21
"Is this thing on...? *Ah*!"
Drazen rolled what he could of his eyes; the voice of that incompetent buffoon of a doctor was like a terrible pain, so awful that he wanted to take a spoon, drill inside his head and scrape it all out.
"This is--*UM*--Doctor Drakken!" that blue-crusty buffoon exalted himself proudly, loudly that even both his ears rang with that rough, nasal tone. "If you are with any form of government agency with a warrant for my arrest, then this number exists only in your imagination! Please hang up, and don't call back!"
The cell was about to kiss the unforgiving wall deeply, flatten itself against the steel far beyond the stresses that the plastic could take. Genetics was a feral science, like wild, untamed bison in an aimless stampede; he should know. How a great man like his father was related to his dork was beyond comprehension.
"If you are still on the line, then please record your message at the beep!" the dork continued. "Uh...! SHEGO!! Turn this thing--! Oh--that's right! She's gone for good. DAMN IT--!!"
Never he knew what such pleasure he could find in such a single bleat, an insipid, droning bleat that soothed his ears the millisecond it killed that terrible discord.
"How you graduated from that evil medical school's beyond even me!" the receiver swallowed up his words greedily, as though it too had enough with the abuse the bad doctor put it through. "Say hi to Doctor Evil for me while we're at it. If you hadn't have guessed it, Dr. D, it your cousin Uzziel Drazen, Major formerly of the Family Private Army. Is it cousin, or some other title? Not quite sure how this whole family tree branches off, but I bet the flowers on your limb pollinated amongst each other, eh?
"Don't get it?" he chuckled softly, rounding the sharp corner. "It wouldn't surprise me. Anyway, how's that little shanty you're held in? Falling apart at the seams? That wouldn't surprise me either, considering how that little Kim Possible *putz* said she'd put two in your head if you ever showed your face again. Remember that? I do. And I called-- grudgingly--to tell you that little bitch won't be bothering you ever again. You hear that Drakken? You'll never hear from her again!
"*OH*--!" gravity pulled at the blades in his head as he angled his head in thought. "Damn drug's wearing off again! Anyway! Did you get that last part, before the drug comment? You bet your blue, ashy ass that you'll never hear from her again! She's currently in my custody, being held without proper treatment like that Geneva Convention declares, just the way you like it, right? Then again, you probably didn't hear since your too scared of your own damn shadow to answer the phone! That would be that Shego's job, right?
"I don't know..." he yawned. "But since you're too cowardly to answer your own damn phone, you therefore forgo your opportunity to execute the rabid bitch yourself and my twin will have to do it himself. Ah--I don't think you ever met Galil, did you? Not that it matters; the guy was never his sweet self again since that dog bit him in the leg, back when he still had a pair. Oh well...!
"Take care, blue dude!" his voice even tasted of bittersweet sarcasm. "Rest easier knowing that the bitch of your existence will be done away like the wounded dog she is. Have a good rest of your life, Drew."
His lips couldn't bare the bitterness if he said goodbye. Instead he dropped it into the pocket on his chest with the open flap, at the thumb's touch of the off button. He gave the flap a solid smack with the hand, fingers fumbling the button through that elusive little hole. It didn't matter; the scratchy cloth would soon be off his body, and back into the closet. The door to the commandant's office peeked at him from its fix on the wall.
The tip of his finger scratched at the black, rounded steel, yet the door didn't move open, even as the rest of his hand overtook the knob. It wouldn't budge, as though someone had locked it from the inside...
"Galil...?" his tongue conformed back into that of its mother, his fist hardly smashing into the motionless door at all. "Are you in there?"
"Just a minute, Bro!" his voice came back through the door, scratchy and digitized.
"What are you doing in there?" he furrowed his brow. "Open the door!"
"Hold on a sec!"
"Galil, open the goddamn door!" he barked.
"Just a little longer--DAMN!"
"You're going to feel 'damn' in a minute, G!" his fist clenched tightly. "I'm counting to three: another second past equals another broken tooth!
"One...! Two...! Three...--!"
The door flung open as if he kicked it out of its frame himself, letting out a sturdy bang as it hit the adjacent wall, moving back slowly at less than half its initial speed. Galil sat there, literally in his tracks at the bedside, a look as stupidly innocent as his twitching, darting eyes could suggest. The arm of flesh was twisted behind his back.
Nothing appeared out of place as his squeaky, titanium leg led him inside: white bedspread nice and neat with hospital corners, desk orderly with Israel's favorite giant of Gath standing tall beside the goose-necked lamp stand, and newspaper clippings and pictures like smoothed wallpaper. The room was like a giant shoebox, trapping them inside a prison full of inescapable memories, memories he'd rather let the sands of time erode but wouldn't. He knew he ordered some super glue for some reason.
"You hiding snuff in here, G!?" he demanded.
"Nope!" the tin man shook his terrible head, the lips of flesh pulling into what appeared to be some sort of grin. "Not me! I keep that all in my fun house!"
"Then what the hell are you doing in here!?" he yelled. "We've got work to do! High priority personnel are on site!"
The limb of flesh came out from behind the man of steel, in his hand was tube, an end with a gaping hole with some kind of plunger at the other end. The hand of steel took up the tube as the unnatural limb went parallel with the floor, the hand of flesh jamming it into the sharp pinch at the joint before it took up the plunger. A mighty blast of colors and streamers exploded from the tube with a pop.
"Happy birthday!" Galil *smiled* as much as the actuators on his cheeks let him. Uzi's muscles dragged his lips down, a millimeter per every piece of colored trash that littered his floor, with even more falling from the ceiling.
"Wrong day!" he growled, eye stuck on the floor like the trash around him. "Definitely the wrong place, G! What the hell do you want?"
He winced as that tin can of brother dropped the tube like as if it became unpleasant.
"Bro!" the Tank Man said. "We need to talk about my high priority prisoner you brought back!"
"You don't have a high priority prisoner, G." His brow kinked at the left, and gravity tugged at the shards crowning him as he angled his head.
"I know!" Tank Man's eyes went wide with excitement, an excitement to provoke or to simmer, he wasn't sure. "Can you believe that shit? But-- *BUT! * Now here's the good part, Bro; I think I found a way to solve this troublesome problem!"
He yanked his eye off of the floor, making it take a lap around the socket.
"What might that be, G?" he said flatly.
"You're going to give her to me!" the thing's smile grew even wider.
