
"Okay, KP; good luck out there," he said, giving her a second kiss on the forehead.
"Thanks," she whispered, resting her forehead against his and gazing deep into his eyes. "I love you."
"Love you too, KP."
Rising to her full height, Kim let her hand linger on Ron's chest for a moment longer before turning to the other two women. "Okay, Kate, let's get moving; we've got a lot of ground to cover today." Shifting her gaze to Yori, she continued in a slightly softer voice. "Thanks for coming to look after him, Yori; we owe you one."
"It is my pleasure, my duty and my honor to ensure the Monkey Master's safety," Yori replied, bowing deeply, "neither you nor Ron-kun are indebted to me in any way."
Returning the bow, Kim couldn't help but smile at the young ninja before her. "Well, thank you anyway, regardless of whether we're indebted to you or not."
Yori said nothing; she just smiled and returned to her place in the shadows of the room as Kate looked on. "That's a nifty trick," the mint-skinned woman mused before turning to look at the young man still in the hospital bed. "And you," she said, pointing at him, "remember what I told you last night… I'm not making a career out of this."
Chuckling, Ron gave the former villainess a thumbs-up. "Trust me, Kate; I don't intend on making this a career, either," he said, gesturing at himself.
"Good," she replied with a nod.
"Okay, Ron, we're off," Kim said, "I'll call you around lunchtime and see how you're doing."
"I'll be here," the towheaded teen said with a smirk. Rolling her eyes, Kim waved as she and Kate left, both chuckling.
In Florence, Colorado, four prison guards were in the process of escorting two prisoners restrained with handcuffs and leg irons to an interrogation room in the bowels of the facility, having just arrived via armed police escort from Denver. The two new inmates—Andrew Theodore Percy Lipsky and Johan Heinrich Demenz—were to be questioned by representatives from Global Justice for their actions the previous night before they were processed and entered into the prison's inmate database. Both men had been quiet ever since their apprehension by the Denver Police the evening before, exercising their Miranda rights to remain silent until in the presence of legal representation; something that anybody having prior dealings with Dr. Drakken would be thankful for.
The interrogation rooms that were being used were about what one would expect: cinder-block walls with a two-way mirror on one wall; a pair of naked fluorescent bulbs in a single fixture on the ten-foot ceiling, directly above a steel table and two steel chairs, all anchored to the floor. Each prisoner was led into one of the rooms and ordered to take a seat in one of the aforementioned chairs, their waist chains shackled to the legs of the chair they sat in to prevent them from getting up without permission. Once they were secured, one of the guards would stay positioned at the door while the other went to fetch the Global Justice agent they would be beginning with. For Lipsky, that agent turned out to be none other than Will Du—the first of his "administrative" assignments following his dressing-down by Dr. Director the evening before.
"Good morning, Mr. Lipsky," the agent said phlegmatically as he strode into the room purposefully. Not getting a response from the prisoner, he continued. "As you're likely aware, you are being charged for attempted first-degree murder and assault with a lethal weapon for your actions last night—on top of all previous charges you face. If you cooperate with us today, we may be able to strike a deal that will keep you off Death Row."
"You say that as if it makes a difference to me," Lipsky snarled, looking up at the agent across from him. "I've failed the most basic of objectives; what reason do I have to continue?"
"Now, now Mr. Lipsky; is there really any need to be so cynical?" Du chided, meeting the gaze of the mad scientist for the first time. He thought something was off—other than the lack of blue skin, of course—but ignored it as he continued. "Surely the fact that you haven't succeeded in taking over the world or murdering Kim Possible doesn't mean you're ready to end it all?"
"Why not?" he retorted through clenched teeth. "I've failed in every major endeavor I've ever undertaken; the closest I ever came was the Diablo project. I've tried blatant flamboyance; I've tried subterfuge and cunning… I've even tried the direct approach, and all to no avail. I'm done trying; just inject me now and let's be done with it."
"I'm afraid that's not quite how it works," Du replied, trying to hide his amusement at Lipsky's melodramatic monologue. "Should you be found guilty of the crimes you're charged with—which, given the path we're taking, is a pretty sure thing—then you'll be sentenced and placed on the waiting list for execution… assuming you're even given the death penalty. When—and only when—your turn comes up, you will be executed via lethal injection. We don't use the Colorado justice system as a form of assisted suicide."
"A pity," Lipsky sighed wistfully.
For the next three hours Du continued to question both Lipsky and Demenz, switching with his partner—Agent Mark Dawson, who had started with Demenz—halfway through; the entire time unable to shake the feeling that something just wasn't quite right with either one of the would-be world dominators. Sitting in one of the interrogation rooms following the questioning, the so-called top agent was still poring over copies of the notes he and Dawson had taken, hoping to find a discrepancy that would back up his gut feelings.
Dawson entered the room at that moment, carrying more copies of the same notes that Du was reviewing. "I've gone over everything in here from top to bottom and, as far as I can tell, their stories match up," he said with a shrug, sitting down across from his superior officer.
