xxXXxx
Chapter 10: No more warpigs of the power

Kim helped Ron as he slumped into the back seat of the car, pressing down on his head so that it wouldn't bump against the roof as he unsteadily slid into the car, clutching a small vinyl duffle bag colored identically to GJ's uniforms to his chest. "I feel like I'm in a bad TV cop show," Kim noted with a tired grin as she swung the door closed with a solid thump, sealing him inside.

She reclaimed the folder she'd deposited on the roof of the car when she'd noticed Ron's difficulty, then walked around the vehicle to the rear, vaguely wondering as she did how GJ could possibly have thought the vehicle would be effective as a "plain clothes" transport. The boxy, unstylish model was so unflattering, boring, and lacking in even the most basic amenities that only a civil servant looking for cost effective transport would find it in any way appealing. It all but screamed "government vehicle" even though it lacked the license plates and door decorations denoting its ownership that such vehicles usually carried.

"All set?" Agent Kendall asked as Kim paused by the rear passenger door. The GJ agent had shed her duty helmet and body armor at some point during the long investigation-slash- interrogation to determine Ron's identity, revealing her curly brunette hair and the dark blue uniform she'd worn beneath the protective carapace of her armor, but she still wore her sunglasses.

"I am so ready," Kim sighed aloud, clambering into the car as their designated driver climbed into the driver's seat. Kim set her folder on the floor at her feet and leaned back against the imitation leather as she tried to relax.

As Kendall started the car, through the front windshield, Kim could see the hanger doors they'd flown through slowly start to retract. The titanic doors stopped moving once they were open just wide enough for the car to exit, leaving the entrance still largely obstructed.

Agent Kendall put the car in gear and slowly drove forward, steering the vehicle between the now darkened banks of lights that had blinded her and Ron ("How long ago was that?" Kim wondered. "It feels like we've been in here forever.") when they'd first landed at the Middleton airport and disembarked from the hoverjet. "What time is it, anyway?" Kim tried to recall, but between the shifting time zones, her nap, the moments of panic and long stretches of necessary worried idleness, it was futile. She eventually gave up the effort as a lost cause.

"My time sense is majorly out of whack. But it doesn't really matter, anyway," she admitted to herself, sighing with more than a hint of relief as the nose of the car breached the gap in the doors - the first checkpoint on their way. "We're finally going home. Me and Ron." That simple fact more than made up for everything that Kim had endured on this entire, horrible mission.

Kim kept her face looking resolutely forward, despite the sudden barrage of flashes as the press - still being held back by GJ agents - noticed the passengers in the car as it exited the hanger and attempted to capture them on film. The strobe of camera flashes eventually faded into the distance as Kendall sped up, leaving the reporters far behind as she drove towards the airport's exit.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kim had noticed Ron's nonreaction to the media as they drove past - which was a refreshing change, but was somewhat worrisome; even when he wasn't trying too hard to be liked, he enjoyed being the center of attention, and the press sometimes gravitated to him - usually at Ron's eventual expense. At least his ignoring of them had a simple explanation; Ron was visibly leaning, resting his head against the cool glass of the door's window, and his eyelids were drooping.

"Poor Ron," Kim sighed silently. "And here I was complaining that I had a hard day when his was so much tougher." She had thought everything would go back to normal once the hoverjet landed, but it was really when things had started.

Kim mirrored Ron's pose, and she found the chill of the window to be soothing against her cheek as her mind drifted back to how it had begun, who-knows-how-many hours before...

oooOOOooo

Kim stared disbelieving at the cement floor that looked completely solid, despite having just swallowed Ron. She stomped on the spot where Ron had vanished, to no effect; the floor was unyielding. Before her still slightly sleep fogged mind could work through precisely what had happened, a voice cut through her confusion.

"Greetings, Kimberly Possible."

Kim blinked, trying to see despite the glare that blurred her vision and left spots glowing on her retinas. Out of the bright light, a human silhouette strode forward. The shadowy outline - visible only as a patch of darkness against the intensity of the light - halted a short distance away, the stance such that it appeared to cock one hip.

As Kim squinted into the brilliant glow of a dozen lamps, the figure raised one hand, and the blinding lights were abruptly extinguished. Kim blinked, and in the sudden shocking cessation of illumination, her watering eyes identified the source of the light as a bank of klieg lamps.

Kim's eyes slowly began to recover as she blinked and rubbed at them furiously, and she soon realized the silhouette was that of a woman. After they had recovered still further, and adjusted to the less intense ambient light inside the hanger, Kim was startled to find that she recognized the shadowy figure. "Dr. Director! What happened to Ron? What's going on?" she demanded while rushing towards her, still blinking wildly. Glowing after images continued to haunt her eyes, burned into her retinas, but Kim could see well enough to navigate while waiting for the ghostly blotches to fade.

The head of Global Justice held up a hand to forestall Kim's questions. "All will become clear. Follow me please."

"I don't understand," Kim shook her head, but obediently followed after the older woman, peppering her with questions as she continued to blink her watering eyes. "What are you doing here? Where's Ron? What happened to him?"

"He has been... diverted," Dr. Director explained cautiously, "to keep him occupied while we're getting ready."

"I don't understand," Kim shook her head slowly. "What's going on?"

"Tell me, Kimberly," Dr. Director asked, an odd intensity in her voice that Kim hadn't heard in it ever before. "Have you any doubts as to the identity of the prisoner I sent you to recover?"

Kim's brow furrowed. "What do you mean? What's this about Ron?"

"What I mean, Kimberly," she explained, "is this; you called him 'Ron.' Are you completely sure of the identity of your recent travelling companion? You have no doubts that the prisoner you escorted is Ronald Stoppable? None at all? He has done nothing unusual, abnormal, or out of character since you've been reunited?"

"Abnormal? We are talking about Ron here," Kim noted with a raised eyebrow.

"Out of the ordinary for him," Dr. Director patiently clarified, granting Kim some leeway because of the circumstances.

"Not... really. He does seem... jumpy," Kim admitted reluctantly, "and twitchy. But he said he's been having nightmares, and I know I'm acting oddly because of everything that's happened, so even if he were acting strange, it wouldn't really mean anything. So yes, I know it's really Ron."

Dr. Director smiled sadly. "I wish I could afford to accept that without question, I really do. But there are... other factors to consider. I'm afraid we have to confirm his identity," Dr. Director informed her bluntly, "before we can allow him to be released."

