Disclaimer: Yeah. Don't own it. If I did, there would NOT be that whole 65 episode thing. :kicks certain people:

A Note from the Authoress: Haha! Darker chapter. And the middle of finals two weeks. Yeah, stupid upper level classes, I have finals both seniors finals week and normal finals week. And I'm warning you for this chapter: it's darker. Less fluff. Some, but it's all pseudo-angsty. If dealings with the Occult offend you, don't read it. Nothing's really specific, honestly, but in the future it may (or may not, I've not quite decided) lean that way. So if you think I should bump the rating for that, please tell me and I will. No big.

gargoylesama: I whole-heartedly agree. I've seen worse than just mushiness, and I thought I'd die of grossness. Shudder-twitch-twitch.
the Desert Fox: I know what you mean about it being impossible, but I always thought it was more of a joke to scare Kim's boy-toys. Like my dad, who still swears he's going to dig out his old hunting gun (no ammo in the house, just fyi) when my first date comes to pick me up. I'm actually considering addressing this issue in upcoming chapters, so keep a look-out and you can tell me what you think. :D
Jezrianna2.0: Fluff is good, I agree. And thank you muchly! Huggle!
Everyone else that I'm either forgetting or didn't leave a review: Thanks for reading! Hope you like this chapter!


Chapter Four

Ron sat on the second bed in a hotel room in the backstreets of Upperton, Colorado, watching as his best friend applied black lipstick. He couldn't help but be reminded of Shego, the black upper lip that always seemed to curve into that menacing grin. He saw her begin to darken her eyeliner. He winced. It was a strange sight to say the least: his dearest Kim changing herself like this. Of course, he knew it was a mission; that this was her undercover disguise, but it was so unlike her, a cheerleader, to do this. Of course, that was a stereotype, and he of all people should not be stereotyping anyone, especially not his girlfriend.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Ron? What's wrong?" She quickly began unscrewing the cap of a container of black eye shadow.

"Nothing," he said, rather unconvincingly.

Turning back to the mirror, she took her brush and dipped it into the little jar, pulled it out, tapped it against the rim, and started brushing it over her left eyelid. Ron watched the process, the rhythmic motions of her fingers, mesmerizing him in his worry. Finished with this eye, she turned around to face him again. "Ron, really, what's wrong?"

Seeing her with one eye covered in black powder, the other perfectly normal, he couldn't help but laugh. "KP!" he enthused, "You have a black eye!" She frowned at him, looked at herself in the mirror, and, seeing the truth in what he'd said, began laughing as well. She took her eyeliner pencil and threw it at him playfully. He ducked, letting it hit the headboard behind him and fall to his pillow.

"Hey, you could've taken an eye out with that!"

Kim simply smiled and turned her attention back to her makeup, more specifically, her other eye. She'd been glad to see him laugh again, but glancing at him in the mirror, she found he'd gone back to his morose demeanor. She frowned and put the eye shadow down, watching him. There he sat, staring at her back, apparently too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice that she was returning his gaze (be it through the mirror as it was). He was wearing his normal mission clothes; he would be standing lookout. She'd given him her grappler, hoping that maybe his was just prone to malfunctioning, and, as she'd not be using hers, would aid him in not losing his pants this time.

Not turning around this time, she sighed and gave his reflection a meaningful look. "Ron, I know something's bothering you. Come on, you can tell me. We're BFF, remember?"

"It's nothing," he confirmed. In an attempt to convince her, he started going through his pockets, his supplies. He felt rather naked, as his naked mole rat was with Kim's brothers, who, after Ron began spending even more time than before at the Possible residence, now preoccupied with Kim and, although not neglecting Rufus, spent less time with his little friend, had adopted him as their official mascot and test pilot. Rufus didn't mind, but Ron felt rather guilty. I'll apologize when this mission's over, he thought.

Unconvinced, Kim began piling her hair up on top of her head, securing it there with pins that scratched against her scalp. Thoroughly satisfied that it would stay, she stretched on the bald cap, wincing as it pressed some sharp pin ends into her skin. Seeing her apparently bald, Ron smiled amusedly at her reflection. She smiled back, almost sadly. As if on cue, a lock of red hair fell from its confines of pins and rubber down her right temple. Frowning, she tucked it up underneath the cap, not bothering to pin it there.

