BLUE WASTELAND

A Drakken Fan fiction oddity

By Psychedelic Leviathan and the fighting Jesus

a/n: I hate Kim so much, I didn't think it could get worse but after today's episode it just did. To be honest things at FanFiction.net pisses me off these days, so this will be my last story here. The site itself is still great, but nobody is reviewing and I know this is review worthy stuff. I don't even like Kim Possible anymore, I'm just finishing this story out of principle. I'm going to FictionPress and making my own stories, rather then wasting my talent on the characters of others.

Rockie Flagg awoke with a jolt of dark energy, forced out of his exquisite dreams of dancing with Shego. He growled miserably, deciding right away that he would never be so happy again. He cursed the real world, lazily praying for an asteroid of extinction level mass to come down and explosively wipe out all life on Earth. That would be so wonderful. He hoped that it was one so big that it would shatter the very globe itself and thus kill even the atomic war resistant coach roaches. Let all things be put to the stellar torch.

He pulled his heavy ass up and into one of the bathrooms of the burned out old school. He felt so old in his opinion, so tired and old before his time. There was no way he should have felt that weary of life at his age. Something needed to be changed and he knew just what it was. Ever since he had been a kid he had had these impulses, being held in the grip of an insatiable force of chaos his whole life.

The time had come, he had to get the fuck out of this place and he had to do it now. It was the same as when he had lost in his mental shit in the barracks of Camp Pendleton and jumped over the fence in the middle of the night. Running away from what to him was an oppressive nightmare of endless desert marches and obsessive shoe shining. The Marine Corps hadn't made too much of an effort to hunt him down, he had been regarded as a general fuck up by all of base authorities anyways.

And of course his being in the Marines was the eventual result of him having had to get out of his Dad's house at 14, something he had been forced to do in order to preserve his own sanity. One of his father's routine beatings of him had turned out sour for the old man, Rockie having been abused so long that he finally fought back. With a violent left hand he had sent the old asshole crashing to the ground. Shaking from exultation from having leveled the bastard he seized the reins of his madness and jumped out a window, running away and never coming back to the small desert town.

From there things had gotten uglier, Rockie wandering from one town to another as a homeless bum. At 14 he already had the body of a grown man and savagely pummeled a 30 year old crack head who tried to rob him for drug money. He found a calling in the field of fighting for cash, growing a thick beard and then declaring himself to be 25 in order to box against adults for wads of money. Here his years of forced athletic training finally were rewarded, the wiry but strong muscles allowing him to contend against much older men, if only for a few rounds.

At 16 he had finally come into his own, his body maturing and thickening out. He began to win his battles in the ring, exulting amidst the cheering sleazy bastards as he dispatched grown men almost twice his age with his clubbing arms. But a feeling of being trapped resumed, one that was in no small way helped by his manager, a corrupt and evil man who had made a living out of exploiting dumb young ghetto kids like himself. That subhuman pig man would have had him fight until his arms fell off, then would have cast him aside into the gutter with a tremendous amount of brain damage.

Fearfully of being sucked dry and cast aside Rockie left the rings and used his meager winnings to pay for a one way bus ticket to Los Angeles, his plan was to become a bouncer at some kind of pervy nightclub. He was originally was going to have headed towards New York City, but he figured that it would be harder to be homeless there because of how cold the winters were.

Rockie got to L.A. but learned that he would have to be at least 21 to work in a club, which outraged him quite a bit. He changed career goals again and became a criminal himself, robbing a number of liquor stores in the Greater Los Angeles basin. He attracted the attentions of the homeboys and soon enlisted himself into the Bloods, becoming an adept drug dealer in Mac Arthur Park quickly after his 'beating in' at the hands of the other homeboys.

With his hulking physical attributes and utter lack of humanity and decency Rockie Flagg became one of the badest gang members in South Central Los Angeles. He robbed stores, capped asses, terrorized the streets with a swagger and mixed it up with enemy gangs alongside his boys. He loved it, getting his arms tattooed and shaving off his blonde hair to look more vicious. His fingers were soon adorned with cheap gaudy jewelry and he had tremendous amounts of unsafe sex with various home girls.

Rockie was a Blood until a little past his eighteenth birthday, when on a raid into enemy territory his boys were taken by surprise by the rival homeboys. A number of them were gunned down without mercy and their low riding car was set ablaze. Rockie barely escaped with his life and never really came back to the hood after that, fearful of what his homeboys would do to him for failing. He soon ran away to San Diego and into a recruiting office. Rockie noticed the various categories for the recruiting videos on the man's shelf, such as ethnic, or career types, or various levels of education from college to high school drop out. It was all based upon who they were trying to hook. He sardonically noted that the video he was shown had the words "NO FUTURE" on its spine, thinking it almost funny in a grim way back then.