"Oh--for the love of--!"
"Mr. U." The intercom feature did like its description flawlessly, Shia's boyish voice crackling out of the speaker. "You're wanted down here at the rotunda, Sir."
"I'll be right there." He called back. "Galil, we'll talk about this later. I've got guests to tend to. Absolutely--POSITIVELY--do not touch that prisoner until I say! Got it?"
"Like Beckham, Bro!" the thing rejoined.
"That's 'Bend it', you dumb shit!" he sighed, treating the thing to his backside as he snatched at the giant of Gath upon his desk. He was halfway out the door before it spoke again.
"But don't you want to see my new flamer, Bro?" it asked.
"No!"
***
"Ron--" The blonde couldn't get anything else past her lips beside that.
"What happened...?" Ron wouldn't let her.
"Ron, listen--!" she tried again."
"DON'T FUCK WITH ME, T!" he sniffed. "WHAT HAPPENED!?"
"I'm sorry about this, Miss." Yune interjected suavely, inappropriately, slipping that speed bag for a head into the cabin.
"I know." Robin replied. "But can I do anything to help out?"
"Nothing, I'm afraid--" The speed bag shook side to side gently.
"Yune..." Its lover shook her head. "At least ask about a nearby hotel or something. After today, I don't think Tel Aviv's a safe haven anymore, and it's too long a drive back."
"Do not worry." Robin said. "A friend of Richard here--or 'Ron', as you call him--is a friend of mine. You are good people. I can easily see it in your eyes, and you've been through Hell and back. I have an apartment in the old city. You can stay with me."
"But we couldn't possibly--!" the punching bag said.
"I insist!" Robin said. "Follow me there; I'll show you the way."
"Thank you very much" Tara said gratefully, "Miss...?"
"Robin," the lady in question finished, "of the family Ata. And you are very much welcome. But we must hurry. Darkness approaches."
"I hear that!" the blonde replied as she turned for the driver's door. The Korean shuffled his speed bag out of the cabin, and Tara moved a foot onto the grimy running bar.
"Come on, Yune." Sadie's door made a clunk without a word of protest, the muddy body rocking gently on the chassis.
"Ron..." Yune said sympathetically, empathetically to be precise, "I'm sorry. Sorry that I had to put this on you, and on *Shabbat* of all days."
"Shut up...!" he seethed. "What the hell do you know!?"
"Believe me," the speed bag nodded, "I know. But, can I trust you with that piece?"
"Yeah...." He felt the sorrow creep between his eyelids, pooling at the edge where they began to trickle down his face. "It's all I have left now... of her!"
"Ron--"
"She's dead...!" he sniffed. "Isn't she, Yune...?"
"I can't say that, Ron." The Asian said. "Because we honestly don't know. There's a chance she's alive, but we'll never know if we stay here."
"This man is right... 'Ronald'." Robin said softly. "Come on now, dear friend. Close the door. I have--what you people call--leftovers at my home. After a serving, I'm sure you'll feel a little better. There's no guarantee; it is not a Bueno Nacho, but it is far better than nothing."
"Okay..." he nodded--and the door was already back into is frame before his arm could reach it. He turned his gaze out the window. Yune stood before him, his arm half extended before it returned to his side as limp as a doll's. A weak smile moved across his face.
"To help you along." The man shrugged.
"Come on, you guys." Tara called, and SUV let out a small growl from under the hood. "Sadie's low on gas!"
"*Uh! *" Yune sighed, turning his backside to him as his crunching steps carried him away. "Coming, T...!"
Ron let out a small chuckle, a finger wiping the tear away. His other thumb ran over the gun's hindquarters, the steel becoming a dead weight as he found the claw hammer in the frame snuggly. It made a weak thump as it hit the carpet, the spongy grip coming to rest barely against his shoe.
His shoulder pressed against the door, all his upper weight behind it. He rolled his eyes up to the velvet sky, as soon as the thin skin at his crown froze at the cold glass. He gazed at the shimmering diamonds longingly, at the being responsible for their very creation.
*Kimmie lays her head to sleep, * he thought seriously, *I pray thee Lord, her soul to keep. Should she die before she wakes, I pray thee Lord her soul to take. Amen! *
***
Kimberly's head hurt badly, as if Mike Tyson himself had delivered a straight punch right into her brow as though she were a reproachful groupie. The pain radiated from out the center of her crown, around the circumference of her skull, clenching her brain tightly through the bone. It pulsed so badly, she'd take a spoon and scrape out the pain if she could.
Slowly, her eyes drew in everything, anything that reflected the intense, bright light above. Her wrists met her ankles awkwardly, a rough braided twine binding them, her limbs curving ungenerously around a thick dowel above. Her sore back rested upon nothing but the cool, viscous air below, leaving its greasy touch as it ran up her back. The only thing missing was the apple plugging her mouth.
"Ah, Major Drazen!"
She blinked, batting her eyes fiercely. The gears in her head clicked instantly. That voice, so smooth and warm as though it came from the far reaches of the Mediterranean, yet so olden and weathered. Images from all over southern Europe flowed through her head, the Italy, France, and Spain...!
*Spain... * her thoughts were a whisper.
"You have exceeded all of my expectations!" the man continued. "You have set up for yourself a nice, little installation for yourselves and you've returned my investment with benefits! Give yourself a pat on the back, if you will!"
"I..." she groaned. "I know that voice...!"
"A shame that the bounty will not be able to enjoy the festivities." The man continued, and thin, hunched shadow flowed towards her, towering over her extremities by a foot or so. The very top of the shade grayed into a mat of salt-and-pepper, slicked back; the faceless form dulled, morphing into tired features, weathered greatly by the sun. Character lines creased the face, from the nose down the cheeks to that squared jaw line.
"Isn't that right, Kimberly Anne Possible!" The senior of the Senor Senior said.
"Senor Senior Senior!" she said. "What an unpleasant... *uh*-- surprise!"
"My thoughts exactly, Ms. Possible!" the coot replied smugly. "It's a shame how you won't be able to toil with villainy's plans any longer. Then again, who's a humble multibillionaire to complain, eh?"
"I'm glad the return was above your expectations, Senor Senior." Her fingers clenched tightly at that Slavic voice, though her shoulder burned with a searing protest. "It was dumb luck that we found her after that unfortunate mongrel taming melee."
"The world would be better if Israel didn't exist?" the old coot said rhetorically. "Bah! I hardly think so! Who ever thought of that should be shot on sight."