She lifted the wig from the counter, placing it on her head, securing it in place. It gave her luxuriously long, black locks, brushing against her backside whenever she moved. Ron watched the tip as it swayed back and forth. Yet again, he could not see his Kim standing there before him; it just wasn't her.

She turned round to face him, and he examined her appearance. She looked so tall . . . wearing that long black leather skirt and the stiletto heels. His gaze trailed upward, examining the skin that was bared by the slit that ran all the way up to her hip, covered only by fishnet tights. He gulped. Undercover, he told himself. She's not trying to seduce me. She's undercover. Undercover . . . But it did little to calm him. Her beauty was intoxicating. He looked further upward to see that her bosom was covered by only a short, thin-strapped top. Her fishnet shirt and leather trench coat were lying ready on her bed. The nails of her left hand were covered in a thick, black lacquer. She held in her hand a bottle of black fingernail polish.

"Care to help with the other hand?" she asked, hand on hip, grinning at him.

Ron began to chuckle. "Can't do the right?" She blushed and flopped onto the bed next to him. "Hey, wait! Can't you do anything?"

She smiled a bit sheepishly, raising a finger to her lips, breathing a little "Shh . . ."

"It's okay," he said, taking the unpolished hand in one of his and the nail lacquer in the other. "It'll be our little secret." And with that, he shook the little bottle and began polishing her nails in silence. Finally, he spoke up, "Are you sure you'll fit in? Ya know, just 'cause they're different doesn't mean that they dress all scary like . . ."

"It's fine. Wade looked into it. Where I'm going, everyone'll look like this." She simply watched as his fingers moved over hers. He nodded in understanding. Once finished, he brought her fingertips to his lips and blew. She smiled slightly and said a meek little "Thanks" before moving to finish dressing.

He held onto her hand. "Kim . . ."

"What, Ron? What's wrong?" She shifted to sit closer to him, intertwining her fingers with his.

"I don't like the idea of you going in alone, KP. It's too dangerous." He looked into her eyes, confirming to her that this was his worst fear.

"Ron, they're harmless. They may be a little different, but that doesn't mean they're going to kill me the moment I walk in." She smiled at him. "And you'll be right outside if I need any help." He didn't seem convinced. "I'll be fine, I promised." With that she released his hand and walked over to her bed. She pulled her fishnet shirt over her head, flipping her wig out from underneath and slipping her thumbs into the larger holes cut at the bottom of the sleeves. Thoroughly content with the way it fit, she pulled on the leather coat, tightening the belt to fit against her curves.

Without a word, Ron led her out of the hotel room, locking the door behind him. They walked arm in arm to the large, run-down house where, according to Wade, an overzealous member of the occult had taken this mysterious relic. They stopped round the corner from the door. For a moment she thought of how lucky they were that Upperton had been spared from the storm, but quickly turned her attention once more to Ron.

They nodded at one another and Kim began to leave. Ron grabbed hold of her wrist. "KP . . ." he breathed.

"Yeah?"

"Be careful," he said seriously, "I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to you. I know it sounds cliché, but it's the truth."

She smiled sadly at him before reaching up and kissing him firmly on the lips. His world spun and he held onto her tightly. She pulled away, turning from him with a swish of leather, and she was gone, leaving him with black marks across his mouth.


Whatever Kim had been expecting, this was most certainly not it. Looking around, she found everyone to be dressed nearly identical to herself, save a few that seemed to be either a bit overzealous or somewhat more laid back. Contrary to what many would have sought, the people around her simply milled about, chatting (although the subject matter was a bit odd, if not overwhelmingly disturbing), or sipping on punch so red it appeared to be blood. It was a party, she noted, not in any way a satanic worship, or anything to be feared, but simply a festivity which she felt very awkward taking part in.

Just get that talisman, and get out, she told herself, but she found the entire thing to be oddly intriguing, as if she'd like to sit down and talk with these people, listen to their views, and give a few of her own. In and out, she repeated, but was quickly drawn astray by the sight of a young woman, not much older than herself, lighting a candle inscribed with writings and designs she'd never seen before. What is that for? she pondered. No! In and out. In and out! She continued on.

