Do I need to put a disclaimer at the beginning of every chapter, or is one on the first chapter enough? Oh well, better to be on the safe side. I don't own Kim Possible or any other shows, movies, and/or book properties. There. Thanks for rubbing it in, stink monkeys.
Prodigy
Chapter 3 - Lateral Thinking
From the personal files of Dr. Domovoi Troskey:
My father used to say that I was headed for great things. He told me that great potential could be seen if you knew how to look for it. My latest discovery brought his words back to me. While looking at scans of the phenomena I referred to as "мысль светлый", or as my research team called it, "brain glow", I found that some subjects had this glow to their scans yet showed no signs of paranormal abilities. I began to wonder if this was a sign of "psychic potential". Perhaps these individuals had the means, but had not developed the ability to use their heightened energy.
Tests on mammals, mainly rabbits and chimpanzee, had shown that some chemicals could increase the energy output of the mind for a short while. I soon developed the chemical "protophymal" which could unlock a subject's abilities for a short time. I submitted my findings to the company as I always do and, to my surprise, I received an almost immediate reply. The executives seem to have finally taken an interest in my work and have offered me additional help and a new laboratory.
They are not sending me as much work as they used to and the majority of my time is now spent working on a more powerful form of protophymal that will permanently activate the abilities of any subject with psychic potential. I tried to combine the previous drug with a synthesized version of dydroxilate, but the results were unsatisfactory at best and disastrous at worst. I think that adding on to the chemical structure of protophymal would be more reliable than trying to combine it with an existing mixture.
The work is slow and complicated. I can't count the number of nights I've sat amidst my notes and despaired at ever finding the solution, but the image of my father would always come to me. He was not an overly affectionate man, at least not in physical actions, but he worked hard for his family and always had a kind word for his son.
Growing up in Russia back then, the biggest, and often only, jobs were either in military service or the mines. My father worked in the mines. He would tell me how he would look at the rock and it would tell him where to dig; where the potential was. "The same is true of people, Domovoi," he would tell me. My father saw potential in me and I only hope to one day prove worthy of that praise.
We didn't leave immediately for the NDC building. Dr. Troskey fussed about my injuries a little more and insisted that we both needed a good nights sleep.
"They will be checking all the airports and bus stations," was how he put it, "they will never think to look anywhere in town."
I tried to be a little angry with him for his role in my current situation, but he was such a flustered, grandfatherly type of guy I just couldn't seem to do it. So, we each took a bed and settled back for the night. Troskey was asleep pretty quick; all this excitement had probably worn the elderly scientist out. I laid awake for awhile, thinking about this foolish (in my opinion) rescue mission Troskey was insisting on. He had assured me that he had a full proof plan on how to get in and out of the building quickly and quietly, but plans are only full proof on paper. Once you actually start to carry them out, things always get messy.
I wasn't sure where I got this opinion from, but it seemed to be a pretty strong one. I eventually dozed off into a sleep that, while restful, was far from dreamless. I saw the table full of soldiers again, the man at the front frowned sternly at me, a woman on the right side had a small, knowing smile, and the two sitting beside me seemed familiar, as if I knew them, but I couldn't make out their faces. Then I was in a house (my house?), and it was burning. I was choking on thick, black smoke as I desperately tried to pull something out of the flames. No, not something. Someone. It was a person, a woman I think.
I woke up to an overwhelming sense of despair and the image of a face. A long, thin face with a slightly receding hairline and small, dark eyes. The memory of those eyes sent a chill down my spine. They were a dark brown, almost black, and they seemed to glitter with a cold intensity, like they were made of ice or something. I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling as that face flashed across my mind again and again, until the sound of Dr. Troskey entering with breakfast interrupted my thoughts.
We ate in silence, each of us mulling over what we were about to do. Troskey's motivation was obvious; redemption. He was obviously a very idealistic type of guy who placed a heavy emphasis on morals, and the memories of what he'd done (albeit unknowingly) still filled him with guilt. As for me, the motivation was a lot simpler. I was going along out of desperation. The hacker named Wade had given me the name of an airstrip, but I didn't know where it was or where I was for that matter. Troskey had lived here and could probably find the place faster than I could. He needed me to help him rescue the other patients and I needed him to help me get out of Canada and find this Ronald Stoppable, who Wade says might have some answers for me.