He didn't want to remember any more of his past, the goddamned service had nearly killed him. Not to mention that in it he had nearly killed a number of his so called superiors. There had been a number of times out at the Recruit Depot where he had been one insult away from taking up his rifle and firing it into a drill instructor's head.

But that was all in the past, and the past was a dying ghost in his mind's vision of things. He had a mission now.

He was going to Shego. One way or another he needed to figure out what all of this strangeness meant. He felt that he was going insane and the rational part of his mind agreed. Unfortunately the emotional part of him was on the other side and in most people the heart vanquished the brain. Those dreams just seemed much too vivid to be anything but paranormal. Rockie was smart, but also unstable. So believing in telepathy wasn't a very big leap of faith for him. Hell believing in a giant invisible grapefruit that controlled the nations of men, that wasn't a very big leap of faith.

He thought of his goddess, the pale beauty with the raven hair. He was going straight towards her as of this day. She needed him to save her from something and that was enough of a motive for him.

Rockie knew he could just walk out the door, the rebel compound not being a very regulated place, but he felt that like all of his great escapes he needed to put an explanation point onto it.

So he picked up a chair and threw it straight through the nearest window in imitation of the great Chief Bromden, then hurtled over the broken glass and out into the night. He ran like hell out into the night sky. Sadly this escape was not very thrilling to him, he knew the rebels wouldn't try to find him. He had outlived his usefulness to them already, having invented the chemical formula that brought death to the super thugs.

Even so he tried to get into this escape, sprinting at a ferocious pace towards the place where he had been told she would be waiting for him in the visions.

There was a feeling of dread in it though, anything that could menace Shego would probably be past his range of capabilities to defeat. But that portent of doom was outweighed by the possibility of success, however limited and faint. For that divine (or infernal) woman he would risk anything and everything.

He found a car and proceeded to break into it.

Shego saw him coming and for a minute her heart was freed from the grasp of the darkness.

"Shego?" He asked.

"You really did come."

"Of course I did." He said. "I violated a car as soon as I woke up from the message you sent me."

"We have much to talk about."

"You seem different then on the TV." He said with a degree of wariness.

Shego took in the man that she had called to her, the one who on the closest alternate plain of reality had been her only friend. She hoped that he was heroic here as well. He looked much like he had over there, six foot four and broad with lengthy curls of golden blonde hair and steely blue eyes. He was so goddamned handsome. He was also brutal and cruel in a number of ways, as appearances could sometimes belie truth.

"I look different?"

"You look so much calmer, your always threatening people on the TV set."

Rockie looked at Shego, she was even more pretty then in the visions that had instructed him to come. It was disorientating to view her in real life, but in the best kind of way. She was stunning to behold, tall and possessed with an evil elegance. He was entranced by her deep emerald green eyes, feeling as if he could stare into them for an eternity. He was now intrigued by her famed claws, the finger blades that so often had come close to ending the life of that brat Kim Possible. Just awhile ago he would have thought that a bad thing, but now he liked the idea of Kim Possible being cut. That smug red headed bitch probably deserved it anyways.

It was amazing how love could make one change their opinions so quickly and readily.

"Well, that's not exactly me." Shego smiled at him.

"Oh. Then who is it?"

"That's very hard to explain, its why I brought you here." Shego smiled without much intensity.

"Okay. But I am interested in why you contacted me. And how you did it too."

"I've gained some new abilities." Shego told him with unflinching eye contact. She extended a clawed hand which Rockie took hesitantly. She began to lead him back to a green and black helicopter.

"Where are we going?"

"Back home. To my new lair."

"Shego? Can I know one teensy little thing before then?"

She hugged him, almost nervous in nature. What could be scaring the ruler of the entire world? "What do you want to know?"

"What is your problem? Why did you go through all of this trouble? And why do I have to solve it?"

"I've been changed, and not in way I would have liked."

"Your off in vagueness land again."

He felt her hand squeeze his shoulder, then a degree of pain shooting up his spine as her claws sunk into his skin. Rockie turned and looked at Shego, whose face was on of demonic exultation but whose eyes were utterly haunted. Rockie felt a slight bleeding from his punctured skin.

"Pilot, take us back home." Shego ordered. "Me and my friend have much to do in the near future."