Although she didn't know it, the same barely there sunrise that was visible outside of the Middleton Space Center window of Dr J.T. Possible was also visible outside the hospital room window of one Bonnie Rockwaller. But it didn't matter to the teen girl who gave a groan of what was actually happiness as she shifted her weight from the right side of her stomach/hips to the left, resettling her arms under her head/pillow as she did so—
Then she came awake—
Then it was more than a minute for her to realize that she was on her stomach with her arms under her head—
As if she was unshackled . . . for the first time since she had been brought in.
Suddenly, with a frightened start, she lurched upright on her extended arms, staring down even through the near total darkness at her hands in fear, disbelief, wonder—
Her free and unencumbered hands.
With the same reaction as a tiny mouse caught outside of its hole with the expectation that the cat would be looming right over its shoulder, her head snapped up and around wildly looking for an answer, or a nurse . . . and fearing both.
And as her head snapped over to that side of the room and saw—
And she sucked in a huge aghast breath—
For now she knew why she felt so cold and why the air smelled so clean.
Casting a frightened glance at the door, she stole out of the bed as quietly as she could and almost blindly reached out with one hand and shoved it through the open window into the cold pre-dawn air, a window which had never, ever been open before.
And she held it there for several seconds, as if not believing any of what her senses were telling her.
But then, in the dim light, her eyes slowly, almost reluctantly moved over to the window chair that was now almost touching her. In it, where there had never been anything before, was now a large bundle. And on top of the bundle, was what could only be a folded note.
With hands shaking so hard it was as if she was naked in an artic ice storm, Bonnie took the note, wincing hard at the noise the paper was making, expecting it to bring the entire ward staff down onto her—
She had to pad over to the tiny night light next to the light switch to read it. It said; Miss Rockwaller, the time for you to make your decision is at hand. If you decline to take this offer, simply return to the bed and refasten the restraints. All other traces will be removed from the room before the arrival of any staff. If however you decide to take this path offered and tread the dangerous way through the mountains, you must understand one thing. This task stands outside of the promise and vows placed upon you by Ronald Stoppable. From the moment you undertake it, to the moment you complete it, you will no longer be under the protection of my people. You may succeed and go on to the path of light and right; you may fail, and perish somewhere on the cruel peaks. You may complete your journey but at such sacrifice and cost that you might later die of wounds received. But at the same time, you can succeed if your heart, spirit and soul are determined to complete the challenge.
Regardless, you must understand that what happens from the moment you accept, your decision, your fate, is totally in your own hands, and those that you might trust to help you with it. Chose well, chose wisely, chose for the good and the right of you Bonnie Rockwaller, for only you can make this choice.
Bonnie now, as if in a daze, almost stumbled back over to the edge of the bed, the enormity of the whole thing finally striking her square in the face.
After what seemed as several rotations of the universe, she turned her head to gaze dumbly at the open window as if it were a dragon waiting to eat her, the ideas and determination that has seemed to fill her not too many hours ago running out of her like water out of a can shot full of holes—
Which was all too probable to be her fate if she carried through with it.
But . . . God knew how long in another full lock-down looney bin far from her home, far from the few friends she had left, hours and more hours of horrid group therapy sessions—
And after that . . . prison?
Other than the prison that she had already made out of her life?
She head a car driving by outside and that new and fresh sound seemed to shake her back to the present. She glanced back to the door of her room, then around at the ceiling. She would guess that the ninja's were making sure the night staff would stay away—
And that was the last thing they were going to do for her. Once she was out, if she went out, Carla, her father, or the gang members would kill her if they could—
Then she choked back a sudden sharp, fearful choked sob, but I'm the one who had already written myself off as dead. Even tried real hard to carry it out. Can I try to do this? Do I have any real chance of making it? God I'm so scared.
Then she thought about the killer couple and their offer—
And her insides hardened. Scared yes, but at least I'm able to feel that way, no one telling me to feel or be anything different. No one telling me what to do. No one tells me what to do. No one tries to tie a leash around my neck and make me their trained killer dog. No one screws up my life. If it's gonna be screwed up, it's because I screw it up, because it's my choice—
But that thought didn't totally . . . Felix, I need you to comfort me. Tara, I need your strength. Mom, God mom, I'm so scared and I know that you still don't know or understand who or what I am but I want to make it right, I do!
She looked back up at the ceiling, I've wanted to die for how long ninja's. Now . . . now I'm scared to live. How do you guys find the courage? Does that old man have a magic sword that he hands you to get it? Is that how Ron came about his?