As we finished eating, Troskey started getting everything together, pulling out the bag he had taken from the helicopter and throwing me a hooded jacket he found inside. A question I had thought of last night suddenly came back to me while he rooted through the equipment.
"Hey, Doc," I asked, hesitantly. Troskey looked over his shoulder at me, a look of mild surprise on his face, either from the abrupt question or from the rather silly nickname. "I was just wondering.... this drug I was given; could it have something to do with me not remembering anything?" Troskey pulled a couple more things out of the bag, standing up and putting them on the bed before answering.
"Yes, I think that's a very real possibility. In fact, I'd stake my life on it." That was all the answer I needed, but the scientist in Troskey had already kicked in. "After the first few successful tests of my chemical, I'm afraid the company began experimenting with the formula themselves. My drug causes a rather large surge of electric energy in the brain, but I was very careful to keep it within safe levels. Knowing those idiots, they probably tried to make it more powerful. I was kept in the dark about most things, but I heard rumors that they were trying another drug on you. If they made it too strong, the resulting surge in energy could very well cause some neural pathways to short-circuit, as it were. That was one of the main reasons I resolved to arrange your escape."
"Arrange my escape?" I was suddenly confused. I thought my escape had been a mistake, and being found by Dr. Troskey nothing more than coincidence. Troskey, for his part, was looking rather embarrassed.
"Oh dear, did I forget to tell you that part?" He scratched his beard nervously as he tried to remember what he had left out of his story. "Well, you see, I was rather worried about them testing some new drug on you, so I decided to try and organize your escape. It wasn't a very good plan and it didn't turn out quite as I pictured it, but still.... " he paused, seeming to realize he was starting to ramble. "Anyway," he continued after sighing, "the prescriptions for each patient are stored in the same room. I found your tray of anesthetics and slipped in something else."
"What?"
"It's called, domozyl. It causes a build up in energy in the mind. In a normal person it would result in a severe headache, fainting, and temporary paralysis. In someone with brain glow, it causes what my team dubbed a "short". Energy builds up in the mind until it has nowhere else to go and causes a short circuit, resulting in a sudden, and rather violent, release of psychic energy. The short would neutralize any sedatives in your system, and I hoped that it would cause enough confusion to allow you to slip away." He gave a little shrug. Not all plans worked out the way you pictured them.
"Domozyl," the name sounded familiar to me, "is that what's in the bottle in your coat pocket." I looked down, embarrassed when I realized I had just admitted to searching through his stuff. If the Doc was upset or angry, he didn't show it.
"Yes, it is," he stated, smiling gently at me. He went back to sorting through the bag for awhile before standing up and indicating that we were ready to go. Indicating what he wanted to take with us, he asked me to pack it all into one bag while he walked into town to rent a car. "I want to leave that for last," he explained, "in case they might be waiting for me to use a credit card."
After I had loaded all the equipment into the large black bag and set it by the door, I sat back in one of the chairs and tried to calm the nervous churning of my stomach. I tried to reassure myself that trying to rescue the other patients was not suicide. I mean, Troskey was a pretty smart guy, surely this plan was well thought out. Still, a voice in my head reminded me, his last plan hadn't exactly worked out how he meant it to. The old man seemed certain that it would work if I helped him, though I really didn't know why. Maybe it was these psychic abilities he claimed I had been given.
Was he sure I had them? After all, he said himself that he wasn't allowed to see me after the procedure. Maybe it didn't take and I had no special gifts at all. But then there was that incident with the guard (a small shutter still runs down my spine when I think of it), perhaps Troskey's drug DID have an effect on me. Looking around the room my eyes fell on a glass ashtray sitting on the television stand. I had no idea how to go about it, but decided to give it a try anyway.