Looking this way and that, she certainly must have seemed out of place, her slow pace and wardrobe the only parts of her appearance matching the rest. Distracted by a tarot spread, she looked to the side watching intently as the fortune was read, not noticing what, or rather who, was in her path.


The young woman studied her surroundings, searching for that one particular person. Ah, there she is. The woman herself was tall, graced with the curves of a woman and the strength and authority of a man, or even perhaps a vampiress. She was dressed from head to toe in black leather, her feet clad with stiletto boots that clung to her muscular legs to the middle of her thighs, just a hint of fishnet visible above the edges. Her dress clung to her body, falling to the ground in the front and back, slit to the hip on both sides. The top portion of her breast lay bare, and from there dipped down to a 'V', held together only by taught laces. She wore a long trench coat that, without aid from a belt, clung to her figure. She, herself, was an interesting vision, pale as moonlight with eyes that shown with the beauty of a thousand emeralds. Her hair cascaded down her back in gentle waves of black, red, blonde and brown.

She fingered the object in her hand. It had been rather easy to steal. A bit too easy, she thought. It was a black weight, inscribed with tiny designs and symbols, dangling from a tarnished chain. She stroked the sphere, feeling the harsh texture of the paint against her darkly lacquered nails. The ease with which she'd taken it could have simply been because the object was a fake. She knew it; so did the greater part of the following to which she belonged, even those wandering around this old dilapidated house, seeking shelter from the outside world. But, of course, even the 'experts' had no idea about the real talisman. It had been destroyed so long ago, only to be recreated for ritualistic reasons, more of a trinket than a tool.

But the talisman meant nothing to her; it was simply a method to get Kim Possible's attention. True, it was a bit . . . unorthodox, but so was her way of life. She grinned, ducking into a back room and locking the door. It was dark, but it didn't bother her. She belonged to the dark. She was created from shadow and sorrow . . . but still she grinned. Setting the talisman on a nearby table, she turned to her unseen companion. "She's arrived."

A match was struck, and in the dim light, a figure cloaked all in white approached her. "Very good," he said, reaching out to her with a gloriously tanned hand. She took it, looking up to him, her other hand exploring the cloth across his chest until, at last, she found what she'd been looking for: a simple, gold cross hanging from a gold chain. "And may God let this work out."

With an almost longing look, she left him, taking the talisman, and went out in search of the girl known as Kim Possible.


Kim looked up, seeing the piercing green eyes that stared back at her, the almost vampiric grin that smiled at her. Her own emerald eyes shone with fear of the odd woman before her. "Well, now, look what I've found here." The woman wrapped her fingers, small as they were, around Kim's neck. "The world famous teen hero, Kim Possible."

Kim stared at her, almost terrified, before regaining her composure, her dazed look turning to a glare. "So not," she snapped, rather severe compared to her normal tone. But before the woman could do anything, a lock of red hair fell down beneath the wig, brushing against her right temple and cheek. She quickly scrambled to replace it, but the woman's suspicions had been confirmed.

"Oh, I see," she said, advancing on her. "So what might be the explanation for the red hair? I'm sure you have some lie to tell me. Come on, try me. I'll be a 'badical' audience, as you'd say." Kim saw a flash from within the woman's coat, almost like finished black paint, dark and yet radiant at once. Instantly, she knew what it was, and, moreover, who this person must be.

Kim smirked and countered, "And I'm sure you must have an even more interesting lie to tell me about how you came across that." She gestured at the talisman. "Looks expensive. Ya know, like from a museum?" She whirled around as if to attack the woman, but when she made no moves in return, she saw no challenge, no will to go through with any sort of strike.

"What?" the woman said. "You want it? Go ahead and take it. It holds no importance to me." She held the object out in front of her, allowing it to dangle from the chain. At first, it remained still, simply suspended above the floor, but then, very slowly and only slightly at first, it began to swing back and forth, going against the laws of physics, gaining momentum and height as it went. She smiled. "It says you want it. But I'm sure, if it could say more, it would also comment that you don't know what it is."

Kim frowned. "It's stolen property, for one. And two, it can't talk. It's just a fancy necklace." She reached out to steal the charm away, but the woman pulled her hand away.

"Not so fast, you." She began circling Kim with slow, deliberate steps, her stiletto heels clicking in rhythm, as if the beat of a heart. She grinned. "Don't worry; I'm not going to hurt you." And, with a little bit of a snicker, she added, "Yet."

