Moving On
EOD
By Pat Squared
Reviews are oxygen to my muse.
She is fading fast.
She is turning blue from lack of oxygen.
Review before the paramedics declared her DOA.
Explosive Ordinance Disposal (EOD). Those three words were on a stack of 3-inch binders on Special Agent Lori Zimmer's desk.
These manuals came courtesy of the ATF, Department of Homeland Security, and the Department of Defense. When Zimmer requested a complete report on Semtex, the feds gave her everything that was not stamped top secret.
The overworked investigator did not have the time to read it.
The local EOD squad admitted that all they knew about the stuff was what they learned in the military. Semtex was the Eastern Bloc's counterpart to the ubiquitous military explosive call C-4 and was handled in a similar way. Until today, the only supplies of Semtex in the West were samples for lab analysis and in military stores for familiarization and some of the newer lots for scent detection dog training.
Zimmer had a master's degree in political science. That was the closest she ever got to the hard sciences in college. While she learned a lot about forensics, she was not an automatic expert. Her math skills were limited to balancing her checkbook and figuring her mileage for her expense reports.
Lori needed someone who could sort out all this and give her the Reader's Digest condensed version. What she did not want was someone to generate an official document. Official documents were subject to discovery and she did not want to make some defense attorney's life easier when it came to trial. Let the bastard charge $500 per hour to read this crap. She needed someone who could understand the subject and figure out exactly what she needed.
Looking at the other papers on her desk her eyes caught the photograph of her niece Violetta at her last piano recital.
If Violetta was not thirteen, just a few years older, Zimmer would hire her in a heart beat to do this job. The girl had somehow developed the ability to devour books at a glance. With Ronnie gone, Violetta had the habit of walking down to the local Barnes and Noble, grabbing five books of the shelf, buy one of those fancy imported flavored waters in the café, and read them all in one sitting. It was not photographic memory, but Zimmer would kill for Violetta's reading ability.
However, giving Violetta an explosives manual was like tossing a match into gasoline...scratch that...napalm.
Last year the toilets at Saint Sebastian's Grade School had a habit of erupting into geysers whenever someone urinated in them. Last June, Violetta's boy friend, Ronald Possible, masterminded the toilet bomb attack on the principal Sister Bernadine. Zimmer knew her niece. If Violetta had no part in that toilet bomb prank, then Zimmer had some oceanfront property in Middleton for sale.
Lori's cell phone rang.
Nagging Nora, as the overworked investigator dubbed the cell phone's virtual operator, chanted in her Mary Poppin's accent, "Dr. Sanchez, on the phone, Misses."
Lori jabbed at the ANSWER key.
"Hi, 'Berta...Okay...Thanks...Just drop her off...Don't worry, I have lots of documents she can help me push around...Okay...See you tomorrow night."
Lori Zimmer cursed fate as he hit the END key.
Roberta was doing her a huge favor by talking to Kim Possible.
However, someone had to watch Violetta, especially after that incident with her boyfriend last spring. The problem with Vee was that she was too precocious sometimes. Where other girls wished for a pony, Vee was already picking her future husband.
Violetta was too quiet lately and the little girl being quiet meant the same thing as it meant when she was three...something that was not suppose to go on was going on. At three is was painting on all the wall...Now, only God knows. Zimmer shook her head at fate.
Dr. Roberta Sanchez, MD, Ph.D. Psychology, was a genius in getting folks to spill their guts. Whenever, Lori had a tough nut to crack she would call on Roberta to guide her into getting into the nut's mind. However, when dealing with Violetta, the head shrink would consistently strike out. Violetta knew all of Dr. Sanchez tricks.
Lori Zimmer was a good police investigator with a reasonably competent skill in interrogation, but she was not in the league of Dr. Sanchez when it came to figuring out where to start.
However, Zimmer seemed to be able to get the truth out of Violetta, despite the girl being a natural at manipulating people. Law enforcement types did since they developed the uncanny ability to read body language. Violetta knew some of the tricks, but not even an academy award winning actress could hide all the signals the human body expressed.
Zimmer knew the deal. Sanchez will speak to the Possible's off the record and would relay a message to Zimmer if anything important transpired. Since doctor-client privileges apply, Zimmer would get the clue without having to disclose it to counsel. However, Sanchez was trying to get the 411 on Violetta.
Forty minutes latter, Violetta came into the office with a carry-on suitcase. Zimmer noted the new earring and make up. The clothes were causal, but were actually ironed, a first for the girl.
"How many more days?"
"Twenty-five days, three hours..." Violetta looked at her watch, "twelve minutes dot eighteen...now."
Crap, she is really going gaga over that boy of hers. I heard about it but seeing it live...scary like a fender bender.