I turned the chair so I was facing the ashtray and leaned forward, staring at it intensely. Scrunching my face in concentration, I tried to think only of moving the glass object. Nothing happened. I tried again, thinking back to the time with the guard, and trying to remember how I felt when he had been thrown through the window. There was a single-mindedness about it, I had screamed at him to go away, and somehow my mind had answered. I narrowed my eyes at the ashtray, called up all the determination I could, and ordered it to move.
My eyes went wide as the glass dish suddenly slid across the table and slammed into the wall. Okay, could use a little work on control, but I had definitely moved it. I sat, staring in wonder at the ashtray until the sound of the door brought me back to reality.
"I've got the car," Troskey called from the doorway, "are you ready?" Nodding my head, I got up and followed him out the door, turning briefly to glance back at the ashtray on the small table. Maybe there was something to what the Doc said after all. Throwing the bag in the back seat, Troskey started the car and we drove off while he explained his plan. The Doc knew that the security cameras in the building were on a different power grid than the lights and other stuff.
His plan involved two stops; one at the power station where we would cause an "accidental" power outage and take out the cameras, and another stop at a nearby drycleaners. It seems that the NDC building sent out its dirty guard uniforms, laboratory outfits, and patient's clothes to be cleaned every other day. Troskey intended me to get back into the building by hiding in one of the laundry bins. It seemed like a pretty good plan, but that didn't make me any less nervous. As we went past the back of the drycleaners we could see them wheeling the bins out to the loading dock where a truck waited.
"The two on the left are going to the NDC building," he said, pointing, "I will go around front and create a diversion so you can hide yourself in one of the bins." I nodded, not trusting my voice enough to speak, and opened the door to get out. I was stopped by Troskey's hand on my arm. "I am very grateful for this," he looked solemnly at me. "I know it is a selfish request on my part. Asking you to help right one of my own wrongs. Here," he handed me the handgun from his jacket, raising his hand to stop my protest. "I pray you will not need it, but keep it just in case. And take this with you," taking a thin chain from his pocket, he slipped off his ring and slid it onto the chain. "For luck." He smiled as I took it from his hand.
"Thank you," my voice was soft and hesitant. I stared at the small image of the glowing mind-scan on the top of the ring for a minute before slipping the chain around my neck and tucking it under my shirt. I slipped the gun into my jacket pocket, gave the Doc a final smile of farewell, and got out of the car. Troskey drove off towards the front of the building while I walked over towards the loading dock. After a minute or two both workers stopped and looked toward the front of the building. I heard one of them say something about a customer needing help as they walked through the back door.
Once they had gone I ran over and jumped into one of the bins, quickly burying myself in the clean clothes. Most of it looked like hospital clothing, and I took a second to be grateful I got to hide in clean ones and not dirty. It was only a couple of minutes before I heard footsteps on the concrete and felt the bin jostle as I was wheeled onto the ramp and into the waiting truck. The door was pulled down with a crash and I was left alone in the darkness.
I relaxed a little in the soft clothes, feeling the bumps and dips of the road, and going over everything Troskey had told me. The directions to the patients' rooms were memorized in my mind, the doctor may not have been allowed to see the subjects, but he had been able to find out where they were kept. My attention snapped back to the present when the truck started to slow down. There was a jerk as it shifted gears and reversed for a bit and another as it was put in park. I huddled down in the laundry again as the back door was thrown open and the bins were unloaded.
I heard more doors slam and then the truck was pulling away, the engine noise quickly fading away into the distance. I still heard muffled voices somewhere. Shifting around in the bin, I carefully peeked over the edge, ready to dive back down if I saw someone. The voices seemed to be coming from a nearby open door, but the room appeared to be empty. Slipping quickly out of the bin, I ran over and crouched by a nearby pillar, keeping it between me and the door, just in case someone walked out unexpectedly.
Troskey had told me to take the service stairs to the eighth floor and a quick glance around the room revealed the door. I ran as quietly as I could through the door and began climbing the stairs. After about the fifth flight I was wishing I could have taken the elevator instead. Upon reaching the door to the eighth floor, I took a second to catch my breath. Most of the floor was supposed to be used as patient rooms, though, apparently, only three were in residence at the moment. I stood on my toes to look through the small window in the door and, seeing no one, slipped through into the hallway.