"Allow...?" Kim began, then fell silent as her eyebrows shot up. "What are you talking about?"

As Kim and Dr. Director had been speaking, they had been walking towards the center of the hanger. Dr. Director fell silent, and as Kim waited for her to respond, she absently took note of her surroundings, then looked more closely as her interest was reluctantly piqued.

The floor at the center of the hanger had been painted a bright yellow, forming a geometrically perfect circle. Surrounding this yellow area, evenly spaced along the perimeter, were a dozen metal boxes sitting flush to the ground and positioned just outside the circle. Surrounding the ring of boxes in turn was a ring composed of cameras, microphones, sensors, and computer stations, and attached to this ring of machinery by a tangled web of cabling, power cords, and conduits in a web that interconnected everything (and retreated into the dimly shadowed recesses of the hanger besides) were a series of computers with display monitors nearly as tall as Kim herself.

Kim froze as she realized the scope of the operation, and slowly looked around the hanger, taking in all the machinery that had been installed, and the number of scientists and technicians that were either working on the machines, or standing nearby. "What the...?" she asked quietly.

As Kim stared at the installation, her eyes drawn to one detail or oddity after another, a grey haired scientist with small, circular-lensed glasses approached Dr. Director and handed her two files. Kim blinked as she looked at the man; he looked vaguely familiar, and that sense of familiarity was only heightened by the fact that aside from a difference in color scheme and a lack of gloves, his clothing looked identical to Dr. Drakken's usual mad scientist garb.

Dr. Director and the man spoke in a quiet undertone. Kim couldn't overhear their words, and after he had made some notes on a clipboard, he went back to doing something at one of the computer stands.

"What's that all about?" Kim asked as Dr. Director stepped closer.

"Dr. Williams was informing me that they're ready now, Kimberly," she answered without answering.

"Good to hear. Ready for what?"

"To confirm the prisoner's identity of course," Dr. Director commented, her tone implying that fact should have been obvious.

"Fine," Kim threw up her hands in disgust at Dr. Director's intractability on the matter. "Let's just get this over with so we can go home," she told herself. "Where is Ron?"

"The prisoner is in a holding pattern in the GJ transport network. As I mentioned, it was deemed advisable to keep him controlled while we finished setting up, and that was the obvious way to do it," she explained. "Now that they're ready, he should be making his appearance at any moment," Dr. Director pointed towards the yellow circle.

Kim blinked, remembering her own travels in the GJ network. "So he's been going around and around and around in those little tunnels all this time? Nonstop?"

"Affirmative."

"I thought you guys had a file on him. Didn't you read the restraining order?"

Dr. Director blinked her eye quizzically. "Restr... What are you talking about?"

"I guess you'll learn the same way Mr. Baggypants did," Kim winced in unconscious anticipation.

Inside the circle, the floor abruptly opened up as Ron rocketed out of the ground, his face looking distinctly bilious as he was ejected from the transport system. It was a singularly unflattering shade compared to the orange of his prison issue jumpsuit.

"Uh oh," Kim winced, covering her eyes with one hand, but unable to resist peeking over her shielding palm.

As Ron flew through the air, the role of the small boxes along the perimeter of the circle became clear. Each abruptly sprouted a pair of metallic tentacles ending in a gripper claw, and as Ron's arc brought him close to the edge of the yellow circle, they pounced, the segmented skin of the tentacles stretching as they extended menacingly. Each of Ron's limbs were abruptly snared by at least one claw, and he was effectively and efficiently trapped, held suspended above the floor of the hanger by the tentacles' grip.

Despite hanging suspended in midair, Ron continued to rock and sway with the motion of the tentacles that held him. When Kim saw his throat beginning to work convulsively, she quickly turned away and closed her eyes, her urge to peek vanishing in an instant. Ron erupted, vomiting a noisome fluid across the floor of the hanger, and partially obscuring the outer edge of the yellow circle as it splashed against the concrete.

Ignoring the eruption from their captive, the mechanical limbs continued to operate according to their programming, having successfully prevented the prisoner from leaving the confines of the circle. As Ron was returned to the center of the circle by the entrapping robotic appendages, tentacles from across the circle joined in to assist in the transport and aided in the task of lowering him safely and efficiently to the painted concrete floor - fortunately well away from his sickness' legacy.

Despite this, Ron's stomach continued to visibly convulse. Even as he was placed on the ground, Ron was heaving and gasping as he struggled to regain his breath while his body was concurrently straining to eject anything and everything it could find to expel from his already emptied stomach. Since nothing remained to find, it was a thoroughly (and literally) gut- wrenching experience.

Perhaps even worse than the sight of Ron's illness was the sound - and Kim hadn't thought to cover her ears. Microphones designed to magnify every whisper within the area for ease of interrogation caught everything, and the speakers surrounding the GJ operation broadcast every wet, gurgling moment and every panting breath Ron seized as he gasped for air between the shuddering bouts of nausea that racked him.

"Prone to motion sickness," Dr. Director noted as her lips curled in distaste as a particularly gruesome hacking groan erupted from the speakers. "I'll add a notation to his file."

Even though she had been anticipating this result after hearing what had happened to Ron, and had thankfully missed the full glory of the initial event by shielding her eyes, Kim was still nauseated. "You think?" she retorted.

A sudden chittering from the speakers reminded Kim that Rufus has accompanied Ron on his journey as well, bringing a sharp and quickly suppressed bark of laughter. Ron made a sound that merged both a cough and a laugh at Rufus' comment, and held his roiling stomach with both hands as he tried to quell his nausea by force of will alone. "Good one... But don't make me laugh, Rufus, please," Ron's anguished whisper pleaded. "My stomach can't take it."

Turning to Kim - since she was the only one beside Ron who had laughed at the sound of Rufus' "voice," Dr. Director asked, "What did Rufus say? Can you understand him?"

"I don't blame you, Rufus," Ron's pained whisper was broadcast throughout the hanger. "I feel crummy in the tummy, too."

Kim laughed embarrassedly, shaking her head in rueful humor. "These days I can understand Rufus most of the time - not as well as Ron, but a lot more than I used to. And I definitely got this one. He said, 'Smell my stink spray.'"

Dr. Director blinked in confusion, not understanding the reference.

"It's from 'The Fearless Ferret,'" Kim tried to explain. "The wicked White Stripe? The Ferret's fiendish foe?"