"Tell me, what's happening?"
Violetta was about to go on a fifteen minute spiel about all the great things her boyfriend did on the ranch.
"I mean in your life."
"I just went to the mall yesterday. Hit that new place GrilZ-Rack Body Gallery! Here...I'm going to wear it when he comes back."
Violetta opened her bag and should her aunt her new blouse. Lori suppressed a gag. It was virtually transparent and too small even for Violetta's small frame. Shopping, makeup, the new Violetta screamed something in Lori's mind. The old Vee was the like it or leave it look.
"Vee, it's cute. But I suggest you don't wear that one in public. A girl don't give away all her secrets to the world you know – Just for the boy toy...Make it a special shirt that you only wear for his eyes to see. All girls have that special shirt."
Lori hoped the thought would prevent Violetta from wearing that thing in public. If Roberta saw that shirt, she would flip.
"How did you get it?"
"I bought it myself.
"Candy bars and bubble gum got hot the moment the principal removed the vending machine right next to the faculty break room sha...saying about making up give up candy and soda for Lent. That did not exactly go well over with the staff and students. I get stuck with fish on Friday...I made my sac...sacrifice. So I went to Sma...marty Mart and filled up a cooler bag with Coke and candy that afternoon. With a fifty percent markup, I made a hundred a week off that candy ban, at least until the nuns interfered."
That's true, but not the whole story. I heard about your little casino and how you and Ronnie hustled some skaters at the skate park collecting admission to a free park. Just how much cash have you been hauling in over the years.
Lori remembered running similar scams in the orphanage to get some pocket money. However, Violetta took scamming to a different level. A con man would look at her and find a kindred spirit or a feared competitor. Lori wished that Violetta would either go into law or law enforcement. There she could legally use her talents to get people to do what was questionably ethical.
"So tell me all about him."
By the time Violetta finished describing her demigod boyfriend, Lori Zimmer wanted to hurl. The old Vee was prematurely cynical.
Lori encouraged Violetta to show her the make-up and the other clothes she bought. While they were not as bad as the as the shirt, they screamed the truth. Something destroyed Violetta's sense of self image. The old Violetta was...well Violetta...confident, couldn't care less about fashion. Now Violetta was preparing to seduce a boy that was pretty well snared. Now was not the time or place to straighten the girl out.
Besides, if Zimmer had Violetta for two days, Violetta was going to help out.
"Vee, would you like to make a couple bucks?"
That was like Special Agent Zimmer waving liquor in front of a hobo or crack in front of a junkie, results guaranteed. If there was a loose dollar within a hundred feet, Vee would not be only about to sniff it out but give you its location, its serial number, and the names, addresses, and occupations of the last five holders of the bill. All while she would be putting the bill in her pocket. If the Fed ever wanted to tighten the money supply, all they would have to do is hand the cash to the little girl. The old Vee was so tight fisted with her money. This was the first time that Lori heard of Vee actually spending her money without figuring a way to make a profit out of it.
"I don't have time to read all these binders. Can you read time for me and give me a quick summery? You don't have to write, just use this tape recorder."
Maybe the idea of mayhem and destruction would snap Violetta out of her boy rut. The girl had brains but when it came to a certain boy, they were certainly mush.
Too bad there was no EOD manual to defuse a hormonally active girl with a base case of the demigod boyfriend.
While Violetta was studying the history and intricacies of Semtex, her boyfriend was trying to figure out what was happening to him.
His body was so crazy that he wanted to go just jump off a bridge or something. His voice can't figure out what pitch it would use so it tried to hit all the notes in a single sentence. His face was deciding whether or not to grow facial hair and settling for rat whiskers. His thing was going nuts. Even beating it several times a day (When he can get some alone time in the restroom) did not prevent it from trying to grow erect at the smallest stimuli.
It was not deliberate on his part.
Just every time he saw a cute female, it went nuts and started growing.
It was not just his Cousin Jen that set him off. The ranch had several older, married, attractive women. Outside the time he spend in the copter moving and tracking the herds, Ronnie could seemingly go on more than half an hour without seeing one and bam...instant hard-on. His dreams were twisted.
Now his wet dreams were not just of what he did with Violetta. His dreams now included an ensemble cast. Vee was the main star, but Cousin Jen, Aunt Joss, half a dozen other married women working on the ranch all were in his perverted dreams all in non-speaking parts. The worst part was when Aunt Joss showed him a picture of his mom, age 16, in a two piece. Now a perverted part of his was even thinking of his mom as a hottie.
Thankfully they did not show him a picture of his grandmother at a very young age. If Grandma Possible or his mother appeared in his twisted dreams, Ronnie vowed that he would go to the nearest psych ward and check himself in for the rest of his life. His dreams were totally sick-wrong. What kind of boy got a hard-on from watching his aunt's...well, attractive aunt's butt move as she walks?