I made my way past the many doors, looking for the place Troskey had told me about. Peeking around a corner I saw the hallway I was looking for. Unfortunately, a guard had decided to take a cigarette break right in front of it. Frustration flared in my gut as I looked for a way around him. My eyes suddenly caught sight of a door at the far end of the hall and an idea flashed into my head. Locking my gaze on the door, I narrowed my eyes at it, my forehead creasing in concentration. Biting my bottom lip absent mindedly, I pulled at the door with my eyes. I barely contained a hissed "yes" when the door seemed to open slightly on its own and then fall shut again.
"Monroe? That you?" The guard called out as he looked over toward the sound. As he turned and left to go check the noise, I scurried into the empty hallway. I was starting to feel a lot better than I had been. The plan had gone well so far; maybe I COULD pull it off. I reached the first of the doors the Doc had indicated were the right ones and pulled back the small panel near the top, revealing a little window. However, when I looked through into the room beyond, any hope that this plan would go off without a hitch quickly disappeared into thin air.
Apart from a small bed in the corner the room was empty. I quickly went to the other two rooms, but those were empty as well. I pulled out the scrap of paper I had written the room numbers on, checking to make sure I had the right ones. The numbers matched, but the supposed patients weren't there. Now I didn't know what to do. I couldn't go looking through the entire building for them. Who knows; they might have been taken to some other building somewhere. There was nothing I could do; I would just have to leave and tell the Doc I couldn't find them.
As I decided on my course of action, I was suddenly reminded why standing in the middle of a hallway while you're trying to be sneaky is not a good idea. A shout from my right brought my head up. It seemed my trick with the door had worked better than I'd thought. The guard must have been suspicious and called in for back-up. Now four guards were running down the hallway towards me. Panic began gnawing at my insides as I turned and ran the other way. I heard them shout at me to stop, but I kept going, turning down a corridor that ran along the side of the building. I was brought up short by a metal curtain shutting off the hall. Another passage was to my left, but was similarly blocked.
The guards were just coming around the corner when I felt the weight of the gun bump against my leg. I didn't stop to think. If I did, I probably wouldn't have been able to fire. Pulling the gun from my pocket I blindly squeezed off a few shots in their general direction. Pain shot through my wrists as the weapon recoiled violently. The shots were wild, ricocheting off the walls, but it was enough to make the guards stop and take cover. They immediately returned fire with much more professionally aimed shots. I fell to the side, scurrying behind the side of a soda machine, pressing myself against the wall. The thing didn't provide much protection and I couldn't hold back the small yelp of terror when bits of glass and plastic began exploding around me.
I huddled in the small corner made by the wall and the side of the vending machine, my arms up over my head as bullets tore away at everything around me. I could feel the tears in my eyes as I shook uncontrollably, my mind a whirlwind of fear and panic. Finally everything snapped and I couldn't take it anymore.
"ALL RIGHT, STOP, PLEASE, STOP IT!!!!" The fear in my voice was painfully obvious as I screamed my surrender, my voice quivering terribly. I heard someone yell to hold fire and the guns were suddenly silent.
"Drop the gun and move into the center of the hallway," one of the guards called to me. My hand shook as I held the gun out into their line of sight and dropped it on the floor. I pulled myself up from the ground, forcing my legs to move, and stepped fearfully into the center of the hallway.
"Hey, isn't that the lab rat who escaped," one of them asked. The other two agreed with him, but I wasn't really listening. The buzzing in my head had been gaining in strength the whole time and I could feel it creeping around my brain again. The feeling was strange and new; before I had tried to make it go away. This time, however, I let it go. I let it cover the inside of my head and work its way down my spine. My arms went to my sides, my hands curling into tight fists as every muscle seemed to tense. The guards began noticing that something was happening and began raising their weapons again, but it was too late. I felt something huge forcing its way out of every pore in my body and I let it go. The air rippled as it shot down the hallway. The windows along the right wall exploded outwards and the guards were sent flying down the corridor, their bodies contorting with the force of the blow.