Curled up on the floor, Ron chuckled through his misery as he coughed and hacked, trying to get the taste of bile out of his mouth. "Fear not, furless friend. While we were winded and wounded, wily Wonder Weasel, with White Stripe's wicked and woeful weapon, we will..." A renewed bout of heaving brought his alliterative oration to a sudden and grinding halt as he rolled onto his knees, dry heaving continuously, and clutching his aching stomach.

As Ron knelt, heaving as his empty stomach knotted and roiled, a pink blob erupted from the top of his jumpsuit to land in a limp heap beneath the convulsing teen. A yellowish fluid trickled down out of the jumpsuit along the line of Ron's neck following the same course the blob had taken.

Freed from within the confines of Ron's clothes, and visibly as ill as Ron, Rufus unsteadily slumped across the floor, his eyes awhirl. After a moment, he staggered up onto his hind legs and lurched forward a few steps - far enough to get out from beneath the shadow of Ron's hunched body - before stopping to add his own contribution to the befouled floor.

"Lovely," Dr. Director murmured distractedly. She gestured to a nearby scientist, and when the brown haired man approached, she instructed, "Pass the word around; remember to watch for cross contamination from the naked mole rat." Turning back to Kim, Dr. Director asked, "'Mr. Baggypants'?"

"Ron had to pay for his dry cleaning," Kim explained helpfully. "And Ron's been banned for life from riding carnival rides on a full stomach."

"Wonderful," Dr. Director rolled her eye in exasperation. "All those research dollars spent on the Ron Factor project, and we still missed that."

"Convinced he's Ron, yet?" Kim asked hopefully.

"No," Dr. Director denied without batting an eye. "We're just getting started.

XXXXoooOOOoooXXXX

"K.P. ?"

Ron's quiet voice brought Kim back to the present as their car drove through the airport's security gate without stopping, barely slowing down enough to allow the horizontal bar to rise out of the way. "Yes, Ron?" she asked, just as quietly.

"I don't feel so good. Do you mind if I lay down?"

"Sure, Ron. No big," she answered. She helped him scoot his body around until his torso was sprawled across the back seat, his head resting on her lap. "Would you like to hear a bedtime story?" she asked teasingly.

"No thanks," Ron murmured, too dazed and sleepy to realize she wasn't serious. His eyes drifted closed, and without another word, he fell into Morpheus' embrace.

For a few minutes, Kim simply watched Ron sleep, reassuring herself that he was here, he was real - and she now had both Wade's and GJ's scientists' guarantee of that fact (even though she'd never thought to question it until Dr. Director had brought up the possibility) - and he was resting easily.

Kim hadn't wanted to believe it was possible - that Ron had been replaced, reprogrammed, or been infected to act as a modern day "Typhoid Ronnie" - but she'd eventually agreed and let them run their tests on him. Not that GJ technically needed her permission, but they knew Ron well enough to know that her agreement and participation would guarantee his cooperation - and it had, even under such trying and unsettling conditions.

"Poor Ron," she thought again, then added, "and Rufus," as she felt him shift in her pocket. "And that was just the start of his lousy evening... or morning... what time is it anyway?" she found herself wondering as her mind drifted back once more.

oooOOOooo

"I am required to be the devil's advocate in this situation, Kimberly," Dr. Director explained. "No one would be happier than I if John Doe #234 does indeed turn out to be Ronald Stoppable. But if he is not, or if he's..." she sighed, without completing the sentence, deciding not to burden Kim with the weight of knowledge of some of the possibilities she had been forced to consider. "Believe me, it's a better option to find out now, rather than later, once word of his... miraculous 'survival' has leaked to the public."

"The press is already here," Kim pointed out, while gesturing over her shoulder in the vague direction of the news crews gathered outside.

A high-pitched yelp coming from the speakers caused Dr. Director to pause, but she continued when no further distractions were immediately forthcoming. "But plausible deniability has been retained," she pointed out to Kim. "And we have total control of all tangible evidence, no matter what rumors may circulate."

"But... we're also still talking about Ron," Kim shot back. "He's not an assassin or... or a spy, or anything else. He's just... Ron."

"My brother has been sighted in Bermuda," Dr. Director explained elliptically. "His method of entry: unknown."

Ron's sudden shout caused Kim in turn to pause as he yelled, "I don't care if you are a doctor; no one infiltrates the ferret hole!"

Blinking, Kim's eyes slowly widened as she absorbed his words, before she hurriedly muttered, "Okay, moving on." Turning back to Dr. Director, she noted, "Gemini said something about Bimini." Kim frowned as she tried to remember Dr. Director's brother's parting words from what seemed an eternity before in the undersea lair. "And about you joining us soon after we were dead."

"Exactly." She smiled sardonically. "You will no doubt recall that Florida is fairly close to Bermuda. Much closer, in fact, than it is to the South Pacific."

Kim blinked. "What does that have to do with..." she suddenly halted as the light began to dawn. "Ron."

"Precisely. Hence the need to prove Ron's identity," Dr. Director concluded. "Your aid will be invaluable. Help me find something to explain how and why Ron would reappear on the other side of the planet from where he was lost. Frankly, the only explanation I could think of for Ron's survival and reappearance in Florida is Sheldon's personal intervention - and my brother is not known for his... humanitarian spirit."

"This could only get worse if there were monkeys!" Ron's shout filled the sudden silence that ensued as Kim weighed Dr. Director's words. "Please, tell me there aren't going to be any monkeys!" his voice throbbed with misery.

"I... understand," Kim finally admitted. "It makes sense that you have to prove it's really him."

"So help me prove it," Dr. Director instructed as she lead Kim to a nearby chair. "You know him better than anyone. Examine the evidence, eliminate the possibilities, and tell me: is John Doe #234 really Ron Stoppable?"

XXXXoooOOOoooXXX

Kim blinked, momentarily coming back to herself as a passing car's headlights dazzled her. She glanced down, but Ron still slumbered quietly, and her thoughts quickly drifted again.

"I thought it was so simple. He looks like Ron, he sounds like Ron... he must be Ron. How could I have imagined...?"

oooOOOooo

Dr. Williams rested his hand on a younger colleague's shoulder as he stood beside the conference table. At the prompt, the man began to type on a wireless keyboard that had rested on the floor beneath his seat.

As he typed, the monitor behind him lit up, displaying what appeared to be an x-ray image of the head and shoulder area of a human. Three hard-edged geometric shapes were visible, located in the area of the neck, and two were highlighted in red. The grey-haired Williams pointed to the highlighted shapes with the aid of a green laser pointer. "The prisoner is not a cyborg; he's definitely mostly organic. However, there are two unidentified implants in the subject's body. One appears to be damaged and non-functional, but the other is intact, and appears to be operating off an internal power source."