Every night, he would jerk himself off so that there would be no accidents. He still shared his cousin's bed and found himself waking up in the middle of the night with her in his arms and his snake trying to escape the underwear and migrate to the nearest cave.
Ronne went down to the bathroom and socked the monkey for the nth time in the night. The problem was that N started at one and as they would say in mathspeak - 'N' was now rapidly approaching infinity.
Once he believed that he was a good boy, at least as good as one can be with Violetta around. Now he realized that he was nothing but one of those man-whores mentioned in Duce Bigolow. He grabbed the pillow and a spare blanket out of the linen closet before finding a spot on the rug and going back to sleep.
It was like his body was a ticking bomb. He was so...perverted all the time...thinking about sex...thinking about thinking about sex...trying to hide the fact that he had all these thoughts about sex.
It took two more trips to the bathroom and a very cold shower before he could relax enough to get some sleep. He dreamt of what else...sex.
Too bad his body did not come with an instruction manual on how to defuse his explosively perverted mind.
Tim Possible was in an explosive situation.
He had spotted a bear and either shoot it or let it go. Letting it go would make no noise and would not alert any nearby hunters of his presence. Letting it go would mean consuming no fat and no fat would mean eventual death.
Shooting the bear was not certain. Tim had killed deer, mountain goats, and dall sheep when his grandfather took him and Jim hunting. They were small and a .30-06 thirty caliber round was more than sufficient for the task under two hundred yards. However, he still had a similar thirty caliber round but he was hunting much larger game.
Looking down at his wasting frame, he had to take on a four hundred pound creature with a rifle. Tim cycled the action of the bolt-action rifle he got off the dead hunter and chambered a round. He spotted a tree with easily climbable branches. The plan was simple. Get two quick shots off and run like hell for the tree if the bear was still alive.
Tim aimed his shot just behind the shoulder so the round would travel through the heart and lungs. He caressed the trigger as his grandfather showed him.
Bang.
Tim rapidly cycled the bolt action as the bear turned to face him. He aimed a round in its open mouth and jerked the trigger. Having grandpa yell at you that it was a cardinal sin to drop your rifle ensured that he slung it over his shoulders as he turned to run towards the trees.
Tim ran as fast as he could, but no man could outrun a bear.
It knocked him to the earth and mauled him.
Tim curled up. It was his time and soon he expected the bear to eat him and later shit him all over the woods.
Just as Tim accepted his fate the bear collapsed upon him.
Tim wiggled out from under the bear. He pulled out a knife and handed to Marie.
"Listen to what I tell you. I need you to butcher this bear. Without its fat we will die. Understand."
Marie looked nauseous but nodded. He talked her through the procedure.
He did not remember what happened afterwards save that he was light headed.
"Tomofey Ivanovich Posibeev. You lost too much blood."
Tim opened his eyes to see Marie sitting over him with a damp cloth in her hand.
"We were not far from town and so I traded some bear meat and the organs for medical treatment. We are safe for now. You have been asleep for two days."
Tim wanted to bolt up and run, but the pain was too much.
"The doctor told me that if you move, you will reopen the stitches. He gave you drugs for the infection and pain. You were lucky that the bear was not stronger. Men have had their spines snapped in two by a single swipe of the bear's claws."
Tim's senses screamed get out and run away, but he could not defeat a newborn baby let alone a full grown man. He could not even roll over.
"We can't stay here. They will..."
"We are safe for now. The cops were here. I...we lost too much weight to be recognized. They accepted my story and your identity papers were good enough. I found some money on you and used it to pay off the police. They believe that we are illegal hunters for bear gallbladers. I need you to swear in Cossack and talk in Russian, no English, nyet English. They also took the bear skin, the rifle, and some of the meat as payment of our fine. I need you to sleep and remember...mutter...swear like Cossack."
She kissed him.
"Sleep well, husband. Soon we will return back to the woods. Just sleep and I will be right here with you."
Marie jabbed something into his leg and the pain dulled enough to let him sleep.
Tim remembered being hung by his wrists in a cold tub of salt water. Someone was attaching electrical leads to his flesh. The shadow cracked the field telephone.
Tim felt the pain screaming through his body.
"Confess. Confess. All you have to do is say the words we want to hear. Who sent you?"
He replied in Russian, "I have no idea. I am Timofey Ivanovich Posibeev. I am Cossack. I am no spy. My great-great grandfather was sent here because he was Cossack. My family has been here for generations. I am just hunter...just hunter."
The shadow paused and attached another field telephone to the circuit.