"That would be at least sixty percent of Europe, Senor Senior." Drazen replied. "A sixty percent that I think the world could be better without!"
"I always wondered why I found such peace in the islands." Senior said. "And now I know why! How could anyone hate this tiny nation? They've done such wonders for the ungrateful world, and a nice contribution to its seamy underbelly as well!"
"I know!" Her ears twitched a tad, catching that distinct baritone timbre of that goofy curly top of a button man. "I'm sure she'll make an excellent luncheon for Tank Man too!"
"The interrogation procedures first!" Drazen stated. "When this mockingbird can't sing no more, then he can tear off her feathers and her wings! But not beforehand."
"I don't think he'll like that, Mr. U." Bonnet said. "Did you see the way he was acting when we came back? He was looking a bit *too* happy!"
"I'll handle my brother--"
"Your brother, Drazen?" she blinked. "What? Excavating the rest of your sick family just for little old me? That's very touching!"
"Oh Possible..." the Major sighed, "Proud Possible, with little brief authority. Delighted that you're still alive and kicking. But I bet you know I didn't bring you down here for small talk, do you not?"
"Only if you consider ethnically cleansing the Middle East by your fascists small..." she frowned.
"Oh--Americans and your sarcasm!" he snarled softly, so quietly that the words barely tapped the drums in her head. "Oh--some times, I just want to--WOW...! But then, I must admit that I've been looking forward to this meeting for some time now, Ms. Possible, face to face. Ever since you killed my father!"
"Then I guess you'll be looking forward to the same fate." She noted. "Others will come for me, Drazen, and tell your maker I said hi when they do!"
"Not that you'll be alive to greet them!" Drazen shouted. "Within less than a week, my *fascists*--as you so jubilantly put it--will destroy that accursed seed of Abraham once and for all!"
"I've seen that movie with your wretched father, Drazen!" She spat. "It ended badly--as it always does and will!"
"HA!" the head of metal scoffed. "My army's unstoppable, Possible! All who've stood up to them have been cut to the ground like winter wheat! And it appears, wench, that the only weapon left in your arsenal is sarcasm."
Like father like son. Drazen was as hard headed as the ugly, grizzled patriarch that shamelessly bared his surname. All odds were stacked against her now; the evil man had her right where he wanted her. Ten-to-one, he wouldn't let her eyes peek at the beautiful daylight and live to tell about it.
Life felt as though it had abandoned her, shuffling away with indifferent steps, as did the old coot. Its triviality like gold, its inconsequentiality like gems for one single moment. In another instance, few and far in between, for all the many years she had known the freckled boy, he was actually right.
*We... really haven't spent that much time at all... * it raced through her mind like a champion car. A tear of glistening authenticity passed through her lids, eyes fresh with it on their surfaces in a blink. *Ron... I'm sorry.... *
"You two!" the metal head barked to ubiquitous thugs somewhere nearby. "Take the prisoner down the fun house. Sedate her and string her up by the wrists. Tank Man will be down shortly."
"Sir!" they barked back like trained lapdogs they exemplified so perfectly.
"As for us three," Drazen said casually, "let us have a drink!"
"Yes," the coot affirmed contentedly, "let us make a toast, to the end of Kim Possible and the beginning of a beautiful new friendship."
*Oh brother...! *
***
Frivolous nuances were the least of her worries now, yet that didn't stop her. Thick locks of her quaff were clenched tightly in her hand, bristles scratching at it as she moved the brush down the length over and over, combing out the damage done as it were. The thick sliver of metal didn't do as much damage as she thought; it passed cleanly through with the exception of a few split ends; nothing that a little conditioner couldn't fix.
What was it like to pierce deeply into your own soul? Tara thought she knew the answer. She didn't think she could ever look at herself in the mirror anymore, not after today. Still she had to confront herself, staring straight into those eyes as the figure in the tank top and the denim shorts stared back, even for the most menial of tasks.
*Why'd I let Yune talk me into running away? * She thought. *Kim wouldn't do that to me, if I were in that place... *
"Would she...?"
"Would she what, friend?" Another set of eyes stared back at her from the polished pane, dark brown ones that didn't beam the very condemnation that stewed within her. Ronald's newfound friend leaned her figure against the frame gently, in her hands what appeared to be a shoebox.
She gave her locks another scratchy wipe of the brush, before it went airborne, spiraling for the queen-sized bed nearby.
"I'm sorry..." she graced the dark girl with half turn from the heel, "uh...?"
"Robin." The dark girl replied, floating into the room smoothly without much of a bounce in her step. By the girl's dark hand, she made her brush flop onto its scratchy chest before she took a rest on the bed's foot.
"Right." She nodded. "Sorry...."
"Do not concern yourself over it too much." The girl said. "Most people I have met found it hard to believe an Ethiopian like myself could be graced with such a name."
"I guess so." She shrugged. "I don't know too much about what goes on around here... except, of course, what I see on the news, and even its bias comes into question."
"I know." The girl nodded. "It pains me to see that the world would rather see us destroyed than to live with us. We have tried everything, bending over backwards--as you Americans might speak--for them, to show that we want peace. But... we failed. Now, some think, the time for games is over, the time for war has already begun."
"This VSA?" she asked.
"Yes..." Robin sighed. "Any other day, I'd be speaking of that terrible chairman of the PA, next door."
"Why though?" A piece of the bed cradled her hips, as she took to the dark girl's side. "You people have done so much for the world. Why would some go on a rampage?"
"It is a complicated matter, Ms. Stark." Robin shook her head. "We are the most hated off all the nations. And when you have nothing to lose, you have the whole world to gain. It is how Shia said, go out with the big bang, or do not go out at all. Do you know what Israel's motto is?"
She pressed her lips into a thin line, dismally tart.
"'Never again'..." she said quietly.
"Exactly." Robin nodded. "That is basically the vigilantes' mentality, and that of their disgusting leader as well."
She wasn't quite sure of it at first, but her ears did catch a sound from the girl nearby. It sounded like a sniff, a brief and wet one; a prelude to a flood of emotion that even the dams of her mind could not hold back.
"Are you... crying, Robin?" she turned her head. The dark girl had her features pulled tight, eyebrows looming over wrinkled eyes above her crinkled nose. The girl gave a quick whip of her head as her arms folded into her body.
"Yes...!" it came out in a sniff.
"But why?" She asked.