Kim hesitantly raised her hand. "Dr. Director, I see three implants," she pointed out.

"To reiterate," Dr. Williams somewhat testily interrupted her interruption. "There are two unidentified implants."

"What...?" Kim began, but fell silent as Dr. Director interrupted her in turn.

"There are two implants," Dr. Director asserted. "Any thought or speculation as to the existence or function of a hypothetical additional subcutaneous device located in the prisoner is subject to the usual rules and penalties for the dissemination of classified material."

Kim scowled, staring at the blocky rectangle on the screen that Dr. Director was telling her officially did not exist, and had implied that it was illegal to even speculate as to the function of the thing. The skin on the back of her neck crawled, and she had a sudden urge to ask her mom take an x-ray of her own neck. Making a mental note to seriously consider the matter later, she pulled out the Kimmunicator and paged Wade.

He immediately answered, and his alertness made it clear that despite the pale blue pajamas he was wearing, he hadn't returned to bed after her earlier, panicky call she'd made after first being confronted by the possibility of dealing with a faux Ron. "What up, Kim?"

"Sorry to bug you again Wade, but they're going over the findings. Ron has some implants in his neck, and GJ doesn't recognize them."

The Kimmunicator began to buzz with an almost subaural hum, and a beam of light radiated from the ruby emitter on the top. A hologram of Wade formed standing beside Kim's chair.

"This'll work better that speaking through the screen," the holo-Wade answered for himself as Kim set the Kimmunicator down on the table in front of her. "Those two implants are mine," he explained. "The larger one was destroyed when Gemini exposed Ron to an intense EM field when he was kidnapped during the Ron Factor adventure, and the second is the improved replacement I had installed shortly after his return. Those were one of the ways I reassured myself that Ron was actually Ron when he paged me from the hoverjet," he informed the gathered GJ scientists, but while addressing Kim.

The nape of Kim's neck definitely itched now. She somehow resisted the urge to scratch it - and incidentally see if she could feel anything hiding beneath the concealment of her own skin. "Am I the only one that thinks chipping someone is ferociously unethical?" she wondered, her brow furrowing at the thought.

Dr. Director simply nodded at Wade's explanation without comment. Turning back to the scientists, she asked, "So he's organic. Clone?"

"There wouldn't have been time to grow one," one of the seated scientists quickly asserted.

"Unless they had a genetic sample already, and had the clone pre-grown and already prepped for insertion," a female scientist pointed out from the other end of the table. "But I don't know where or why they would have gotten a blood or tissue sample from a high school student, though... What's so funny?" she suddenly demanded, as the holo-Wade snickered, and Kim fought to hide a smile of her own.

"Ron's probably left blood samples at every villainous lair we've ever visited," Kim admitted. "Tissue samples a lot of times, too. He gets injured a lot more than I do."

"Exactly," Wade agreed. "But when I scanned his DNA on the hoverjet," he began.

"You checked his DNA?" Kim demanded.

"Naturally," Wade shrugged. "Like I said, it's a weird situation, and you were sleeping right next to him. Now, when I scanned his DNA, there were none of the normal replication errors I'd expect to find in a clone - especially an artificially aged one. He's Ron, alright."

"Hmm," Dr. Director turned back to Dr. Williams. "Your thoughts?"

The scientist seemed upset that his thunder had been stolen on the issue, but he quickly answered nonetheless. "We checked DNA extracted from sweat, tissue samples, blood samples, and the root structures of hair samples, and they all match - both with each other, and with the genetic pattern we have in our database." Behind him on the monitor, the familiar double helix shape of the genetic strand sprouted up the left hand side of the monitor as a picture of Ron appeared on the right. "While it is still possible that the prisoner is a clone of the original, the number of scars, minor injuries, identical implants, and level of knowledge about publicly unknown information that he exhibits makes it very unlikely."

"A clone wouldn't speak naked mole rat," Kim summarized.

"Among other things," Dr. Williams shrugged, but didn't dispute her cogent analysis.

"So we agree; this is Ron Stoppable?" Dr. Director asked.

Kim smiled as the scientists all nodded their agreement. "Yes!" She could barely restrain her enthusiasm, but it was swiftly tempered when Dr. Director moved on to the next part of the examination without a pause for celebration.

XXXXoooOOOoooXXXX

Kim smiled as her fingers lightly ruffled Ron's hair. That moment of joy when GJ had finally agreed that the prisoner was indeed Ron remained powerfully moving, even in her memory, even though it hadn't marked the end of GJ's investigation.

Ron's slumber remained peaceful as the car rolled ever closer to home, and for that, Kim's gratitude was unalloyed and total. "Who knows what Gemini put you through?" she wondered wearily. "I don't know if it would be worse to know the truth, or to never know exactly what happened. Bad enough we don't even know what that goop you were covered with was - or what it was for."

oooOOOooo

"The blood samples - both from the original police analysis, and our own here, later - have all tested clean of chemical residues," Dr. Williams explained, as the relevant data scrolled across the display screen behind him. "There were some anomalous proteins found," he continued, but trailed off, and gestured for one of the seated scientists to elaborate on the point.

"We think the proteins are there as a result of ingestion," a female scientist added. "Thanks to his..." she trailed off, blushing slightly, then edited herself to phrase her point more elegantly, "We were able to test the subject's - Ron's - stomach contents, and found traces of the same... material that the police reported covered him. Simply put, he swallowed some of the material, and this is the source of the proteins."

"So what is the material, Dr. Jones?" Dr. Director asked her. "The lab report from the police mostly indicates 'unknown,' and aside from a description of its properties - mainly the smell - very little else is included."

Kim nodded her agreement. Especially about the smell; it lingered exceedingly well.

"For lack of a better description," the scientist explained, "it's an organic broth, or soup. Amino acids; proteins; some odd organic esters - which are the source of the smell; some long chain molecules - the closest analogue I can think of for those are the excretions of some deep cave fungi. They're what give the fluid it's... mucilaginous texture."

Kim blinked. "He was covered in snot? And he ate it?"

"A substance with a mucous-like texture," Dr. Jones clarified with a slight frown, "with the closest analogue being a fungal secretion. And though the point is likely irrelevant, the ingestion was most likely not deliberate; he was drenched in it, after all."