Bonnie abruptly dropped her head into her hands. Don't lie to yourself bitch! You always knew that there was more to Ron than you were ever willing to admit to yourself let alone anyone else. No one like Kim could possibly ever be friends, let alone fall in love with someone who didn't have a core of strength somewhere in them. Ron is just . . . easygoing, and you've known it all along. And you turned and twisted and perverted that into his 'loser' image for the whole world to see.
Bonnie slowly pulled her head up and stared, unseeingly out the window through her tear stained eyes. Just like you've turned and twisted and perverted your own life in an attempt to make yourself something your not. Beautiful like your sister, smart like your other sister, self confident, full of drive, poise and self esteem like your 'arch rival', a girl that you probably could have been good friends with if you hadn't been spending your entire life after middle school making up for your own inadequacies by being the biggest bitch and slut that Middleton High has ever known.
Bonnie's eyes came back, and they focused on the window. You could go out that window . . . and just start running. Running as fast as you can, never looking back. Go some place they don't know you, somewhere they'll never find you. Surely they wouldn't actually spend any time and money trying to find a worthless piece of shit like me—
And there'd I'd be, a worthless piece of shit made even more worthless . . . I'd probably be making my living on my back, in some dirty little hovel, eating the crap outta trashcans when it got real bad . . . and eventually something would happen, and I'd end up with the cops. They'd run my prints and it would be all over . . . unless I could get out of the country somehow—
Bonnie shook her head slowly, still looking at the window. No Bon Bon, you really have a lot of choices which in the end are not choices, their dead ends to another kind of hell or something similar, just different from the hell you've already created for yourself. Bonnie took a long, deep breath. You only have one real choice . . . you're just too . . . scared to take the step toward it.
Bonnie turned her eyes again toward the door. Her original plan, had been to ask to go visit the hospital senior volunteers 'library' as early as she could manage it, hoping to be able to maybe find a pair of scrubs somewhere and slip out wearing those. The fact that she had never once before asked to do that, coupled with the fact that she normally had at least two staff members escorting her anytime she was out of her room—
Was some deep part of her hoping that plan would fail? That the staff would catch her and she could then admit it all in a crying, screaming frenzy. Surely the killer couple wouldn't try anything under circumstances like that? Or maybe they would just bundle her up and send her off to an actual asylum, never to be seen by anyone again, with her life totally run for her for the rest of her days.
That killer couple, a pair that 'got off' on 'killing other human beings'—
And that old man, who had come simply to give her a chance to be able to make her own decision, facing down that couple in the process, and now giving her the chance to actually get out and maybe make it happen.
Only one real choice—
Bonnie stood up off the bed, shucked out of the hospital gown, and reached for the bundle in the chair, her only thought, God, I hope that whatever this clothing is, that it doesn't make me look fat.
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The reflection on her ceiling, a kind of gold shimmering, let Tara know that the sun must have just been rising above the mountains to the east, reflecting off of the windows of the across-the-street neighbors house and then onto her ceiling. Which meant that she had a little bit less than an hour before the alarm was suppose to go off. And why was she awake? What had woken her . . .
She then jumped at the loud, sharp 'TAP' at her window of her balcony doors, followed at second's interval a second, and a third.
She looked at stunned surprise toward the door. She knew the sound of course; someone was throwing small rocks at it to get her attention. Steve Foley, the basketball star forward that she had dated very briefly before the prom after an argument with Josh, had repeatedly done that trick trying to get her attention back after she dumped him and refused all his calls and other attempts at contact (like most jocks, he had a simple one track mind, a track that Tara had no intention of going down until she was married). But who could be doing it out of the blue at this un . . . whatever time of the morning.
The start of another round of rock 'taps' launched Tara out of bed, (Foley had eventually cracked the doors window and her parents had not been happy) pulling open the sheers and staring down—
Tara's heart came up into her throat as one set of fingers came up to her lips. . . "I can't believe—"
If she was launched out of her bed, she ejected herself out of her room. In the darkness of the upstairs hall, the sudden change in environment shocked some semblance of intelligence into her and Tara went into stealth mode lest she make some other portion of the household aware. Downstairs she went, slipping into the garage grabbing the side yard gate key as she went. Moments later, she was out in the damp, cold morning, bare footed in just her nightshirt, grasping the top of the side gate and staring as if she'd seen a ghost.