"What do you want?" Kim asked, trying not to show her fear. She'd thought this mission would be harmless; a new villain rarely poses any physical threat. She lifted her chin a bit to emphasize her point, even though it appeared that, without those dreadfully tall heels, the woman was of less than average height. "And why did you steal the talisman?"

She stopped her pacing and seemed to consider the question for a moment. "Two reasons. First, I thought it would be a good idea to inform you that this talisman, as fancy and important as it looks, is a fake. Sure, it serves the function of your average pendulum, but it's not the original. It's a replica, and it's bad luck to lie to your little tourists, telling them that this is an important piece of Occult culture, you know. And second, I wanted to get your attention."

Kim stared at her for a second. ". . . why?" She took a battle stance, sick of this pointless banter. It was time for some action.

But the woman had a different plan. She thrust the talisman at her. "Here. Take it. It's of no use to me." Kim simply stared as the object was pressed into her hands, and, directly following, a stiff slip of paper. "Here's my card. Keep it some place safe. You'll need it someday."

Kim's brow creased into a confused frown. "Wha . . . ?"

The woman rolled her eyes hurriedly. "You need to leave. Now. But I will tell you this: soon, the most important things in your life will be ripped away from you, one by one. When this happens, you must contact me. Promise me you will. It's all I ask. I'm not your enemy. I'm your friend, and this you must believe."

Kim looked at her, puzzled, but soon was distracted by the sound of shattering glass. Ron . . .


Outside, Ron was pacing back and forth, up and down the walk. Kim should've been back by now. It was a simple mission, in and out and they were done. But she'd not returned. There was no sign of trouble from inside the house, but he only found that more unnerving. He couldn't let anything happen to Kim; he'd promised to take care of her. He checked his watch again. Thirty minutes, he thought. She should've been back at least ten minutes ago. He was almost never the one calling the shots, but this time, it appeared he had to.

He slowly started creeping around the exterior of the building, looking for a window through which he could see something, anything. They were all draped with black curtains, keeping his precious Kim from view. No, don't do this to me, Kim . . . He glanced at his watch again. Thirty-seven. He kept telling himself that she was okay, that she was already out, through a back door perhaps, and she was looking for him. But his trademark optimism soon came to an end.

He'd found a window through which he could see, very little, though the rip in the curtain was. And there he saw Kim, actually frightened. There was a woman circling her, menacingly, he thought. Uncharacteristic her fear was, and so Ron could only think the woman posed a threat against her life. She's got a gun, he thought, jumping to the only conclusion that explained her expression.

And, without a second thought, he drew the grappler, pulled the trigger and winced as the glass of the window broke, as the threadbare curtain tore. There was a clatter of metal as it hooked onto a railing on the upper level of the house, where the ceiling of the lower floor raised to the roof. Surprisingly, he did not lose his pants this time, and he silently thanked his good luck. He didn't have time for that now. Quickly bracing himself against the windowsill, he pulled in some rope, and, with surprisingly adept technique, swung across the room, dodging anyone in his way, holding onto the grappler with one hand, the other arm reaching out to grab Kim's waist as he passed her.

She wrapped her arms round his neck, not sure of his plan, and even more confused at his sudden bravery and skill. Nonetheless, he'd saved her, although she was somehow now convinced that she'd been in no danger to begin with. As frightening and unexpected as their encounter had been, the woman had claimed to be her friend, and now she held in her hand both the talisman and the slip of paper she'd given her.

The crowd simply stared at them, shocked and angered at the intrusion, but, knowing they'd done nothing wrong, showed no fear. Finally landing, Ron looked around, and, upon seeing the various expressions on the people around him, laughed nervously and began tugging on the collar of his shirt. "Uh . . . h-h-hi. Uh . . . it looks like I got the wrong house. I'll . . . be leaving now." And with that he began backing towards the door, tugging Kim along with him. "Come on, KP, let's get outta here."

Kim followed him, the entire time watching her, the woman who had stolen the talisman. She knew she should have turned her in, she was a criminal, after all, but, looking at her now, she saw something else. She was frightening, true, but even now, gazing evenly at her with no sign of emotion, as a white cloaked figure came up behind her, resting tanned, masculine hands on her shoulders, she knew there was something different about her, something important.


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