"Could it be waste product from a failed cloning experiment?" Dr. Director asked. "Possibly an oxygenated non-atmospheric breathing medium?"

"I doubt it," she mused thoughtfully, chewing on an earpiece of her glasses as she considered the matter. "There's no genetic material in the sample at all, and it doesn't conform to any of the components or remainders from any of the cloning procedures I've ever heard of - either reputable or disreputable. And it's not syntho-goo or amniotic fluid or anything similar, though it does bear some chemical similarities to the goo - though that similarity is likely coincidental rather than informative since both are organic chemical compounds."

XXXoooOOOoooXXX

Kim sighed, and as she breathed in, she could still smell the lingering aroma of the goo on him. It had sunk into Ron's skin, and lent him an odd scent that even Rufus - a rodent, and consequently well used to less than pleasant odors - described as "stinky." "I can't believe I miss the rotten fruit smell," she smiled sadly.

She gently took his hand in hers, and felt relieved when he neither protested nor awakened at the touch. She ran her thumb across the back of his hand while her fingertips felt the ridges of the scabs that closed the cuts on his knuckles that had been left when he sealed her in the escape pod. "My brave pink sloth."

oooOOOooo

Dr. Williams had the floor once more, and he pointed to the monitor as a series of pictures were displayed on the monitor. One after the other, they appeared, paused long enough to be considered, then were replaced by the next. Each was a photo of an injury found on Ron's body, and the slideshow repeated itself after cycling through each picture.

"We catalogued the injuries the subject exhibits," he explained, gesturing briefly over his shoulder. "Most are inconsequential. I mention this not to disparage what he must have gone through, but because the significant ones in relation to this context are absent. There are no burns on his temples, no cracks, breaks, drill holes, or markings on his skull, nor puncture or insertion wounds in either the sinuses, ears, or tear ducts.

"This unblemished state all but eliminates the possibility of a number of the most common mind control devices having been used on him. The characteristic marks left by exposure to the brain tap machine, the mind drill, the cranial drain, the cerebellum massager, the mind flayer, or the skull exploder are all absent. We can not, however, rule out exposure to the brain sifter, which leaves no obvious markings."

Kim flinched at the list of sinister devices the scientist rattled off, each sounding more evil than the next. The only consolation she felt was that each was discredited as having been used on Ron. "Except maybe that last one," she winced.

"Were there elevated levels of menaquinone in his blood?" the holo-Wade asked from his position at Kim's elbow.

"Yes, but not enough to be conclusive," Dr. Williams answered, then looked curiously at the boy's image. "Where on Earth did you learn about that?"

The hologram shrugged. "When you've infiltrated and appropriated information from as many of Dr. Drakken's computers as I have, you can pick up some interesting files. For example did you know Dr. Drakken can never remember Ron's name, but he has it programmed into his computers in the facial recognition software?"

"Interesting, but irrelevant," Dr. Director replied, then turned back to Dr. Williams. "So we can not eliminate the brain sifter. Are there any other possibilities?"

"There's always the possibility that there's something new on the market," one of the scientists noted. "Or that's been prototyped."

"But Gemini's the prime suspect, right? He buys or steals; he doesn't build his own. And I haven't seen any indications of any new products like this coming on the market," Wade pointed out. "Or even of anything similar being currently in development." When everyone looked at him curiously, he shrugged. "Ron signed me up to win a tank. I'm on the mailing list."

Kim sighed in resignation. "You too?"

Wade grinned. "I did win a gravionic uncoupler, so I don't mind too much."

"Do I want to know what that is?" Kim wondered aloud.

"Probably not," Wade smirked.

XXXXoooOOOoooXXXX

Kim rested her fingertips on Ron's scalp, feeling the texture of his hair between her fingers, and the slightly oily warmth of his skin as her grip on his hand momentarily tightened. "As if the torture and the goo weren't bad enough..." she thought to herself, before losing herself in her memories once more.

oooOOOooo

"There's clear evidence that at some point Ron was submerged," Dr. Williams began. "There's dried sea salt on what's left of his mission shirt, and the remains of some bathyctena plankton were recovered from his hair.

"There is also some indication that at some point his leg was trapped," here he paused and one of the photos previously displayed - the one showing Ron's leg (and the bruise that encircled it) as well as the deep gouges around and atop it - was restored to the monitor screen. The scientist's laser pointer flashed as he highlighted the grooves etched into Ron's skin. "These scratches appear to be self inflicted. This is based on the angles of the injuries, and scrapings from beneath his fingernails, and probably reflect an attempt to escape whatever debris had pinned his leg."

Kim's eyes widened as she began to picture everything that Ron must have gone through after he had sent her to safety. "Oh, Ron."

XXXXoooOOOoooXXXX

Kim's heart raced as she tried once more - and again, without success - not to imagine what it must have been like for Ron. "All alone... in the dark... trapped at the bottom of the sea... with the timer on the self destruct counting down... It's no wonder he's having nightmares. And that wasn't even the worst of it..." She shuddered as her mind wandered far afield from the government vehicle, back to the hanger.

oooOOOooo

Dr. Smith walked up as Dr. Director was recovering her composure, having been discomfited by the lack of solid information about what happened between the destruction of the undersea base, and Ron's discovery in Florida. "Is this a bad time?" she asked as she claimed the sole remaining vacant seat at the conference table.

"Not at all," Dr. Director answered smoothly, leaning forward in her chair. "We've been eagerly awaiting your report."

Smith pulled the red wig she wore from her head, revealing the short cropped blonde hair beneath. She ran her hands through the scant locks, fluffing them out of their slightly sweat-dampened mat, then sighed as she left it disordered and muddled. "When I first read Ronald's psyche profile, I didn't believe a word of it. I'm frankly astounded to find it was completely accurate. But that's neither here nor there."

Glancing around the table at the flock of attentive watchers, she explained, "It is clear that Ron underwent some form of psychological trauma, over and above the destruction of the undersea base. He shows distinct and measurable physiological reactions to certain stimuli as evidence of this. It's clear on the video from both the prison and the hoverjet..."

Kim blinked. "They recorded us?" The back of her neck began to itch again.

"... and there were a number of similar instances in my dialogue with him, albeit not so pronounced as they were when he was with Kim. While he is repressing the details of his memories, and can not consciously recall them, his subconscious mind still remembers, and when similarities to those events are encountered, they serve as powerful triggers."