"My Shia..." Robin choked, "he is with them!"
"Oh--good Lord!" she gasped. "I'm sorry."
"I am scared for him! When this rebellion comes crashing down, what's going to happen to my Shia? I wish not for him to die--I don't! He is...a good person--really, he is! You would know that if you talk to him!"
"Robin..."
"Shia's a good person--!" the girl sniffed. "Do not take him away from me, please! I love him so much, I do not know--I just DO NOT KNOW!"
"Robin," she said gently, "did you talk with Ron recently?"
The Ethiopian gave another whip of her head; her frizzy locks swishing like a cat's tail.
"Indeed, I have." Robin said soberly--and her nose took in another wet blast of circulated air. "He had done a good deed: telling me the truth."
"And you're not... mad," her brow kinked, "with us in the least bit?"
The frizzy locks swished side to side, so flamboyantly, her ears caught a rustling like a summer breeze through tall grass.
"No..." a lump shifted vertically in the dark throat, "I am not. You are not to blame; you have not done anything wrong. I understand perfectly why the government would ask for your help. Even your lover told me about Shia's sins while he was still in Europe. Hmm--at least I know now where that stomach ulcer developed from, huh?"
"I guess so...." She smirked grimly. "But Yune isn't my lover--not yet anyway. Not till there's a ring on this finger."
"Yune is a good person too. I can see it in his eyes. He does not seem the type to go out of his way to ill someone."
"He's not." She said. "Don't worry. In fact, he's probably one of the most genuine people I know."
"Be thankful to God for that." Robin noted.
"I Am." She smiled warmly at the thought, and she let her eyes fall on that clean, white shoebox, flaking at the girl's hip. "But what's that you've got there?"
"Ah... this?" Robin scooped up the shoebox easily, the sachet letting out a solid clump. Dark hands laid the box to rest on her lap, thumbs curling underneath the lid while her thick lips pulled into a grin. "It is a gift. I like to give, actually. It is what cheers me up the most, when I am feeling a little low."
"I don't think I can accept--!" She couldn't get in another word; Robin wouldn't let her, just like Ron. It was funny how interjections kept popping up like whack-a-moles, really.
"Nonsense, friend." The dark girl said. "Think of it as a token of a new friendship. I--as you Americans would put it--insist! I spoke with Yune recently, as you already know, and he told me how you broke your shoes earlier this morning."
"You didn't." she grinned weakly, lamentably.
"Actually, I bought these for myself." The lid met the piece of sunken bedspread at the girl's side, the tissue paper rustling in her dark hands as she pulled the flaps away. Nestled on their rough, translucent bed was a pair of black, low-cut pumps, the light glistening on the slick leather brightly. "But given the current situation of things, I thought this is the least I could do. Thankfully, you and I are the same size, are we not?"
There was only one way to find out. She took a shoe from their tissue bed and stood it up on the floor. Her foot slipped in easily overall as if they were her own pair, though the leather was a little stiff, but nothing that a few hours of walking couldn't coax.
"Looks like it." She smiled, and her arms wrapped around the girl's trunk. "Thanks."
"You are very much welcome." She felt two hearty pats on her shoulder blade before Robin pulled away. "But I wish I could do more."
"Well, unless you're a wiz with sport utility vehicles," she said, "this is not Sadie's scene."
"You mean that dirty vehicle you drove back?" Robin asked.
"The very same." She nodded. "After today, I don't think even all the king's horses and men could piece this humpty-dumpty back together. Amazing she still rides like a dream, really."
"Do not worry, Ms. Stark--"
"Please, Robin." She smiled warmly. "My name is Tara. My teachers back home call me Ms. Stark, and I'm beginning to resent it."
"Of course." The dark head nodded. "Tara it is then. But either way, I know this man where I work during the day. He is really good at cars and the electronics. I am sure he can fix up that SUV in no time at all. In fact, I will take it to work tomorrow. I will leave my keys here. Feel free to use my car if you want."
"I don't know about that, Robin." She pulled her foot out of the shoe and scooped it off of the carpet. It found rest beside its twin on the crinkly, tissue bed again, and she tucked them both in, laying the cardboard atop of them as though it were a quilt. "It sounds good to me, but I'll have to clear it through the others."
"That is okay, friend." The girl nodded again, and the bed made a squeak as she pushed herself to her feet. "I had better check on the meat soon. Dinner is almost ready. Have you ever had kosher meat before, Tara?"
"Not sure." She shrugged. "I might have had it before, but I probably didn't know it was. Heck--I'd eat a horse if you cook it right!"
"You Americans and your fast food." The girl's thick lips dropped into a frown, fists at her hips with elbows a jaunt. "That is probably what you have been eating at that Bueno Nacho place! Things are a little different around these parts. If the animal does not have the cloven hoof or chews the cud, we do not eat it. The good Lord declares that in Torah."
"Yet that doesn't stop Ron from eating God-only-knows." She said. "If you've seen him in action, it's quite a sight. You might even lose a hand in the fray, especially with that rodent he carries around."
"I know." The girl nodded. "I had lunch with him today."
"Did you lose anything?" the box sank a little into the bed as she laid it to rest. She pushed herself to her feet, feeling her spine shift back into a proper alignment as she placed her hands on the small of her back. "*Oh-- ! *"
"I am not sure." She put a finger to her chin. "But I did eye that naked mole rat warily."
"Heck--so does everyone back at school!"
"Let us hope that there is something left of the roast then." Robin shrugged. "Come on. It is getting cold as we speak!"
"Okay."
The dark girl floated out of the room as smoothly as she had floated in, wrinkles flowed like gentle waves at the hem of her sundress. Tara let her legs carry her out of the room, but her face nearly got acquainted with the carpet as they stopped in the midst of a stride. At the open door, she moved her chin atop the closest shoulder, eyes staring at that blue clad blonde in the French mirror.
"Just have a little faith, T." The wavy blonde said. "Everything will work out in the end. You'll see!"
***
(Readers and reviewers alike, this is the author of "The Heretic", Unknown number six. I come to write to you all that this is probably the last chapter you will read in a while. As of this posting, I am out of chapters in reserve. You will have to wait until I punch more out, so that I may continue this posting of once a week. For that, I apologize.
(Now, please take the time to read and review, and feel free to express your thoughts on this piece, and be constructive. It would be of great help to me, and give me the fuel I need to continue.