"You are a hunter, my friend. Except you hunt two-legged animals as do I. I recognize the look in your eyes, Cossack. Who hired you?"
The interrogation spiraled out of control.
His flesh was burned. He could barely see. He stuck to his tale.
"If you don't talk, I will make your woman talk. Woman always learns all secrets...even ones we men think we hide from them."
Tim whimpered as he heard Marie's screams.
"Don't tell me who you want me to confess against. I will tell."
"Then come up with good story."
"After Chechnya, I wore for hire. I am chiller. Gregory Alexovich had affair with mobster son. Gregory Alexovich turned the son into a fag unwilling to mount whore and give his father grandson to raise straight. That is what I'm told by Boris...I don't know more about Boris...He don't know more about me than my price and how to reach me. Safer for everyone. I got paid five thousand Euros to make it look like robbery. Marie Ivanovna walked in just as I was robbing safe. I panicked and took Marie as hostage. I...I ran. I have killed men...but not unarmed woman."
"Thank you. Continue working on the woman. Let this one rest. I want him to hear her screams. Then we give him the hammer and let him live...let him live with the memory of her death."
Tim slumped down in defeat.
"Timofey, it's Marie. You were screaming."
He felt an arm draped over his chest.
"Rest. I won't leave you."
Tim wanted to scream leave me, but a part of him could not. He closed his eyes praying that he would not return back to the dream.
God did not answer his prayers or at least the way he wanted his prayers answered.
Violetta marked another day off her calendar. Seventeen more days until Ronnie came home.
It was a quarter to six in the evening and as was her ritual she removed clothes and examined herself in the full length mirror.
Violetta had vigorously worked out trying to get rid of the last bit of baby fat in her tummy and legs. However no matter how many meals she skimped or how many pushups, laps in the pool, miles on the road, or sit-ups her body stubbornly held unto that last bit of fat.
She was a failure. She failed to be perfect for him.
Violetta had got a copy of the entrance exam results. Both Ronnie and she were being sent to the eighth grade instead of the seventh with their other classmates from Saint Sabastien's. That mean the other girls would be older, probably more experience in stealing another girl's boyfriends, and have even bigger busts that the seventh graders she expected to compete with.
It was like going from Peewee football to the program at USC.
Violetta knew that she could hold her own on the friendship front. Ronnie did not buy into the food chain. However, he was a hottie...a new hottie to the eighth grade girls. That made him like the latest gaming console just before the Christmas shopping season...hot.
Violetta knew that she had to lock Ronnie in. She knew that if she did not distract him from the other girls, that they would seduce him away form her. She would have a week and a half to ensure that he would not stray. She was going to cross the line and seduce him.
Violetta opened her bag.
Going to her regular gynecologist was not an option.
Doctors always talked shop with other doctors and if she went to her gynecologist, Tita 'Berta would find out about the pills. Violetta instead went to a clinic that asked no questions, but handed out pills and condoms like party favors. Starting the first day of her need period, she would start taking the pills. She was not going to loose Ronnie. She was not going to let the other girls.
Violetta wondered why she was cursed to be the different one...the outcast.
God had ensured that her mother was a red crystal addict which doomed Violetta to having to take two doses per day otherwise the withdrawal might kill her. God ensured that the medication fried her in the brain enough to have speech problems and yet not enough to not know what was going on. She was the trash can baby. She was nobody's daughter, but the ward of the State of Colorado. She did not have a real family, but was merely a foster child subject to the whims of social workers and the family courts.
Ronnie was the only real friend that she had. He stood up for her when it cost him. He let her be his girlfriend. Ronnie was the one constant thing in her life that she could depend on. Now that foundation was being threaten.
Ronnie had everything a girl could want - Looks, brains, loyalty, excitement – he had everything a girl could want.
What did she have to offer a guy besides her body and a sub-par body at that? She had nothing else. Men don't need some crazy chick who can blow up toilet. Men did not need a girl whose talents including running cons or pick pocketing some schmuck.
Ronnie Possible was the son of a lawyer/former teen superhero and a heroic deputy US Marshal.
She was the unintended consequence of a psychopathic, homicidal sexual predator having at it with a child porn rent-a-star.
Looking back, it was her antics that constantly dragged Ronnie into trouble. It was because of her that he was not more like his parents.
Ronnie could be anything he wanted. Born of the perfect parents...Good things...heroics were woven into his DNA. He was smarter than her - the only reason she got better grade was because he was too lazy to do all his homework. He was naturally likeable. He had everything a girl could desire in a boy. The only reason he ever stayed with her was pity.
Vee's DNA...crime and prostitution. She was not good enough for him and when he figured that out, her days as his girl would be over.