I simply stood their for a minute, listening to the wind howl outside the blown out windows and feeling flakes of snow melt against my bare skin. Shakily, I reached down and retrieved Troskey's gun from the floor and returned it to my jacket pocket. I slowly tried to dissipate the panic that still filled my mind and find a way out of here.
"Who are you?"
I jumped at the voice, spinning around to see who was there. It had sounded like it was right behind me, but the hallway was empty.
"How did you do that? Are you like us?"
"Who's 'us'?" I asked back. For a second there was no reply and I began to wonder if I was going crazy. Maybe the experiments knocked something loose in my head.
"You're looking for something.... looking for.... us."
The words came haltingly, as if the speaker was figuring all this out as they spoke it. The voice was strange, having a kind of buzzing echo to it, but it sounded like a young girl. An idea suddenly popped into my head.
"Are you one of the patients here?" Once again there was a pause. I got the feeling that whoever this was didn't want to tell me too much, perhaps still unsure if I was a friend.
"You are like us.... I'll show you where we are."
I felt a tug towards the empty hallway, not really a physical feeling, more like someone poking at my brain. For all I knew this could have been a trap, but I was pretty lost at this point. If the voice hadn't shown up I might have just collapsed on the floor and waited for more guards to come. The tug suddenly stopped and pushed backward for a second.
"Guards."
Crouching out of sight I saw two men walk down the corridor in front of me. The tug came back and I began following it again. The feeling led me towards the elevator, stopping and redirecting me whenever any guards got too close. I took the elevator all the way down to the basement (almost right back where I started; figures) and was led to a metal door at the other end of the room. It had an electronic keypad lock, but the tug was right there, guiding my fingers to the right buttons. There was a beep and the heavy door swung open.
"We're down here, in the last door. They shut the lights out. Hurry, I make the guard sleep."
There were, indeed, only a couple small lights illuminating the corridor. I ran by the snoring guard as quietly as I could, making my way to the last door. There was another keypad lock, but just like before, I opened it with ease. As I slipped into the dark room I actually began letting myself hope that things were going to turn out alright after all. Those hopes quickly vanished when I was grabbed by the collar and slammed against the wall. Before I could react I was pinned and my gun had been pulled from my pocket and shoved in front of my face.
Memories of the guard in the computer room began flashing in my mind. My back against the wall, breath on my face, hands on me, on my sides, on my pants, pulling at my pants, touching....
The buzzing in my head flared up, pushing at the inside of my skull.
"Calm. Stay calm."
The voice drifted through my head again, calming the buzzing a little. My panic subsided a little and my eyes came into focus. A small light hung from the ceiling casting just enough light to see by. A boy with brown hair held me against the wall. He looked about my age though the dark expression on his face and the gun held in his hand made him look older. Behind him were two girls, one was probably a couple years older than me with long black hair that fell perfectly straight to the middle of her back. The other girl I would have guessed to be about 11 or 12. Her hair was a straight, pale blonde that came down to her jaw line. They all wore the same white outfits that had been in the bin I had hidden in.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" The look in the guy's eyes was making me nervous and the shouted questions made my knees want to buckle, while the buzzing hummed dangerously in my head.
"I... someone.. led me here," I managed to stammer. For a second he looked confused. Then a look of annoyed realization flashed across his face.
"Greta...," he growled a little, casting a quick look over his shoulder at the small blonde girl.
"I like her, she's like us." The echo was gone, but I could still tell that the voice was the same one that had been in my head. The same shy, hesitant tone; the same heavy German accent.
"You don't know that...," the black haired girl jumped in. Her accent sounded African or something like that. Her dark skin blended into the shadows of the dim room, only the white clothes she wore kept her from becoming almost invisible.
"I do to," Greta interrupted. "I saw it." She pointed at her head, a defiant look on her face.
"Are you sure," the boy seemed to think about it, but kept the gun pointed at my head. When Greta nodded he sighed a little. "Okay, I'm going to ask you some questions. Greta, make sure she's telling us the truth." Despite her apparent faith in me, Greta nodded and began staring at me even more intently than she had been before.
"Are you like us?" His first question was a little vague, to me at least. If these were the patients I was looking for then he was probably referring to the drug that was supposed to give us psychic mojo.