(Thank you for your time, (-Unknown6-)
"Is this thing on...? *Ah*!"
Drazen rolled what he could of his eyes; the voice of that incompetent buffoon of a doctor was like a terrible pain, so awful that he wanted to take a spoon, drill inside his head and scrape it all out.
"This is--*UM*--Doctor Drakken!" that blue-crusty buffoon exalted himself proudly, loudly that even both his ears rang with that rough, nasal tone. "If you are with any form of government agency with a warrant for my arrest, then this number exists only in your imagination! Please hang up, and don't call back!"
The cell was about to kiss the unforgiving wall deeply, flatten itself against the steel far beyond the stresses that the plastic could take. Genetics was a feral science, like wild, untamed bison in an aimless stampede; he should know. How a great man like his father was related to his dork was beyond comprehension.
"If you are still on the line, then please record your message at the beep!" the dork continued. "Uh...! SHEGO!! Turn this thing--! Oh--that's right! She's gone for good. DAMN IT--!!"
Never he knew what such pleasure he could find in such a single bleat, an insipid, droning bleat that soothed his ears the millisecond it killed that terrible discord.
"How you graduated from that evil medical school's beyond even me!" the receiver swallowed up his words greedily, as though it too had enough with the abuse the bad doctor put it through. "Say hi to Doctor Evil for me while we're at it. If you hadn't have guessed it, Dr. D, it your cousin Uzziel Drazen, Major formerly of the Family Private Army. Is it cousin, or some other title? Not quite sure how this whole family tree branches off, but I bet the flowers on your limb pollinated amongst each other, eh?
"Don't get it?" he chuckled softly, rounding the sharp corner. "It wouldn't surprise me. Anyway, how's that little shanty you're held in? Falling apart at the seams? That wouldn't surprise me either, considering how that little Kim Possible *putz* said she'd put two in your head if you ever showed your face again. Remember that? I do. And I called-- grudgingly--to tell you that little bitch won't be bothering you ever again. You hear that Drakken? You'll never hear from her again!
"*OH*--!" gravity pulled at the blades in his head as he angled his head in thought. "Damn drug's wearing off again! Anyway! Did you get that last part, before the drug comment? You bet your blue, ashy ass that you'll never hear from her again! She's currently in my custody, being held without proper treatment like that Geneva Convention declares, just the way you like it, right? Then again, you probably didn't hear since your too scared of your own damn shadow to answer the phone! That would be that Shego's job, right?
"I don't know..." he yawned. "But since you're too cowardly to answer your own damn phone, you therefore forgo your opportunity to execute the rabid bitch yourself and my twin will have to do it himself. Ah--I don't think you ever met Galil, did you? Not that it matters; the guy was never his sweet self again since that dog bit him in the leg, back when he still had a pair. Oh well...!
"Take care, blue dude!" his voice even tasted of bittersweet sarcasm. "Rest easier knowing that the bitch of your existence will be done away like the wounded dog she is. Have a good rest of your life, Drew."
His lips couldn't bare the bitterness if he said goodbye. Instead he dropped it into the pocket on his chest with the open flap, at the thumb's touch of the off button. He gave the flap a solid smack with the hand, fingers fumbling the button through that elusive little hole. It didn't matter; the scratchy cloth would soon be off his body, and back into the closet. The door to the commandant's office peeked at him from its fix on the wall.
The tip of his finger scratched at the black, rounded steel, yet the door didn't move open, even as the rest of his hand overtook the knob. It wouldn't budge, as though someone had locked it from the inside...
"Galil...?" his tongue conformed back into that of its mother, his fist hardly smashing into the motionless door at all. "Are you in there?"
"Just a minute, Bro!" his voice came back through the door, scratchy and digitized.
"What are you doing in there?" he furrowed his brow. "Open the door!"
"Hold on a sec!"
"Galil, open the goddamn door!" he barked.
"Just a little longer--DAMN!"
"You're going to feel 'damn' in a minute, G!" his fist clenched tightly. "I'm counting to three: another second past equals another broken tooth!
"One...! Two...! Three...--!"
The door flung open as if he kicked it out of its frame himself, letting out a sturdy bang as it hit the adjacent wall, moving back slowly at less than half its initial speed. Galil sat there, literally in his tracks at the bedside, a look as stupidly innocent as his twitching, darting eyes could suggest. The arm of flesh was twisted behind his back.
Nothing appeared out of place as his squeaky, titanium leg led him inside: white bedspread nice and neat with hospital corners, desk orderly with Israel's favorite giant of Gath standing tall beside the goose-necked lamp stand, and newspaper clippings and pictures like smoothed wallpaper. The room was like a giant shoebox, trapping them inside a prison full of inescapable memories, memories he'd rather let the sands of time erode but wouldn't. He knew he ordered some super glue for some reason.
"You hiding snuff in here, G!?" he demanded.
"Nope!" the tin man shook his terrible head, the lips of flesh pulling into what appeared to be some sort of grin. "Not me! I keep that all in my fun house!"
"Then what the hell are you doing in here!?" he yelled. "We've got work to do! High priority personnel are on site!"
The limb of flesh came out from behind the man of steel, in his hand was tube, an end with a gaping hole with some kind of plunger at the other end. The hand of steel took up the tube as the unnatural limb went parallel with the floor, the hand of flesh jamming it into the sharp pinch at the joint before it took up the plunger. A mighty blast of colors and streamers exploded from the tube with a pop.
"Happy birthday!" Galil *smiled* as much as the actuators on his cheeks let him. Uzi's muscles dragged his lips down, a millimeter per every piece of colored trash that littered his floor, with even more falling from the ceiling.
"Wrong day!" he growled, eye stuck on the floor like the trash around him. "Definitely the wrong place, G! What the hell do you want?"
He winced as that tin can of brother dropped the tube like as if it became unpleasant.
"Bro!" the Tank Man said. "We need to talk about my high priority prisoner you brought back!"
"You don't have a high priority prisoner, G." His brow kinked at the left, and gravity tugged at the shards crowning him as he angled his head.
"I know!" Tank Man's eyes went wide with excitement, an excitement to provoke or to simmer, he wasn't sure. "Can you believe that shit? But-- *BUT! * Now here's the good part, Bro; I think I found a way to solve this troublesome problem!"
He yanked his eye off of the floor, making it take a lap around the socket.
"What might that be, G?" he said flatly.
"You're going to give her to me!" the thing's smile grew even wider.