In the end, nothing could stop that event from happening, she knew. All she could do was to delay it just a little. And she would willingly sacrifice everything just for that small chance at having a real life and perhaps a real family someday.
Violetta looked at herself in the mirror and cried. She would play her last cards when he came home. In the end it wouldd not matter. He would leave her anyways.
However, she would at least have him for just a little while longer. For that she would sell her soul.
The Controller went over the details of the Project in his head. The Project from day one did not have any written records since it's inception. It was the first rule of Four rules drilled into all the initiates.
If it's not written down...it does not exist.
Everything is for the benefit of the Project.
Results are the only things that matters. Good intentions are not good enough.
There are no other rules because rules limit possibilities and constraint thought.
Simplicity and ruthlessness were perhaps the greatest attributes of the Project. He was responsible to his bosses for moving the Project forward, but as long as the Project progressed as expected he did not have to ask permission or justify his expenses or justify his actions.
His other job at Global Justice was just the opposite.
There was too much paperwork even for simply ordering office supplies. Every sheet of paper and paperclip had to be inventoried. Every expense report was scrutinized. He had to justify every cent of his budget to congressional committees and to donors. He spent more time defending his budget than he did investigating crime.
The Project simply gave him a budget of a couple million every quarter. Anything that was not spent ended up in one of many bank accounts that were set up nearly two decades ago by a certain villainess.
Thanks to Shego, he now sat on over a hundred million laundered dollars.
Before the brain wipe that converted her to Susan Lee, he deliberately addicted her to a specially modified version of red crystal that would kill anyone who did not have her healing powers. Shego nearly died from the withdrawal before she coughed up the account numbers and passwords to her fortune. The accounts exceeded his expectations. Shego was not only a violent criminal, but actually had brains. Too bad she wasted her life in blue-color crime. If she went into white-color crime, she could have put Liszt to shame.
A part of him just wanted to off the former teen hero turned villain, but she was just as much a part of the project as he was. He personally supervised Shego's mind-wipe procedure and buried the authorization in a ton of paperwork. Dr. Director just signed wherever he applied a sign here tab and it was her signature that turned Shego into Susan Lee and authorized the cover up.
As far as the world and Dr. Director knew, Shego, addicted to drugs and suffering clinical depression, committed suicide by hanging herself in her prison cell. The Go family was given an urn of ashes and they were interned in the Go family plot. They were being watched to see if any other crossed seems promissing. In due time, all their abilities will become Project property.
Ronald Stoppable's genetic sequence was not part of the original vision. It was debated at one time whether or not to arrange a fatal accident so that Kim would be hitched up with another line in the Project.
However the accidental discovery of the Ron factor and his Mystical Monkey Power (MMP) changed his fate. Unlike Kim Possible, Ron was not motivated by the Do good mentality. Ron's sense of right and wrong was more flexible then Kim's. The only reason he played the game by Kim's high ethical standards was because of his love for her.
If Kim went evil, Ron would have protected her and be the first to serve as her henchman. Ron's overriding trait was his insane loyalty to those he loved. The Zorpox episode show the Coordinator just how much unrealized potential both heroic and criminal was in the Stoppable DNA. Also Ron had an inhuman level of persistence once he decided on a course of action.
Unlike Kim Possible, Ron Stoppable was more than willing to pull the trigger if the situation called for it. His death was a tragedy. The Committee planed on at least two more crosses to ensure that the death of one failure would not greatly impact the Project. However, field testing was mandatory. Despite his death, Ron Possible passed the test. His genetics survived and remain part of the Project.
The Possible DNA had plenty of traits that were desired...Courage, loyalty, and intelligence, but the Possible Do good mentality was not one of them. Kim Possible was a failure in the eyes of the Project. Even threatened with her death and the death of her loved one, she would not pull the trigger. Her DNA would have been excluded as unsuitable. However, her brothers more than showed the attributes desired. Also since she was the only female to carry Ron's child, her DNA regrettably remanded in the Project.
The son showed promise. He was not a do gooder like his mother. He showed signs of having his father's basic personality, ability to generate chaos, and some hints at possible MMP combined with his mother's intelligence. A copy of the son's psych profile fitted the desired outcome rather nicely. However, there will be additional testing of her child to ensure that he did not carry his mother's weakness.
Shego's DNA had the traits of a criminal...cunning; ferocity; aggressiveness; hunger for more; unconventional thinking; and the willingness to do whatever it took to come out on top. But loyalty was not part of the villainess' genetic sequence. With the exceptions of her brothers and parents, Shego's DNA was composed of thieves, confidence men, murderers, and other criminal types. Tracing her ancestry was a nightmare since just about every generation; one of her ancestors changed their names to evade the authorities.