From a pocket of her lab coat, Smith pulled out a cloth and scrubbed her face. When she lowered the material, some smears of makeup were visible on her cheeks and the cloth, and the lines of her cheekbones looked subtly different - and less like Kim's own. "Do we know what happened to him?" Dr. Smith asked as she dropped the dirtied cloth on the table in front of her.

"No," Dr. Director answered sadly. "And we'd hoped that you - and Ronald - could fill in some of those blanks."

Smith shook her head, dismissing the possibility. "At this point, he simply doesn't remember - and there's definite fluctuations in his brain waves that prove he's not lying about that; he won't allow himself to remember. Ron has a surprisingly durable psyche, and he's forced himself to forget the source of the trauma as a defense mechanism. He may eventually remember what happened once the trauma is less immediate, or he may never recall it as anything other than gross details from 'nightmares.'"

"Is this... repression of the memory consistent with the use of a mind sifter?" Dr. Williams asked curiously, his eyeglasses glinting as he adjusted their position atop his protuberant nose.

She considered the possibility, then slowly nodded despite the crease of uncertainty on her brow. "Possibly, given the short time window involved. With an inexperienced operator, a higher than recommended setting, and the limited exposure. It would also explain why it didn't quite work as intended."

"So what," Dr. Director asked curiously after Smith had fallen silent, "did Gemini intend, Dr. Smith?"

Smith blinked. "I'm sorry, didn't I mention that? It seems clear there was an attempt to condition Ronald to assassinate Kim Possible."

Kim gasped, her exhalation matched by the wave of shock that propagated around the table. "Ron..."

"Attempt? Or a success?" Dr. Director demanded, her fist clenching as it slammed against the table top.

"A failed attempt," Smith answered succinctly. She ticked off the points on her fingers as she made them, "Kim's embrace, as well as certain other kinds or loci of touch all generate definite negative responses from Ronald. Those are the moments that he comes closest to recalling the forgotten past - but Ron rejects the implanted memories and instructions. 'Nightmares,' he calls them, dismissing them as unreal, despite the immediacy and clarity that the mind sifter provided them. If the conditioning had been successful, he would not evince such behavior - either to himself, or to others; they would in effect be his thoughts. In addition, he was all but alone with Kim on the plane for some time - most of it while she was sleeping and helpless to defend herself; certainly long enough for him to have made some attempt on her life, had Gemini been successful in his aims.

Smith shrugged as she added, "Frankly, he may not have been deposited in Florida, so much as jettisoned there when it became clear the mind control was not working as intended. His survival may be completely unintended and accidental - a fluke."

"Ron would never try to kill me," Kim insisted into the stunned silence that followed Smith's summary, her shock at the very idea of Ron betraying their friendship in such a way written all over her face.

"Ordinarily that would be so," Dr. Smith noted, "but if he were properly conditioned, he might well attempt to do so. If Gemini had more time, better training with his machine, or Ronald's psyche were other than it is..." she shrugged. "Who can say?"

Dr. Director looked across the expanse of the hanger to where Ronald sat on the yellow circle. "Your recommendations?" she asked as she watched Ron play with the towel that encircled his waist following a brief but very necessary washing with a hose.

"Well, obviously, don't let them attempt to reprogram him again," Smith chuckled. "With enough time, skill, effort, and the right hardware, his psychological defenses would eventually be overcome."

"Of course," Dr. Director murmured, making a note on a PDA that was completely unrelated to the... simplistic advice. "More importantly, your advice for Ronald? Is he... safe with Kimberly?"

"Oh, yes," she answered. "In fact, reinforcement of their friendship can only help this situation. That relationship is what made Ronald the ideal weapon to use against her, but it is also the source of his strength - and most likely how he was able to resist the reprogramming. He knows the implanted memories are impossible, and so he consciously rejects them, even if his unconscious... finds them problematic."

XXXXoooOOOoooXXXX

Kim sighed as Ron's face twisted in his sleep, either his recent past or a new nightmare making his sleep restless. She rested her hand against the side of his cheek, and his expression calmed as his sleep deepened, the nightmare fading at her touch.

Awake, her touch would have been a source of pain and fear to him. Asleep, he still found it a source of respite. "Damn you Gemini," she thought, the rare expletive rising in her thoughts as she watched Ron slumber. "You'll pay for doing this to Ron. I swear it. No matter what Dr. Director does to you, I'll do worse."

oooOOOooo

"The Worldwide Evil Empire has had a very bad day," Dr. Director told Kimberly somberly. "After the destruction of their undersea lair, thanks in large part to the US Navy's rapid interdiction of the area for the search and rescue operations, we managed to capture nearly the entire lair's staff, as well as a pair of rescue vessels that had been dispatched by WEE to recover the survivors."

Kim blinked in surprise. "They never told me about that on the ship," she mused, then shook off her moment of distraction. "Not that I would have cared if they'd told me then anyway - not with Ron still missing and presumed dead."

"After following the registration backtrail of the captured ships," Dr. Director continued, "interviewing the prisoners, and using serial numbers and analysis from some of the debris and the escape pods recovered from the destroyed lair, we were able to trace WEE's funding and procurement process back through a number of very highly placed and almost invisible facilitators and upper level personnel in the organization - and to a number of bank accounts that we were able to get frozen almost immediately.

"It may be a bit early to tell, but for the moment at least, it looks like WEE has suffered a major blow. They've lost some key backers, a great deal of their financial reserves, a major installation, and a number of henchmen. If we're lucky, this will put a damper on their operation for years to come."

A bit of vicious satisfaction gleamed in Dr. Director's eye as she concluded, "I wish I could see Sheldon's face when he gets back from his vacation and learns what we've accomplished."

XXXXoooOOOoooXXXX

"No matter how much GJ curtails WEE, all I can say is Gemini had better stay out of my way," Kim thought furiously. Her brow creased as she envisioned herself confronting the man who had put Ron through all of this. "I'll show him the error of his ways..."

But revenge wasn't truly a strong element in Kim's nature, and she soon let the waking dream of bloody vengeance - however pleasant it sounded with the delineation of Ron's traumas still fresh in her memory - fade from her mind. Thoughts of Ron's joy were much better company, and she smiled down at Ron's slumbering face.

Kim glanced out of the window. Darkened homes lined both sides of the residential street they were driving along, and the gently rolling hills they were shadowing reminded her of home. "Almost there, I guess."

Her gaze returned to her silent companion as her thoughts drifted. Ron had been so excited when Kim had finally been able to tell him that they were free to leave the hanger. Free to go home. "At long last..."

oooOOOooo

"Ready to go home, hero?" Kim asked Ron with a smile as she strode up to him.