"Oh--for the love of--!"
"Mr. U." The intercom feature did like its description flawlessly, Shia's boyish voice crackling out of the speaker. "You're wanted down here at the rotunda, Sir."
"I'll be right there." He called back. "Galil, we'll talk about this later. I've got guests to tend to. Absolutely--POSITIVELY--do not touch that prisoner until I say! Got it?"
"Like Beckham, Bro!" the thing rejoined.
"That's 'Bend it', you dumb shit!" he sighed, treating the thing to his backside as he snatched at the giant of Gath upon his desk. He was halfway out the door before it spoke again.
"But don't you want to see my new flamer, Bro?" it asked.
"No!"
***
"Ron--" The blonde couldn't get anything else past her lips beside that.
"What happened...?" Ron wouldn't let her.
"Ron, listen--!" she tried again."
"DON'T FUCK WITH ME, T!" he sniffed. "WHAT HAPPENED!?"
"I'm sorry about this, Miss." Yune interjected suavely, inappropriately, slipping that speed bag for a head into the cabin.
"I know." Robin replied. "But can I do anything to help out?"
"Nothing, I'm afraid--" The speed bag shook side to side gently.
"Yune..." Its lover shook her head. "At least ask about a nearby hotel or something. After today, I don't think Tel Aviv's a safe haven anymore, and it's too long a drive back."
"Do not worry." Robin said. "A friend of Richard here--or 'Ron', as you call him--is a friend of mine. You are good people. I can easily see it in your eyes, and you've been through Hell and back. I have an apartment in the old city. You can stay with me."
"But we couldn't possibly--!" the punching bag said.
"I insist!" Robin said. "Follow me there; I'll show you the way."
"Thank you very much" Tara said gratefully, "Miss...?"
"Robin," the lady in question finished, "of the family Ata. And you are very much welcome. But we must hurry. Darkness approaches."
"I hear that!" the blonde replied as she turned for the driver's door. The Korean shuffled his speed bag out of the cabin, and Tara moved a foot onto the grimy running bar.
"Come on, Yune." Sadie's door made a clunk without a word of protest, the muddy body rocking gently on the chassis.
"Ron..." Yune said sympathetically, empathetically to be precise, "I'm sorry. Sorry that I had to put this on you, and on *Shabbat* of all days."
"Shut up...!" he seethed. "What the hell do you know!?"
"Believe me," the speed bag nodded, "I know. But, can I trust you with that piece?"
"Yeah...." He felt the sorrow creep between his eyelids, pooling at the edge where they began to trickle down his face. "It's all I have left now... of her!"
"Ron--"
"She's dead...!" he sniffed. "Isn't she, Yune...?"
"I can't say that, Ron." The Asian said. "Because we honestly don't know. There's a chance she's alive, but we'll never know if we stay here."
"This man is right... 'Ronald'." Robin said softly. "Come on now, dear friend. Close the door. I have--what you people call--leftovers at my home. After a serving, I'm sure you'll feel a little better. There's no guarantee; it is not a Bueno Nacho, but it is far better than nothing."
"Okay..." he nodded--and the door was already back into is frame before his arm could reach it. He turned his gaze out the window. Yune stood before him, his arm half extended before it returned to his side as limp as a doll's. A weak smile moved across his face.
"To help you along." The man shrugged.
"Come on, you guys." Tara called, and SUV let out a small growl from under the hood. "Sadie's low on gas!"
"*Uh! *" Yune sighed, turning his backside to him as his crunching steps carried him away. "Coming, T...!"
Ron let out a small chuckle, a finger wiping the tear away. His other thumb ran over the gun's hindquarters, the steel becoming a dead weight as he found the claw hammer in the frame snuggly. It made a weak thump as it hit the carpet, the spongy grip coming to rest barely against his shoe.
His shoulder pressed against the door, all his upper weight behind it. He rolled his eyes up to the velvet sky, as soon as the thin skin at his crown froze at the cold glass. He gazed at the shimmering diamonds longingly, at the being responsible for their very creation.
*Kimmie lays her head to sleep, * he thought seriously, *I pray thee Lord, her soul to keep. Should she die before she wakes, I pray thee Lord her soul to take. Amen! *
***
Kimberly's head hurt badly, as if Mike Tyson himself had delivered a straight punch right into her brow as though she were a reproachful groupie. The pain radiated from out the center of her crown, around the circumference of her skull, clenching her brain tightly through the bone. It pulsed so badly, she'd take a spoon and scrape out the pain if she could.
Slowly, her eyes drew in everything, anything that reflected the intense, bright light above. Her wrists met her ankles awkwardly, a rough braided twine binding them, her limbs curving ungenerously around a thick dowel above. Her sore back rested upon nothing but the cool, viscous air below, leaving its greasy touch as it ran up her back. The only thing missing was the apple plugging her mouth.
"Ah, Major Drazen!"
She blinked, batting her eyes fiercely. The gears in her head clicked instantly. That voice, so smooth and warm as though it came from the far reaches of the Mediterranean, yet so olden and weathered. Images from all over southern Europe flowed through her head, the Italy, France, and Spain...!
*Spain... * her thoughts were a whisper.
"You have exceeded all of my expectations!" the man continued. "You have set up for yourself a nice, little installation for yourselves and you've returned my investment with benefits! Give yourself a pat on the back, if you will!"
"I..." she groaned. "I know that voice...!"
"A shame that the bounty will not be able to enjoy the festivities." The man continued, and thin, hunched shadow flowed towards her, towering over her extremities by a foot or so. The very top of the shade grayed into a mat of salt-and-pepper, slicked back; the faceless form dulled, morphing into tired features, weathered greatly by the sun. Character lines creased the face, from the nose down the cheeks to that squared jaw line.
"Isn't that right, Kimberly Anne Possible!" The senior of the Senor Senior said.
"Senor Senior Senior!" she said. "What an unpleasant... *uh*-- surprise!"
"My thoughts exactly, Ms. Possible!" the coot replied smugly. "It's a shame how you won't be able to toil with villainy's plans any longer. Then again, who's a humble multibillionaire to complain, eh?"
"I'm glad the return was above your expectations, Senor Senior." Her fingers clenched tightly at that Slavic voice, though her shoulder burned with a searing protest. "It was dumb luck that we found her after that unfortunate mongrel taming melee."
"The world would be better if Israel didn't exist?" the old coot said rhetorically. "Bah! I hardly think so! Who ever thought of that should be shot on sight."