"I'm not so sure it does, Agent Dawson," Du replied, his eyes never leaving the sheaf of paper in front of him. "Yes, on here it all looks good, but did anything feel—off, so to speak—when you conducted your interrogations?"
"No sir; both Demenz and Lipsky seemed resigned to their fate, but other than that everything appeared normal."
"That's the problem," Du said with a sigh, finally looking up at Dawson. "They were too willing to accept their fate… normally they would be defiant to the bitter end."
"Well, Miss Gogh did say in her statement that she feels Lipsky's mental health has become an issue; perhaps this was his last hurrah and he's finally just giving up?" the other agent ventured.
"Perhaps," Du conceded, "but there's also the fact that neither Lipsky nor Demenz are sporting their usual skin tones. While Demenz may have finally been cured of the jaundice he's long-suffered from, Lipsky's blue skin tone was the result of a freak laboratory accident and has proven irreversible."
"Yet both of the men we have in custody have normal, Caucasian skin tones," Dawson muttered, considering Du's statement for a moment. "I honestly don't know what to tell you, sir," he finally said with another shrug, "maybe it wasn't as irreversible as we thought? Biology's never been my strong point."
"Doubtful," Du replied, shaking his head. "He's tried several times; as have other dermatological specialists… he's stuck like that."
"Are we sure it isn't just makeup? I mean, it would make sense to disguise yourself if you're going into public like that… especially if you're out to kill somebody."
"Possible, but not likely."
"So what do we do now?"
Heaving a deep sigh, Global Justice's "top" agent retrieved his Blackberry from the clip on his belt. "We contact somebody that can clear this up; somebody that has extensive experience with these characters," he said, dialing a number.
Wade Load was tinkering with Kim's damaged battlesuit when a pop-up on one of his monitors informed him of a new hit on the Team Possible website. Taking it as a sign to take a break from the technologically-advanced garment (which was currently being about as cooperative as a cranky pack mule), the tech phenom went to his workstation and opened the notification. Eyes widening in surprise as he read, the teen genius had to re-read the message twice before it completely sank in, finally responding after the third reading.
"Good morning, Dr. Load; a punctual response as always," Du said when Wade was connected with him.
"Good morning, Will," Wade replied in his usual jovial manner, "what can I do for you?" He listened intently as Du described the events and situations that led to his misgivings about the prisoners, taking notes and forming theories in his mind on the fly. "Well, Drakken bled normal blood when Kim busted his nose, so we know they're not synthodrones," he said, scratching his chin, "and anytime Drakken's tried cloning, the results were so unstable that soda would disintegrate them… not to mention they weren't capable of autonomous thought."
"Correct," Du affirmed, "Lipsky's previous cloning attempts were only capable of following commands issued from a central console, or were pre-programmed upon their creation."
An idea suddenly struck the teenager as Du finished his thought. "I have a theory, but I'll need a doctor to do some tests to confirm it. Would it be possible to have somebody go in and get blood samples from them both?"
"I can have Global Justice medical personnel here to procure the blood samples and send them to our labs; the results would be ready in a matter of hours."
"Perfect," Wade replied with a nod. "I can't say for sure what they'd be looking for—my medical expertise is sorely lacking—but I'm pretty sure that if I'm right, the lab will be able to tell fairly easily."
"We will start the process at once; I will keep you apprised of any developments." With that, the Global Justice agent ended the connection, leaving Wade alone with his thoughts once again.
"Man, I hope I'm wrong, or else this thing just got a whole lot messier," he muttered to himself as he returned to Kim's battlesuit.
Agent Rhonda Bartlett ran her hands over her face and let out a prolonged sigh. Since eight o'clock that morning the agent had been piecing together every single morsel of information that Global Justice had gathered concerning the Phoenix Corporation and re-examining it with a fine-tooth comb in the hopes of finding a lead that had eluded past agents. With the clock rapidly approaching noon, she was still no closer to finding the lead as when she started. Deciding the time was right to stretch her legs and reset herself; the young woman locked her workstation and got up from her desk, stretching at the same time.
Fate, however, decided that now was not the time for Bartlett to leave her desk. Just as she was about to walk away from her station, one of her team members—a young man by the name of Perry Jensen—came striding purposefully toward her, carrying a thick Manila folder. "Rhonda, I think you'd better take a look at this," he said, handing the folder to his superior.
"Thanks, Perry," she said with a wan smile, slumping back into her chair. Opening the folder, she studied the first page of its contents, her eyes quickly narrowing as she absorbed the information. Aware that the other agent hadn't left yet, she looked up at him. "Where did you find this?" she asked, her mind refocused by the new information.
"It was in the archives; Serge and I decided to go through them and see if we could find anything of interest," Jensen replied with a shrug.
Bartlett had continued to flip through the folder as her teammate answered her question. Looking back up at him, she couldn't keep the smile off her face. "Great work, Perry," she said, sitting back down at her desk, "I think this is the lead we were looking for."
"I kinda thought so, but I figured you might want to take a look at it first."
"Well, you thought right," she said as she picked up the phone. "I'm going to pass this on to Dr. Director; why don't you round up the gang and break for lunch? I'll join you in the commissary when I'm off the phone."