Ron looked up from the yellow-painted floor of the hanger, and stared at her. He had been given an opportunity to clean himself up while GJ's scientists and Dr. Director were deciding his fate, and he looked much better than he had when he first arrived in the hanger, but he still looked worn and exhausted.

On a positive note, he had been given a set of the sensor- impregnated "Ron Factor" detection garb (that GJ had bought when they still thought that he was the hidden secret behind Kim's successes) to wear. The replacement mission clothes were much more flattering than either the jumpsuit had been - even before it had been befouled by both human and rodent - or the small towel that he'd dried himself off with after cleaning up, and then worn as a covering for a while afterward while air drying the rest of the way.

"You're not joking are you?" Ron asked Kim nervously, glancing at the twitching tentacles that weaved sinuously along the perimeter of the yellow circle.

"Nope, we're really going home," Kim answered gladly.

Ron leaped to his feet, and although he was visibly tentative, glancing around the circle that had demarcated his freedom while GJ investigated him, he didn't question her further. With only her word as reassurance, he walked out. When the tentacles made no move to attack as he crossed that line and stepped onto the unpainted, dull grey concrete, he was so overcome with glee that he cheered, and began to dance happily in place.

Dr. Director watched Ron's celebration briefly, then turned to the scientist standing beside her as he made a small exclamation of surprise. "Dr. Williams?"

"Computer analysis shows that he's performing a variant of a sangleik. A Norwegian folk dance," Williams explained, glancing back and forth between Ron and the computer monitor, his eyes narrowed in renewed suspicion as Dr. Director's curious eye turned his way. "There's no record of his having knowledge of such in his file," he noted aloud.

Shaking her head, Dr. Director simply turned back, watching Ron dance joyously and untroubled by the oddity. "We didn't know about Mr. Baggypants, either," she noted, and Williams was compelled to concede the point.

xxxXXXxxx

"We're here," Agent Kendall suddenly announced, bringing Kim back from her reverie.

Kim blinked, Ron's joyous dancing fading from her mind's eye. She turned, looking out her window and found herself gazing at Ron's family's pleasant yellow house.

Lights burned in the downstairs windows despite the lateness of the hour, and in the driveway in front of the garage was parked an orange station wagon that she recognized. "My folks are here?" she wondered aloud.

Kendall shrugged. "I don't know; I'm just glad we left the press at the airport. I'm too tired to want to deal with them right now."

Kim winced her agreement with the sentiment. "Me too."

"Let's get Prince Charming in the house, and see if you need a ride home," Kendall suddenly grinned. "Or if your carriage already awaits."

Grinning at the agent's fanciful description of Ron, Kim gently shook Ron's shoulder. "Ron?" she asked.

Ron slumbered on, unaware.

"Ron," Kim whispered more intently, but still received no reaction. "Up and at 'em, hero," she insisted, her voice rising in volume.

Groaning, Ron slowly sat up as Kim pushed up on his shoulders. "Are we there yet? And what's the mission? Drakken or Dementor? I kinda forgot, K.P. ," he asked, his mind not functioning on all cylinders quite yet.

"We're there," Kim assured him. "The mission: try to get some sleep. It's a school night."

Ron groaned theatrically as he opened the car door and climbed out. "Do I have to?" he muttered, yawning as he stretched.

"Yes," Kim instructed as she exited the car. "Unless you want Mr. Barkin to give you even more extra homework."

Ron snorted, but didn't really awaken further. "GJ should investigate him sometime," he muttered, "Send that lady doctor with the cold finger. 'Perfectly normal exam,' my foot. She could give Shego some lessons in cruelty... 'Alright, Mr. B, turn your head and cough...'" his mumbles faded into inaudibility, but the scowl on his face remained perfectly clear.

Kim chuckled as she reached back into the car to collect Ron's forgotten bag and her folder. As she went back around the car to assist Ron, Agent Kendall took up a flanking position opposite Kim. They each claimed an arm, then in unison walked him up the short sidewalk to the Stoppables' front door.

Kim's gentle knock was swiftly answered, and before the open condition of the door could impinge on their consciousness, the entire party was enclosed in a smothering hug. "Hi Kimmie, hi Ron," Kim's mother smiled from the doorway.

From behind her mother, a man's voice could be heard. "Channel 8 breaking news; although Global Justice has declined to comment, these exclusive photos from the Middleton air..." The voice was abruptly silenced as the television was switched off.

"Hi, mom," Ron's muffled voice came from the center of the group hug after it had continued long enough to penetrate his half-asleep mind. "Mrs. Dr. P."

As Ron's mother pulled back from the embrace, she smiled embarrassedly at the Global Justice agent who'd been caught up in her grasp along with the teens. "Sorry," she apologized, but her happy grin didn't fade, and neither did the grip she had on the agent's blue-clad hip.

"No problem, ma'am," Agent Kendall grinned back. "Good to know they're in good hands." She chuckled good-naturedly as Ron's mother finally released her, and she stepped back - out of arm's reach of the slim blonde woman.

Both mothers chuckled as the GJ agent saluted them each in turn before heading back to the idling sedan. "Thanks for the rides," Kim called to her retreating back.

"You're very welcome," Kendall called back with a wave. "I'm glad everything worked out for you. You two take care," she instructed, before climbing back into the unmarked car and driving off.

Kim watched the car's brake lights glow into life at the end of the block as it paused for a stop sign, then let her eyes follow the receding glow of the car's headlights until it turned a corner. The car moved out of sight, her vision obstructed by the dark silhouette of an unlit house.

"Let's get him inside," Mrs. Dr. Possible instructed. Her eyes roamed quickly over her daughter and her partner, quickly checking for injuries, but finding none that looked worrisome. She claimed Agent Kendall's place by Ron's side, opposite her daughter, and took his arm, patting it reassuringly as she did.

"He can go straight up to his room," Mrs. Stoppable agreed. "He can barely stand up." She held the screen door open as the Possible women escorted Ron in, then closed the doors behind them.

Ron grew a little more animated as he entered his house, but not much. He walked more or less of his own volition, but the Possibles guided his steps as he crossed the living room heading for the stairs. "Hi, dad," he muttered, still only half-awake.

"Hello, Ronald," the tired actuary responded with a proud smile.

"He needs sleep," Ron's mom interjected, cutting him off abruptly.

Kim took advantage of the momentary pause, and dropped her folder onto a nearby endtable. She maintained her grip on Ron's bag, however.