"That would be at least sixty percent of Europe, Senor Senior." Drazen replied. "A sixty percent that I think the world could be better without!"
"I always wondered why I found such peace in the islands." Senior said. "And now I know why! How could anyone hate this tiny nation? They've done such wonders for the ungrateful world, and a nice contribution to its seamy underbelly as well!"
"I know!" Her ears twitched a tad, catching that distinct baritone timbre of that goofy curly top of a button man. "I'm sure she'll make an excellent luncheon for Tank Man too!"
"The interrogation procedures first!" Drazen stated. "When this mockingbird can't sing no more, then he can tear off her feathers and her wings! But not beforehand."
"I don't think he'll like that, Mr. U." Bonnet said. "Did you see the way he was acting when we came back? He was looking a bit *too* happy!"
"I'll handle my brother--"
"Your brother, Drazen?" she blinked. "What? Excavating the rest of your sick family just for little old me? That's very touching!"
"Oh Possible..." the Major sighed, "Proud Possible, with little brief authority. Delighted that you're still alive and kicking. But I bet you know I didn't bring you down here for small talk, do you not?"
"Only if you consider ethnically cleansing the Middle East by your fascists small..." she frowned.
"Oh--Americans and your sarcasm!" he snarled softly, so quietly that the words barely tapped the drums in her head. "Oh--some times, I just want to--WOW...! But then, I must admit that I've been looking forward to this meeting for some time now, Ms. Possible, face to face. Ever since you killed my father!"
"Then I guess you'll be looking forward to the same fate." She noted. "Others will come for me, Drazen, and tell your maker I said hi when they do!"
"Not that you'll be alive to greet them!" Drazen shouted. "Within less than a week, my *fascists*--as you so jubilantly put it--will destroy that accursed seed of Abraham once and for all!"
"I've seen that movie with your wretched father, Drazen!" She spat. "It ended badly--as it always does and will!"
"HA!" the head of metal scoffed. "My army's unstoppable, Possible! All who've stood up to them have been cut to the ground like winter wheat! And it appears, wench, that the only weapon left in your arsenal is sarcasm."
Like father like son. Drazen was as hard headed as the ugly, grizzled patriarch that shamelessly bared his surname. All odds were stacked against her now; the evil man had her right where he wanted her. Ten-to-one, he wouldn't let her eyes peek at the beautiful daylight and live to tell about it.
Life felt as though it had abandoned her, shuffling away with indifferent steps, as did the old coot. Its triviality like gold, its inconsequentiality like gems for one single moment. In another instance, few and far in between, for all the many years she had known the freckled boy, he was actually right.
*We... really haven't spent that much time at all... * it raced through her mind like a champion car. A tear of glistening authenticity passed through her lids, eyes fresh with it on their surfaces in a blink. *Ron... I'm sorry.... *
"You two!" the metal head barked to ubiquitous thugs somewhere nearby. "Take the prisoner down the fun house. Sedate her and string her up by the wrists. Tank Man will be down shortly."
"Sir!" they barked back like trained lapdogs they exemplified so perfectly.
"As for us three," Drazen said casually, "let us have a drink!"
"Yes," the coot affirmed contentedly, "let us make a toast, to the end of Kim Possible and the beginning of a beautiful new friendship."
*Oh brother...! *
***
Frivolous nuances were the least of her worries now, yet that didn't stop her. Thick locks of her quaff were clenched tightly in her hand, bristles scratching at it as she moved the brush down the length over and over, combing out the damage done as it were. The thick sliver of metal didn't do as much damage as she thought; it passed cleanly through with the exception of a few split ends; nothing that a little conditioner couldn't fix.
What was it like to pierce deeply into your own soul? Tara thought she knew the answer. She didn't think she could ever look at herself in the mirror anymore, not after today. Still she had to confront herself, staring straight into those eyes as the figure in the tank top and the denim shorts stared back, even for the most menial of tasks.
*Why'd I let Yune talk me into running away? * She thought. *Kim wouldn't do that to me, if I were in that place... *
"Would she...?"
"Would she what, friend?" Another set of eyes stared back at her from the polished pane, dark brown ones that didn't beam the very condemnation that stewed within her. Ronald's newfound friend leaned her figure against the frame gently, in her hands what appeared to be a shoebox.
She gave her locks another scratchy wipe of the brush, before it went airborne, spiraling for the queen-sized bed nearby.
"I'm sorry..." she graced the dark girl with half turn from the heel, "uh...?"
"Robin." The dark girl replied, floating into the room smoothly without much of a bounce in her step. By the girl's dark hand, she made her brush flop onto its scratchy chest before she took a rest on the bed's foot.
"Right." She nodded. "Sorry...."
"Do not concern yourself over it too much." The girl said. "Most people I have met found it hard to believe an Ethiopian like myself could be graced with such a name."
"I guess so." She shrugged. "I don't know too much about what goes on around here... except, of course, what I see on the news, and even its bias comes into question."
"I know." The girl nodded. "It pains me to see that the world would rather see us destroyed than to live with us. We have tried everything, bending over backwards--as you Americans might speak--for them, to show that we want peace. But... we failed. Now, some think, the time for games is over, the time for war has already begun."
"This VSA?" she asked.
"Yes..." Robin sighed. "Any other day, I'd be speaking of that terrible chairman of the PA, next door."
"Why though?" A piece of the bed cradled her hips, as she took to the dark girl's side. "You people have done so much for the world. Why would some go on a rampage?"
"It is a complicated matter, Ms. Stark." Robin shook her head. "We are the most hated off all the nations. And when you have nothing to lose, you have the whole world to gain. It is how Shia said, go out with the big bang, or do not go out at all. Do you know what Israel's motto is?"
She pressed her lips into a thin line, dismally tart.
"'Never again'..." she said quietly.
"Exactly." Robin nodded. "That is basically the vigilantes' mentality, and that of their disgusting leader as well."
She wasn't quite sure of it at first, but her ears did catch a sound from the girl nearby. It sounded like a sniff, a brief and wet one; a prelude to a flood of emotion that even the dams of her mind could not hold back.
"Are you... crying, Robin?" she turned her head. The dark girl had her features pulled tight, eyebrows looming over wrinkled eyes above her crinkled nose. The girl gave a quick whip of her head as her arms folded into her body.
"Yes...!" it came out in a sniff.
"But why?" She asked.