Shego's DNA was not as valued as the monster's assassin traits. Nevertheless, when you toss in Shego glow powers and rapid healing abilities...Shego's DNA was one more step to accomplishment of the final goal. Crossed with the generations of assassins on her biological father's side, the child Violetta Lee already exhibited the desired abilities. In due time, the chemical that suppressed her glow powers would be withheld. Violetta Lee would be tested alongside the Possible child. If both made it, then the Project would continue quietly for another generation.
The planed cross would result in something quite interesting. Something close to the desired end goals of the Project. However, the result would not exhibit the unthinking loyalty demanded by the Project, but would be the nexus for the remainder of the project. The next couple generations would be focused on turning the wolves into pit bulls.
The Project would not be complete in his lifetime or even in his successor's lifetime. There would be more crosses and many more tests to weed out the inferior genetic material. Then they would bread multiple lines to ensure genetic diversity and resiliency.
In due time, the Project would create the perfect tools for world domination. Something intelligence, cunning, ferocious, persistent, unconventional, aggressive, willing to break the rules, and yet utterly loyal to fulfilling their masters' goals. Unlike technology, these tools would never be obsolete or require an upgrade. These tools would be self-perpetuating. In due time, Homo sapiens parabellum will conquer the universe and the Project Committee would rule over the Homo sapiens parabellum.
He was a young teen growing up in an orphanage when he was initiated into the project by the man that he latered learned was his true biological father. His father died as an Omega one step removed from the final level of authority, the Light Bringer himself. The omegas were all born of the project as was he. However, unlike most of the participants in the Project, he knew his role and purpose.
His DNA was part of the Project too. They bred him to two girls in Europe. The names of the girls were not important as his mother was not important. They were selected because their paternal grandfather was once a very successful Bulgarian hit man and their father was a master thief. The girls were now dead and somewhere in Europe, he had two children who would grow up under the watchful eye of another Coordinator. They already showed promise. Should they pass their examination, they too would be allowed to pass their genes unto the next generation.
He was only three steps from his goal. First he had to earn a seat on the commission. It would not be easy since the only way off the commission was death or promotion to omega status – Thus openings were very rare. However, the Coordinator's track record of accomplishments guaranteed him on the short list of replacements.
From there it would take another decade at least to be appointed to omega status by the Light Bringer. The Coordinated knew that he would have to demonstrate leadership, competence, and loyalty simultaneously so that when the Light Bringer stepped down he would ascend to the dais.
It took thirteen years to locate the child that fate stole from him.
Violetta Lee.
A pretty name that perfectly described a pretty girl.
His child was so perfect to the be instrument that would fulfill all his expectation. His agent had compiled a dossier on the child. Despite not being trained, she exhibited the intelligence, drive, perseverance, flexible ethics, and unconventional thinking of a ninja. He followed her to piano recitals and her sporting events. She always took the top spot being far superior to any of the competition.
His child...He could take her back into his world anytime. She regularly left the house to exercise. However he held back. To grab her and use her now would ruin her potential.
In due time, he would recruit her and train her in the ways of her ancestors. He would have a kunoichi that would be able to infiltrate the old school and kill the old man who held him back from his destiny for far too long. She would be a fitting vessel for any man's lust.
He saw a hint of the beauty that she would become.
A part of him wanted to take her, to devour her, to taste her charms and pluck her flower. However, to do so would not further his long-term goals.
If he was a normal father concerned about the happiness of his daughter, he would be worried about boyfriends. However, he was not the normal father. He was proud of her accomplishments. He was proud that despite being raised over in America, she had the work ethic of a true daughter of Nippon.
There was one more lesson to be learned by his child before he would take her and mold her to be the perfect killing machine.
Love and loss.
She was clearly smitten with a boy. He followed her to the family planning clinic and saw her leave hiding a box of pills in her bag. He smiled. Girls don't get the pills unless they expected something to happen soon.
The kunoichi were originally orphan girls adopted into the clan. Agents would buy girls from orphanages or poor families and bring them back. There hired men and women would seduce them and teach them the ways of love before deliberately breaking their hearts. In the depths of despair, they would be offered a chance to get back at their former lover. They would submit themselves to all sorts of perversions. They learned via painful experience to separate sex and love. They learned to seduce and use a man's or woman's lust as a samurai would use the reins of a horse to guide the beast into doing its master's bidding. They would seduce their former lovers and then kill them in the moment of pleasure.
The charms and bodies of the kunoichi were perhaps the deadliest of weapons. Too bad the last of the kunoichi trained in this manner died a century ago. Today kunoichi rarely read the ancient training manuals, and the few that did never had to make the sacrifices their predecessors made for their art.
Before he could complete his child's education, she would have to first give up her flower and then have her gift abused and rejected. She would have to learn that all men deep down were like him...takers. She would have to learn to hate love and guard her heart against it.