"What are you doing here," Tara hissed as she got the gate open—
More than a few minutes passed before Tara's questions were even half answered. In fact they had doubled, driven by worry, apprehension, appalling anger and a host of other emotions that she had yet to identify, let alone control.
For she was inside her dark garage, sitting on the rug in front of the washer/dryer, holding a sobbing figure who had been crying out a story that was so strange and terrible, that it had to be true.
"I need your help Tara," Bonnie finally managed to get out with only a half sob as the brunette tried mightily to get herself under control.
Tara squeezed the other girl's shoulders harder for emphasis. "You've got my help Bonnie. I'm just not sure what we can do?"
Bonnie lifted her head and gently pushed herself away from her old friend. "I know what I have to do," she said with still shuddering breaths. "I'm just not sure how to make it happen."
"Well, Tara said firmly, "right now we have to find a place for you. Once the hospital realizes your gone, this has got to be one of the first places they'll come looking for you if for no other reason that to ask me if I know anything about your escape."
Bonnie's eyes locked on Tara with a look of desperation and need. "Tara, do you think I can do this?"
Tara was managing (barely) to conceal her own fear and worry, but still was able to say, "Bonnie, if I understand everything I've heard, than I think you're destined to do this."
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The morning sun just caught the upper half edge of the corner of the far frame of her window meaning that it had been up about a half an hour or so . . .
Kim's eyes came open slowly as she was a bit fearful to wake—
And to a certain extent, her fears were justified for as soon as she was aware, her body told her in no uncertain terms that it did not like all the things that had been happening to it lately.
But, as she very tentatively got her limbs to move and carefully rolled onto her back, she became equally aware that things were nowhere as bad as she had a right to expect. The very act of rolling over was proof of that as her neck . . .
Ron she thought, whatever it is that you do, you do it well. I'd marry you for this alone let alone—
Kim let the thought drop. Despite her almost total exhaustion when her head finally hit her pillow, equally total was a certain need and frustration burning deep inside that had taken . . . several sessions of activity before the grating edge had been worn off.
So now, given her apprehension about just what condition her body would be in when she awoke . . . A hand reached up and gingerly touched at her mouth/lips/chin area, sucking in a sharp breath only when she touched the actual cut on her lip. She could tell that the rest was still swollen, but again, nowhere near as sensitive as she had thought it should be.
She slowly sat up, and only then did her muscles and sinews really advertise their discomfort. But again . . . after a moment, she realized that it was ninety-five percent stiffness; almost exactly of the type she often had after a really brutal battle with Shego, or her run in with that anaconda a couple of Christmases ago . . . which I suppose it could be looked at either way, Shego is just a different kind of snake after all, she thought. Normally a hot shower with careful stretches would take care of most of the discomfort.
But Kim sat there for several heartbeats with her arms draped in her lap, head far down in consideration.
She felt . . . good. For the first time in as long as she could remember, there wasn't a tightness in her chest, there wasn't a steel bar shoved in through from one shoulder to the other, she didn't feel like clenching her hands constantly or grinding her teeth.
Something else I need to thank you for Ron, she thought as her throat tightened. Of all the things that you've done for me, what you did last night to make it all better—
For Kim, for the first time in all too long, felt like . . . Kim. With the knowledge, that once it was worked through, explained everything that had happened to me, my family, and friends and of course Ron in the last several months. I now know all the drama for why it had seemed that the whole world had turned against me . . . and us.
And you've learned, she thought, as her eyes got misty, more about yourself because of it than you could have in your whole regular lifetime. And the greatest thing I learned . . .
And her hand had to come up and rub at the tears in her eyes, even before she raised her head to look out of her window at the morning sky with a smile that acknowledged the triumph of the turning point made, the glory and promise of the morning sun and life and love renewed—
Of facets of her life and self, some of which she hadn't even been aware of . . .
I CAN do anything. And the reason why is that I'm special, but even more so, I have special friends, a very special family and the worlds greatest young man for my love, friendship and care; and they will help me get through anything and everything that I have to face for the rest of my life because at last, I finally understand that there are times when I CAN'T do it, can't do it by myself, cant do it on my own, but I only have to ask, even for the most painful things, to have their help—
And Kim dropped her head again, shaking it with wonder, even if what I'm asking is to use my ever-loving boyfriend for a punching bag in order to get all my emotions out . . .
Then her face quirked as a slightly different thought hit her.