"My Shia..." Robin choked, "he is with them!"
"Oh--good Lord!" she gasped. "I'm sorry."
"I am scared for him! When this rebellion comes crashing down, what's going to happen to my Shia? I wish not for him to die--I don't! He is...a good person--really, he is! You would know that if you talk to him!"
"Robin..."
"Shia's a good person--!" the girl sniffed. "Do not take him away from me, please! I love him so much, I do not know--I just DO NOT KNOW!"
"Robin," she said gently, "did you talk with Ron recently?"
The Ethiopian gave another whip of her head; her frizzy locks swishing like a cat's tail.
"Indeed, I have." Robin said soberly--and her nose took in another wet blast of circulated air. "He had done a good deed: telling me the truth."
"And you're not... mad," her brow kinked, "with us in the least bit?"
The frizzy locks swished side to side, so flamboyantly, her ears caught a rustling like a summer breeze through tall grass.
"No..." a lump shifted vertically in the dark throat, "I am not. You are not to blame; you have not done anything wrong. I understand perfectly why the government would ask for your help. Even your lover told me about Shia's sins while he was still in Europe. Hmm--at least I know now where that stomach ulcer developed from, huh?"
"I guess so...." She smirked grimly. "But Yune isn't my lover--not yet anyway. Not till there's a ring on this finger."
"Yune is a good person too. I can see it in his eyes. He does not seem the type to go out of his way to ill someone."
"He's not." She said. "Don't worry. In fact, he's probably one of the most genuine people I know."
"Be thankful to God for that." Robin noted.
"I Am." She smiled warmly at the thought, and she let her eyes fall on that clean, white shoebox, flaking at the girl's hip. "But what's that you've got there?"
"Ah... this?" Robin scooped up the shoebox easily, the sachet letting out a solid clump. Dark hands laid the box to rest on her lap, thumbs curling underneath the lid while her thick lips pulled into a grin. "It is a gift. I like to give, actually. It is what cheers me up the most, when I am feeling a little low."
"I don't think I can accept--!" She couldn't get in another word; Robin wouldn't let her, just like Ron. It was funny how interjections kept popping up like whack-a-moles, really.
"Nonsense, friend." The dark girl said. "Think of it as a token of a new friendship. I--as you Americans would put it--insist! I spoke with Yune recently, as you already know, and he told me how you broke your shoes earlier this morning."
"You didn't." she grinned weakly, lamentably.
"Actually, I bought these for myself." The lid met the piece of sunken bedspread at the girl's side, the tissue paper rustling in her dark hands as she pulled the flaps away. Nestled on their rough, translucent bed was a pair of black, low-cut pumps, the light glistening on the slick leather brightly. "But given the current situation of things, I thought this is the least I could do. Thankfully, you and I are the same size, are we not?"
There was only one way to find out. She took a shoe from their tissue bed and stood it up on the floor. Her foot slipped in easily overall as if they were her own pair, though the leather was a little stiff, but nothing that a few hours of walking couldn't coax.
"Looks like it." She smiled, and her arms wrapped around the girl's trunk. "Thanks."
"You are very much welcome." She felt two hearty pats on her shoulder blade before Robin pulled away. "But I wish I could do more."
"Well, unless you're a wiz with sport utility vehicles," she said, "this is not Sadie's scene."
"You mean that dirty vehicle you drove back?" Robin asked.
"The very same." She nodded. "After today, I don't think even all the king's horses and men could piece this humpty-dumpty back together. Amazing she still rides like a dream, really."
"Do not worry, Ms. Stark--"
"Please, Robin." She smiled warmly. "My name is Tara. My teachers back home call me Ms. Stark, and I'm beginning to resent it."
"Of course." The dark head nodded. "Tara it is then. But either way, I know this man where I work during the day. He is really good at cars and the electronics. I am sure he can fix up that SUV in no time at all. In fact, I will take it to work tomorrow. I will leave my keys here. Feel free to use my car if you want."
"I don't know about that, Robin." She pulled her foot out of the shoe and scooped it off of the carpet. It found rest beside its twin on the crinkly, tissue bed again, and she tucked them both in, laying the cardboard atop of them as though it were a quilt. "It sounds good to me, but I'll have to clear it through the others."
"That is okay, friend." The girl nodded again, and the bed made a squeak as she pushed herself to her feet. "I had better check on the meat soon. Dinner is almost ready. Have you ever had kosher meat before, Tara?"
"Not sure." She shrugged. "I might have had it before, but I probably didn't know it was. Heck--I'd eat a horse if you cook it right!"
"You Americans and your fast food." The girl's thick lips dropped into a frown, fists at her hips with elbows a jaunt. "That is probably what you have been eating at that Bueno Nacho place! Things are a little different around these parts. If the animal does not have the cloven hoof or chews the cud, we do not eat it. The good Lord declares that in Torah."
"Yet that doesn't stop Ron from eating God-only-knows." She said. "If you've seen him in action, it's quite a sight. You might even lose a hand in the fray, especially with that rodent he carries around."
"I know." The girl nodded. "I had lunch with him today."
"Did you lose anything?" the box sank a little into the bed as she laid it to rest. She pushed herself to her feet, feeling her spine shift back into a proper alignment as she placed her hands on the small of her back. "*Oh-- ! *"
"I am not sure." She put a finger to her chin. "But I did eye that naked mole rat warily."
"Heck--so does everyone back at school!"
"Let us hope that there is something left of the roast then." Robin shrugged. "Come on. It is getting cold as we speak!"
"Okay."
The dark girl floated out of the room as smoothly as she had floated in, wrinkles flowed like gentle waves at the hem of her sundress. Tara let her legs carry her out of the room, but her face nearly got acquainted with the carpet as they stopped in the midst of a stride. At the open door, she moved her chin atop the closest shoulder, eyes staring at that blue clad blonde in the French mirror.
"Just have a little faith, T." The wavy blonde said. "Everything will work out in the end. You'll see!"
***
(Readers and reviewers alike, this is the author of "The Heretic", Unknown number six. I come to write to you all that this is probably the last chapter you will read in a while. As of this posting, I am out of chapters in reserve. You will have to wait until I punch more out, so that I may continue this posting of once a week. For that, I apologize.
(Now, please take the time to read and review, and feel free to express your thoughts on this piece, and be constructive. It would be of great help to me, and give me the fuel I need to continue.
(Thank you for your time, (-Unknown6-)