"Of course," he agreed. "Do you need help with him?"

"We can manage," Mrs. Dr. Possible answered. "Compared to Jim and Tim, Ron's a dream to put to bed."

Mr. Dr. Possible chuckled his agreement as he rested a hand companionably on Ron's father's shoulder. "Ron's very good at sleeping," he agreed.

"I've taken him to bed before; he's easy," Kim chimed in, then blushed slightly as she reconsidered her words and realized how they could be interpreted - especially by her overly protective father. "I didn't mean..." she began, but Ron's mother forestalled an explanation.

"We know, Kimmie. But it looks like Ron's not the only one who needs to get some sleep," Mrs. Possible smiled over Ron's head at her daughter.

Still blushing, Kim helped her mom guide Ron up the stairs and into his bedroom. Once Ron sank onto his bed, she stepped aside to give his mom access.

As the mothers went to work stripping his clothes, Kim dropped Ron's bag beside his computer, then reached into her pocket and carefully pulled Rufus from his temporary nest.

"Hey!" Rufus protested sleepily.

"We're home, Rufus," Kim whispered. "We're finally home." She placed the dozing naked mole rat gently into the large plastic box on top of Ron's dresser that served as his official home. Unofficially, and more often than not, he slept beside Ron on the bed, but he still retained many of the trappings of more conventional pets - such as a bed of his own. She watched as the little pink rodent sleepily bundled himself up in the layers of cloth lining the container, forming an improvised nest from the material. He quickly sank back into sleep, and snores arose as visions of nacos and chimerritos began to dance in his head.

Kim turned back to Ron's bed, and found him already tucked in, having been too tired to protest - or notice, really - when the mothers had cooperated to strip him and ready him for bed. She smiled as Mrs. Stoppable ushered them quietly out of his room as the sound of his snores began to harmonize with Rufus'. She reached back into the room to turn off the overhead light, leaving only the reassuring glow of a night light burning by Ron's bed, then gently closed the door.

It came as a complete surprise when Kim suddenly found herself being hugged in the hallway outside Ron's bedroom. "Wha - ?" she began, startled. "Ron's mom isn't a hugger. What's up with her?"

"Thank you for bringing my boy home," Mrs. Stoppable whispered in Kim's ear, still hugging Kim tightly to her chest.

"It was no big, Mrs. Stoppable," Kim blushed.

"I don't just mean the car ride, dear," Ron's mother added, as she drew back from the embrace.

Kim's blush deepened. She hadn't known how to describe what she'd been feeling; what had underlain her thoughts and emotions ever since she'd been pushed into the escape capsule. With Ron's mother staring her in the face, she abruptly realized it was guilt - and many more layers of it than she'd previously recognized. Guilt for taking Ron into danger, guilt that Ron had chosen to save her instead of himself, and guilt that the worst that she'd had to endure was some boredom and fear while Ron...

"I..." she began, then restarted herself. "It's the least I could do," she said hesitantly. "Mrs. Stoppable," she began, preparing to unburden herself of everything she'd thought, feared, and hoped, over the long hours that had passed while she'd thought Ron was dead, but was cut off before she could even begin the process.

"I know what you're going to say. But don't. You're the best thing in my son's life, and I don't know what he'd do without you." She smiled, the expression a little sad, a little proud. "You do great things, and thanks to you, so does my boy," she explained. "You should be proud of that. I am."

"I'm proud of you both, too, Kimmie," Kim's mom added, smiling supportively.

Despite the reassurances, Kim actually felt her guilt deepen as she remembered how she had wanted to shirk the responsibility of telling them that Ron was dead. "But I..." she began, then flushed, halting awkwardly mid-sentence.

"Do I worry? Of course. Do I sometimes wish the two of you spent more time babysitting and finding lost puppies and less fighting... ?" Mrs. Stoppable trailed off, trying to think of the appropriate word.

"Freaks?" Kim suggested.

She shrugged, accepting the term, "Of course I do. But I know my son. And while he is prone to a number of bad habits, when he's with you, he rises above them. I sometimes think that you're the template Ron uses when he tries to be a mensch - and the only reason he bothers. Even if Doctor Director hadn't called us to explain things, I couldn't be upset with you."

Kim blushed, her guilt rising faster and more intensely than the color in her cheeks. She felt entirely unworthy of the accolades that were being showered upon her, but couldn't think of how to dismiss them without being insulting or belittling of what Ron had done.

At the same time, she felt guiltily pleased and relieved that Ron's mother wasn't going to forbid him from accompanying her on missions. "Even I have to admit it; it would be the rational choice. The normal choice." The thought naturally reminded her of Ron's motto, which brought a small smile to her lips despite her mixed emotions.

"You need to rest now, too, but think about what I said, you hear me?" Mrs. Stoppable told Kim, and Kim's mother nodded her agreement.

"We do need to get back," Mrs. Possible awkwardly admitted. "The sitter is nearly an hour past when we anticipated her next panicked call about what Jim and Tim have done would be. I'm getting a little worried for her."

Kim blinked, her total surprise momentarily overshadowing both her guilt and her embarrassment. "Where did you find a sitter willing to put up with the tweebs? And how'd you convince the two of them to stay quiet long enough for her to be stuck with them while you slipped out the door?"

Mrs. Dr. Possible chuckled as she wrapped an arm around Kim's shoulders in a one-armed sideways hug. "She's new in town, and hadn't heard of them yet. And to be blunt, I bribed them. By the way, we're having dinner at J.P. Bearymore's on Friday."

"Great, burnt pizza smell," Kim mumbled, but she found herself enormously comforted as they walked down the stairs nonetheless. Life changing events were much less confounding with a mother's love and support bolstering you.

xxxXXXxxx
to be continued...

Notes: Whew... this update was a long time coming... This one required multiple rewrites, numerous editing passes, and I'm still not entirely happy with it. Hopefully the interspersed flashback segments weren't too jarring. I may eventually go back and rewrite it, but for now, I'll let it stand so that I can get back to forwarding the main plot of the piece.

I will be posting the fruits of some of the earlier drafts of this chapter as a chapter of "The Shape of Things Yet to Come," which will contain both deleted segments, and earlier versions of existing scenes, so if you're interested in seeing some of the 50-75 odd pages that I scrapped before writing this version of this chapter, look there. I'm one of those people who watch all the special features on DVDs, so think of that as being similar in intent.

Hopefully you enjoyed this, and R&R!