He would be watching, waiting, for the moment to recruit her into his world. He would not take her to be his lover. That would destroy the teacher-student bond require for handling such a dangerously powerful weapon. As much as he knew that she, like her mother, could repeatedly endure his lusts taking her to his bed would ruin her for the far greater things that she was destined to do.
He imagined her becoming a goddess like he was a god. He imagined her as the continuation of the ancient ways long since discarded by the weak and frighten. The ancient ways were the keys to his ascendancy. The modern ninja were far too weak for his task. Since the fall of the in Tokugawa shogunate in 1867, the ninja became weak and vassals to the emperor and later the post-war government. Today, they meekly accepted a lowly police post...blah, that was for peasants with delusions of grandeur.
Ninjas once shaped the nation of Japan.
Without the Sanada Ten Braves, ninjas all, Sanada Yukimura would not have lived long enough to crave out a legend. Without ninja, Oda Nobunaga would not have been killed. Toyotomi Hideyoshi and later Tokugawa Ieyasu would have not finished the unification of Japan and Japan would have ended up colonial vassals of the European powers instead of a proud people. Ninjas were the stuff of legends, but many times the invisible intervention of ninjas altered the course of Japanese history.
Soon it would be time for the ninja to act upon the world.
His child would one day take his position and power as she should. The weak merely react. The strong take and act leaving the weak to whimper and moan. She would be strong and in due time she would take and act. Of that he was sure.
To continue his line, his daughter would as some of his ancestress did who seduce a man.
Not just any man, but a man of danger and power – not of connections or wealth, but of the spirit and skill. She would let herself be taken several times, each time weakening the suspicions of the prey. Thinking that she was in love with him, the man would tell her all his secrets. He would rain down wealth and gifts upon her. When she was with child, instead of telling him, she would lie with him one more time. She would take him to the heights of pleasure. He would experience ecstasy and then find himself terribly weaken. His throat would be ripped out at the height of pleasure by her teeth. His power and spirit forever enslaved to her. She would leave with his child in her womb, his blood in his mouth, and his secrets her own to do with what she pleased.
To be dispatched by a kunoichi in this fashion was once the highest honor a victim could be given. To be valued and respected so highly that your killer would willingly carry your child and bring the strength of your bloodline into her clan was to be worthy and powerful indeed.
It was ironic that many a time in the history of the Yamanouchi Clan that the ninja who would be dispatched to kill a certain daimyo would be the daimyo's half-brother, cousin, or bastard son. His own blood ran with the bloodlines of the most powerful enemies that the Yamanouchi Clan. Of the many daimyo, samurai, ronin, rival ninjas, soldiers, and other demons slain by a Yamanouchi only a handful were so honored. Their blood ran through the veins of the Yamanouchi, through his veins, and through the veins of his child. She inherited his spirit. She was of his blood. However to become a deity as he became a god, she like him must love and have that love betrayed.
He was willing to patiently wait for that moment. Time was on his side.
Bonnie Rockwaller had the keys to the virtual kingdom.
Intelligence officers around the Globe would trade in their wives, mistresses, and daughter for just one hour of the access that she enjoyed.
Both the feds and the local police used the network servers produced by one of Liszt's subsidiary companies. With a few key strokes and a master password, the former cheerleader had downloaded several gigabytes of data.
Normally she would detail this work to one of her special computer wonks. However, because of Liszt's personal interest in the near death of Kim Possible she decided that it was better for her to personally keep tabs on the investigation herself.
Documents were being ships wholesale over the secure networks between agencies. She winched at the sight of the crime scene photographs, but focused on her task.
Bonnie cleared her mind.
From her years in ballet, she learned one could not perform without a calm, clear mind empty of preconceptions. You did not just do the movement but let the music wash over you...through you. Growing up, ballet practice was one of her favorite times. She was safe from her father and uncle at the studio. She was free of the pressures. There in the music, she was free of all that life inflicted upon her. In the empty mind, she found out that she somehow could see things that everyone else missed.
Bonnie ignored the facts and focused on movements and ripples. Each ripple was the pattern of the present on the past. She felt and experienced each ripple. She mentally became one with the flow and opened her eye to the hidden truth.
The hit on the Russian interior minister, the deaths of Jim Possible and Wade Load, the disappearance of Tim Possible were all ripples from some grand event. She knew that she could not point out exactly what piece of evidence she used, but she trusted her intuition.
Bonnie now had a kind of power over her boss. Slowly she was taking over day to day control of his empire. The other executives stopped reporting to Liszt and started taking their issues to Bonnie. Liszt was stupid about letting someone else be his eyes, his hands, and speak with his voice.