Well, not all my emotions. Ron, I hope you realize that this promise you made to the 'respected elder', whoever it was, just might be your undoing. Because if we have to wait until our wedding to get up close and personal, you might not survive that same wedding night to go on the honeymoon.
Kim's head came back up as she closed her eyes and indulged in a deep, stress relieving breath and sigh. I respect and will continue to respect your honor and promises Ron. But if it takes waiting for our wedding . . . You were the one who, kiddingly I know, speculated that that wouldn't be until we had our Masters Degrees and a year to get established in the workforce. In reality, it's a pretty good idea. But that's eight years from now and after the last couple of months and especially after last night when I could see that you want me as badly as I want you, I can't believe that either one of us wants to wait that long.
A look of determination came to her face. I know you tried to shoot me down Ron, at least about the two of us going together, but that doesn't mean that I can't try to find out on my own who this 'elder' is and find out the reasons why they had to put these restrictions on you. I will find out and I will talk to them to see if we can be allowed to live our lives as we want with the knowledge that we will be careful and responsible and respectful and that it's for love, not just the base pleasure, that we want to be granted the freedom of our own bodies.
Then her mouth quirked again. But then again, somehow I know that the pleasure that we will give each other when we do reach that point . . . neither one of us may survive the wedding, or whatever night it finally turns out to be—
But what a way to go—Kim glanced at her nightstand clock and with a look of slight apprehension, pushed herself up out of bed onto her feet—
Again . . . Ron, whatever you did, if we could bottle it, I think we'd surpass the millions you've got held in trust from Bueno Nacho.
After picking out what to wear that day, she descended down her stairs to her bathroom where, after a painful physical and mental evaluation of her face, she had that hot shower with massaging pulses, stretching as she did so. She also took note of the beginnings of multiple bruises about her body, thinking about the looks and comments they would generate in her cheer uniform (everyone knew that she wasn't currently doing missions so the speculation as to how she got them would be rampant). After that, her minimal school makeup and dressing.
A trip back up to her loft for her school supplies and then down the upstairs hall and around to the front foyer stairs towards the kitchen. Kim wasn't sure if her mom would be up considering how tired and strained she had looked, acted and sounded the previous evening, but noise in the kitchen told her that someone was in there.
"Morning Mom," she said as she came through the door, "I hope you . . . " And Kim froze in wide-eyed, open-mouthed surprise at the sight of the figure that greeted her.
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The figure in the single bed against the wall didn't see or care about the early morning sun because it was buried deep in a cocoon of sheets and blankets, unstirring until the alarm on the headboard, set to go off at the very last minute of course, started it's demanding buzz for attention. A single hand came out, going directly to the offending device as if guided by vision but in reality directed by simple muscle memory in a mission to cease and desist the source of obnoxious noise.
After the accomplishment of its mission, the hand retreated back under the covers . . .
Unstirring returned in full force.
After several minutes, a knowing and patient voice came through the bedroom door, accompanied by several knocks. "Ron, you're going to be late if you want to go over to Kim's house before school."
"Oh man," muttered a voice from somewhere inside the cocoon. "It's Friday. Why can't the school week be only four days? Or better yet, two? Or why can't someone come up with some crazy, hyper-educationalsmartz-brain-injector thingy."
Finally, with a groan sounding as old as the hills, something other, very other, that a beautiful butterfly crawled out from the cocoon of sheets and blankets.
Ron managed to get to his feet and stumble over to his dresser and mirror. A, longer, more painful groan growled out of him as he saw his face reflected back at him.
I look like the Fearless Ferret without even wearing the mask.
A dark red nose and eye sockets going a nice purple in a pattern that matched his ferret mask to a tee . . . he was going to be hearing about it at school.
With dread settling heavily on him, Ron tiredly started to dress, wincing and hissing little gasps of pain almost continually as he stripped off his pajamas. The last several days had been very rough on his body. He could still feel traces every nerve in him tingling painfully from Shego's plasma blast, the areas of his old or barely healed injuries were like cold lumps of stiff, smarting jagged rock inserted into his body . . .
The rest of him? He was, as he peeled off his shirt, nothing but one giant bruise over every visible portion of his skin. Even the shower had hurt the night before with just the pressure of the water against his tender flesh.
He had only healed a little. As had been warned and advised by Sensei, Ron had about reached the limits of the amount of personal energy he could put into the process of healing without taking several days for his aura to 'recharge'.