"Yeah."
"How did you get out?"
"One of the doctors. He didn't agree with what they were doing, so he arranged my escape." He looked over to Greta to confirm my answer. The girl nodded.
"Okay, then why are you here?" His eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"The doctor. He wanted to rescue the rest of you, so we came back." I thought I saw a flinch from Greta, but she remained silent. The boy's face had grown a little less hostile and his hold on me had lightened a little, though he still looked wary.
"Is all that true, Greta?" I could have sworn I saw a slight hesitation before she nodded, but no one else said anything so I let it pass. "All right," he continued, "but who are you? If you went through the same thing we did, why weren't you put with us? And what's with your head?" He was looking at the needle marks around my cranium. They were healing, but could still be seen here and there on my shaved head. I had noticed that none of them seemed to have had their heads shaved anytime soon and had wondered about that myself.
"The Doc said they were changing the drug... that they may have tried something different on me. Maybe even some new kind of procedure." The guy's face softened a little more, as if he was finally starting to believe me. He stared at me for a second or two before asking another question that immediately complicated everything.
"What's your name?" It caught me off guard and I wasn't sure what to say. The conversation with Wade entered my mind and I blurted out the first name that came to mind.
"... Kim." It was stupid, I know, but I just couldn't tell them that I had no idea who I was. The others seemed to miss my slight hesitation, but one look at Greta was enough to show that she hadn't.
"She's lying." All the pressure that the boy had taken off the arm on my throat suddenly returned. A terrified whimper escaped from between my clenched teeth as the gun was shoved closer to my face and the arm began cutting off my air.
"I told you not to lie," he shouted at me, "tell me the truth." My mind was lost again in panic; I could feel tears starting to slip from my closed eyes.
"Who are you?" he shouted again. My breathing was becoming ragged and shallow. "TELL ME."
"I DON'T KNOW!" It was halfway between a scream and a sob. My legs gave out on me and I slumped against the wall. Surprisingly the guy released me, letting me slide to the ground where I sat, rocking back and forth, my head in my hands. "I don't know," I repeated more softly. Every muscle in my body seemed to be clenched as tight as it would go and I had to force every word from my throat. "I can't remember anything before I woke up in this building. I don't know my name, where I'm from, how I got here....," I trailed off into silence.
"Why didn't you tell us that," he asked after a brief pause. The hands on the sides of my head balled into fists and I pressed them harder against my skull, as if I could squeeze the answers out.
"I don't know," I muttered dejectedly, "I was scared, or... lost something." I was starting to babble. "I wanted to be someone. Have a name, an identity. I... wanted someone to talk to me like I was normal." I probably looked pathetic lying on the floor, crying like that, but I didn't care. My whole existence so far had been nothing but one danger after another and it was starting to break me. If I had some past moments to remember, to give me a center to my existence, then perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad. But I had nothing.
I suddenly felt a hand on my shoulder, pushing with a gentle pressure, as if to comfort me. I slowly raised my head, still shaking a little, and looked into the eyes of the small blonde girl. She didn't smile, there hadn't been a single expression on her face since I first saw her, but it was still comforting. She moved her hand, holding it in front of her as if to shake hands.
"Hello Kim," she said slowly through her accent, "my name is Greta." I stared at her small, pale hand hovering in front of me. Slowly I reached out, taking her hand in mine.
I didn't smile either, but I suddenly felt a lot warmer.
To be continued...
Dragon Blade5 - I'm actually making the chapters in this story longer than they were in my other ones. I'm not sure why, it just seemed to work better. This one took a little longer than I'd have liked, but with Halo 2 being released, what can you expect.
Yamal - Glad I'm still holding your interest. The girl will be having flashbacks pretty consistently, but the major revelations are still a couple chapters away. Though you will probably see Ron in the next one.
Scarlet Azalea - Thanks for the reviews to ALL my stories. I was bowled over by them. I really appreciate the VERY kind words and hope to keep things interesting.
P.S. -- "мысль светлый" means "mind light" in Russian. According to the online dictionary anyway.