Bonnie had found the connection. Now she had to explore the Why. She remembered the scene in the second Martix flick between the trio of Morpheus, Neo, and Trinity and the Merovingian.
"You come to me without the Why...without power."
Being powerless in this arena was suicide...both for herself and her son. However appearing powerful was an invitation for your enemies to gang up on you like a pack of hyenas ganging up on an old, solitary male lion. The key to survival was to be powerful and yet appear powerless. With the Why she would know the other answers and more importantly the questions to ask.
The answer was always 42. Now what was the question of life? (i)
Now it was time to come up with something plausible for Liszt to digest. He had grand visions, but it was up to her to cement the details into reality. Soon, she would replace him.
Liszt was old. A massive stroke after a series of small strokes would not raise too much suspicion. As his designated successor, she would step up closer to the source of his power. She would mouth the words of loyalty and bid her time.
Slowly she would shut down most Liszt's illegal operations.
The blue collar crime will go. Sex trafficking would be the first thing shut down. The organ faming operation would be dismantled. The other operations would be sold to those unfit to serve in her company. They were small fry bringing in a few million here and there. They were not profitable enough to justify the liability of being associated with them.
Liszt Industries measured revenue in the tens of billions of dollars annually from its legitimate operations. Risking oneself for pocket change was idiotic. The real money was in manipulating those with wealth and power to invest in you. Then your interests became their interests. They would does a lot and get some profit. You guide them and you will make much more profit and they will come back for repeat business. Everyone makes everyone happy and the dance goes on.
Any fool can order a hit. A real professional foresees the need for future action and with a slight tug guides the errant pawn back into the game and acting in accordance with the professional's goal, rather than just sacrificing it.
Bonnie prepared a standard one page report with a speculation that Jim Possible and Wade Lode were killed because they discovered something and that she would be watching to find out what it was.
Once she was too afraid to think about breaking free.
Since Bonnie was a child wearing layers of pajamas in a futile effort to prevent herself from being molested by her father, the world tried to smash and destroy her sense of self. In high school, she acted the queen to compensate for the fact that at home she was nothing more than a seminal sewer for her male relatives and their perverted pals. However, she survived and grew stronger. Once she would have meekly followed orders. Now she was gaining her independence and her confidence. She would in due time show the world why you don't mess with a little girl's dreams.
She was Bonnie Rockwaller and soon to be the most ruthless CEO on Wall Street. She did not play well with others. She never played well with others. She remembered one thing that someone whispered about her in grade school.
Bonnie plays mean.
Bonnie opened up her computer and selected the appropriately illegally downloaded file to a song that gave her hope as a child – Poe's Control. This file had been burned on countless CD's and transferred from computer to computer over the years. Although she had a legal copy at home and in her car, she preferred the illegally downloaded version she swiped two decades ago via Napster.
The familiar song played over her computer speakers.
Don't you mess with a little girl's dream,
cause she's liable to grow up mean.
Surprised you to find that I'm laughing?
You thought that you'd find me in tears,
You thought I'd be crawling the walls,
Like a tiny mosquito and trembling in fear.
Well you may be king for the moment,
But I am a queen understand,
And I've got your pawns and your bishops,
And castles,
All inside the palm of my hand.
While you were looking the other way,
While you had your eyes closed,
While you were licking your lips,
cause I was miserable.
While you were selling your soul,
While you were tearing a hole in me.
I was taking control.
Now I have taken control,
Now I have taken control.
This is beginning to feel good,
Watching you squirm in your shoes,
A small bead of sweat on your brow,
And a growl in your belly your scared to let through.
You thought you could keep me from loving,
You thought you could feed on my soul,
But while you were busy destroying my life,
What was half in me has become whole.
While you were looking the other way,
While you had your eyes closed,
While you were licking your lips,
cause I was miserable.
While you were selling your soul,
While you were tearing a hole in me.
I was taking control.
Now I have taken control,
Now I have taken control...
So this is how it feels,
To breath in the summer air,
The feel the sand between my toes,
And love inside my ear.
All those things that you taught me to fear,
I've got them in my garden now,
And your not welcome here.
Come a little bit closer,
Let me look at you,
I gave you the benefit,
Of the doubt it's true.
But keep in mind my darling,
Not every saint is a fool.
While you were looking the other way,
While you had your eyes closed,
While you were licking your lips,
cause I was miserable.
While you were selling your soul,
While you were tearing a hole in me.
I was taking control.
Now I have taken control, Don't you mess with me.
Now I have taken control...
Bonnie Rockwaller Plays Mean: Don't Mess Around with a Little Girl's Dream – If Bonnie ever wrote a truthful book about herself, she had the perfect title.
i Adams, Douglas. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.