And just about everything that he had had left, he had given to Kim the previous night.
But she needed it more than I did, he thought without a trace of regret. There's no way that she could have really healed mentally if she was still physically in pain. And getting her back into the game, getting her back to feeling good about things, about herself . . . that's the best thing that I could have done for her. And if I could do more, if I need to do more, if I need to drain myself to the dregs, she deserves everything I can give her after all the little problems and big screw ups I've done over the years.
He stopped, and looked at himself in the mirror again, and allowed a tired, sore smile to be reflected back at himself. Even though she didn't say it, I know that part of the reason why she lost it so bad when things were really hitting bottom before was that she . . . didn't want to burden me with problems that big. She was Ms. 'No Big'; and while I know she can and could talk to her mom or Monique, talking to me about some of the things that were going on then just wasn't possible for her. She short-circuited and that resulted in her trying to find the . . . physical relief even though I think she knew in her heart of hearts that I couldn't give that to her (as bad as I want to give that to her) . . . which made her all the madder. And I think it made her as mad and hateful at herself as it did at me and the whole thing snowballed in her and . . .
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It hurt to walk, even with the cane as a crutch. But then again, at this point, it hurt to do anything. So once again, the pain just all blended into a 'constant' that Ron just had to deal with. But the morning air was crisp and cool as he walked toward Kim's house and that itself refreshed his mind and helped him to deal with it as his mind continued to deal with—
But, and this lifted a great burden within him, last night she came to me and together we dealt with a problem that was near to killing her. And we did it together . . . even though I think it nearly killed me in the process. He snorted and smiled again. But she wouldn't let that happen. She trusted me enough last night to let her know that I could take whatever she had to throw at me and yet let her know if it was getting to be too much for me. It let her get it out of her system without fear that she would overwhelm me. Ron shook his head as if in awe. I know there have been times when she didn't trust me with certain things because I have a tendency to screw them up. But . . . we've always trusted each other with our lives and last night, that found a new channel and a new meaning . . . and it can only make us stronger. And while—
And he had to stop and drop his head a little and his throat tightened. While there have been times that I have been unsure, or in disbelief or in sheer fearful total complete insecurity over the fact that someone as beautiful, talented, strong and smart as Kim could ever fall in love with me, all I have to think about is that first trip to the mall last summer, or that night in the tree house, or when she found that lost prom photo in the woods and knew for sure that she could 'say the words' and now last night to know . . .
"She really, really does love me," Ron said softly to himself. "Even if she couldn't say it for a while."
It wasn't until Ron actually got in sight of the Possible house when the thought . . . oh snap! I wonder what happened with Kim and her mom last night? I hope that she didn't get into too much trouble. I should have stayed to explain what happened with Shego and all the damage to the guest bedroom. I hope that Kim didn't try to take all the blame for that stuff on herself. Oh MAN!
And now he had actually reached the Possible's door, where he was torn due to his anxiety about the what might have happened to Kim, balanced against his fear of the wrath of MrsDrP if Kim hadn't taken the blame on herself but had in fact told the truth about Ron's part in it.
But with effort, he squared his shoulders, "it's okay Ron, if you can survive last night, Shego and plasma blasts, Kim and her really mad Kung Fu skills . . . and both of your hormones, you can survive anything. You're goin in!"
But he didn't call out Kim's name as usual as he did so. And Ron tried not to tiptoe as he stepped down the hall to the kitchen. His face screwed up as his nose detected the aroma of something baking, the chef portion of his mind kicking in as he tried without success to identify it (even though it was very familiar). Reaching the corner, Ron peeked around the into the kitchen, seeing Kim at the table—
"Kim?" he whispered.
She looked up, a huge smile coming to her face. "Ron." Well, that's promising he thought. Then Kim's 'looked' at him and brought a hand up to her mouth in shock as she took in the 'Ferret Mask'. She started to come up out of the chair—
Then from the portion of the kitchen that he couldn't see, a figure moved into his view and his eyes went very wide—
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As the two teens headed down the hill from the Possible house, Ron tired to pick at the corner of his teeth, muttering though his fingers, "bon-diggity squares KP. So your mom was cool with what happened?"
Kim was walking next to her BFBF, trying not to drop into a near cringe now that she was realizing the true extent of Ron's injuries, restricted mobility and continual pain. She was even fearful that the mere act of holding the hand that wasn't holding his cane, despite his reassurances to the contrary, could somehow cause him more agony. And parts of her where both proud and appalled by the way he was trying to act and talk as if nothing was wrong. She had to force herself to answer his question in a normal sounding tone.