"Sure thing, Rhonda," Jensen said with a wave.
Bartlett, however, was already turned back to her desk and unlocking her workstation; the telephone receiver tucked between her ear and shoulder as she waited for her call to be answered. On the fourth ring, it was. "Director," the crisp voice said.
"Doctor; Rhonda Bartlett here," the young agent said. "You said you wanted me to advise you of any leads we came across in the Phoenix case? Well, I think we've got one."
"I'll be right there," Director said, hanging up. Less than five minutes later, she was striding purposefully to Bartlett's desk. "What have you got for me?" she said without preamble.
"Perry and Serge were digging around the archives, looking for clues when they dug this up," Bartlett replied, passing Director the folder. "I think it's the lead we've been looking for."
Director skimmed the first couple of pages within the folder, a glimmer of hope appearing in her eye. "I think you might be on to something," she finally said, returning to the first page. "I vaguely remember this from several years ago, but never would have made the connection if I wasn't looking at this directly."
"At least it gives us a starting point," Bartlett said, already searching for more recent data on her workstation.
"I agree," Director said, putting the folder back on the young agent's desk. "Go with it and keep me advised of your progress."
"Yes sir," Bartlett replied with a nod. Picking up the folder again, she flipped it open to the first page and re-read it. According to the documentation in her hands, a former business mogul—and former US Marine—by the name of Harland "Hawk" Bachman had made a substantial fortune in the import/export trade and subsequently disappeared. As her online research attested, Bachman's firm—Hawk Shipping—still existed and was currently among the top five import and export firms along the US West Coast; with steady customers all along the Pacific coast of the Americas, Australia, Hong Kong, Japan and Taiwan.
Bachman, however, sold off his share of the company in 1999 and disappeared. In early 2001, a business entity represented solely by lawyers purchased a decommissioned airfield and adjacent properties along the Colorado-New Mexico border for a tidy sum. It was rumored that Bachman was the mastermind behind the business entity, but it was never proven. Whenever any legal or financial business had to be attended to, the entity—identified only by its state business number—would be represented by accountants and/or lawyers and never on the company's property. Digging a little deeper, Bartlett found that this new phantom company in southern Colorado was also listed as an import/export business, albeit this time specializing in air and ground freight rather than seafaring cargo.
Acting on a hunch, Bartlett did a little more digging and finally managed to track down a recent inventory of the company's assets. Aside from the land and the buildings on it, it appeared that the corporate assets were actually fairly sparse for a shipping firm… a little too sparse in the young agent's opinion.
"Hey Rhonda, I thought you were gonna meet us for lunch?"
Spinning in her seat, Bartlett looked up to see the other four members of her team standing behind her workstation and looking at her with concern. Jensen was in the forefront—it was his voice she'd heard—and he had a Styrofoam takeout container in his hand, which he passed over to her. "We knew you'd end up working through your lunch, so we figured we'd at least bring you something to eat."
"Thanks guys," she said gratefully, accepting the container from Jensen. "Having a team like you is what makes my job that much easier."
"That's what we're here for," Chrissy Cameron, the unit's youngest member said with a smile.
"I really appreciate it," Bartlett replied, returning Cameron's smile with one of her own before addressing the group as a whole. "Turns out we—or Perry and Serge, more accurately—might have struck gold; if we can find a way to link that stuff you two found to Phoenix, we've got all we need to go in and take them down… that's what I've been working on all this time."
"You could have called us back in, y'know," Serge Cartier said in his Quebec accent. "We would've come up and helped you slog through this stuff."
"No, you guys earned a break; I wasn't gonna take that from you."
"Oh, and you haven't earned a break, Rhonda?" a new voice broke in. All five heads turned to see Dr. Director approaching them. "I decided to come back and see how you were making out and happened to overhear part of your conversation; did you actually work through your planned lunch break?"
"Yeah, I did," Bartlett replied with a nod. "I got absorbed into what I was doing and lost track of time."
"Well, un-absorb yourself long enough to eat and refresh your mind," Director replied sternly, yet with a twinkle in her eye. "That's an order."
"Yes, sir," Bartlett replied with a smirk. Picking up the takeout container Perry had given her, she rose from her seat and looked at her team. "Keep looking around for anything else you can find on Phoenix; I'll be back in an hour."
"We're on it," Jensen said. With that, the four members of Bartlett's team all scattered to their respective workstations to continue their search for pertinent information, while Bartlett retired to the commissary to eat her late lunch.
A/N: I thought about continuing on, but decided that this would be a good place to stop. Things are starting to come together now; I'm guessing there's probably another three or four chapters to go before everything gets sewn up… then again, I've underestimated before (I never expected this story to get to the 75,000 word mark in MS Word, but here we are and still going strong).
I do have to give an extra nod to KP's Man; this chapter was giving me a hard time for quite awhile when he sent me a PM and offered a suggestion. When I read it, I realized that the answer to my conundrum was in front of my face the whole time; since then, the rest of the chapter flowed fairly quickly. I just hope everybody else out there is as satisfied as I am with it.
As always; leave a review, get a response!
Cheers,
Deuce