"Well, she wasn't 'cool' with it," Kim said with a sigh for emphasis. "Not by any means. But she was patient and listened to the whole story first before saying anything back."
Ron's winced as he mentally played the described image. Then reluctantly opening his mouth, "I'll be willing to see if my folks will let me do some extra chores to pay—"
"Mom said," Kim intercepted with a grim smile, "that she would be in discussion with your 'rents directly to see if something like that can be arranged." Kim's own shoulders then slumped down. "I think I'm looking at a whole lot of babysitting in my future for my part of the bill. The damage to the carpet didn't tweak her anywhere near as the plasma hole in the wall."
Now it was Ron's turn to cringe and that brought out an "ow!"
Kim's face screwed up in reaction and she started to open her mouth to apologize once again—
"So," but Ron, despite the strain in his voice, "what else did your mom say?"
Kim felt her lower lip tremble as she looked away. She felt so BAD! And Ron was trying sooooo hard to make it all no big!
It took her a moment to find her voice and make it light and emotion free. "Well, the other bad news I guess is that between the both of us, Shego is out and mom thinks that she'll be out at least two or three days." Kim was finally sure enough of herself to look back at her BF. "So we blew that part of it. No more debrief of her considering what we think we've figured out."
But then a thought crossed through those emerald eyes and they came up to look questioningly at her love. "Did you and Wade talk about anything last night other than my little . . . talk with Shego?"
Ron looked liked he tried to shrug, and gave it up with another wince when the muscles didn't cooperate. "No he didn't. He was just glad to be back home. I did tell him about the 'bugs' that Shego said she planted and he scanned your room and stuff with the sensors on the Kimmunicator—"
Kim's eyes flashed wide . . . and she wasn't sure if it was because of what Wade might have found as far as Shego's bugs . . . or what he might have found in regards to her—
She turned her face away again, blushing furiously. All the while, trying to keep her voice steady. "Did he find anything?"
"Pandaroo, your backpack, all your purses, your ID wallet, equipment belt. I don't know how much time it must have taken to get all those things planted—"
Kim turned her face back to Ron, the horror in it chasing the blush away.
But Ron was able to raise a hand to her in comfort. "But he was able to disable all of them. Some will take tweezers and some fabric cutting to get them out of your things. He thought that you should do it—" making a motion with his hands indicating his all-thumbness with that kind of thing.
"I'd like to just burn it all," Kim snarled in sudden anger.
Ron just gave her a nod knowing that she just had to feel 'violated' from the intrusion of the listening devices.
They continued all the way down to the bottom of the hill with steam running out of Kim's ears—
"Not Pandaroo," she finally said in a gruff tone. "She does too good an imitation of my boyfriend when I need to cuddle with something in the middle of the night.'
Ron's blush was deep enough to match the darkest of his bruises.
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Complete!
The dark figure collapsed into a chair, leaning back after a moment to sprawl bonelessly as complete numbness, both of mind and body came over it.
Lack of food or water had taken its toil; lack of care and hygiene had fouled it further—
Single-mindedness to see the task to the end had—
But it wasn't at the end.
What little that was left of the conscious intellect knew that one last requirement had to be met before fulfillment. That gutted mind couldn't even fathom what that requirement was . . .
But it would know it . . . them . . . him . . . her . . . for she . . . they . . . were all that—
And at that moment, the Dark Figure would say the word into the throat mike . . .
And the tortured, hurting, violated man who even now was screaming even though it was deeply buried and locked inside the psych of the Dark Figure, would be revenged for what had happened in that jail cell . . .
Fulfillment would be found at last . . .
As everything turned Dark!
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A/N: I would like to thank everyone for reading this and being patient with it. I am in the middle of the sixth chapter of 'Endgame' and as with this chapter, will publish them as I become convinced that nothing I'm doing in the chapter currently being written, affects anything that was referred to in a previous chapter (and with everything I'm bundling together, it hasn't been easy). So it's coming along nicely, it's just complex and lengthy (a little over 33,300 words so far). But the current chapter (31) actually starts the final confrontation between what use to be Drakken and Global Justice (Kim and Ron being kept out of the loop for reasons which will be made clear but don't worry, they will be in the thick of it shortly) and things should move along in an interesting way from there.
So once again, thanks and hang in there. I hope you will like what I'm doing with it.