Ron's Worst Nightmares
Resurrection Man
By Pat Squared
Ron Stoppable had spent an eternity in the darkness.
Once he hated the night. As a child, Ron could always keep busy during the day. However, the nightmare came every night.
The shrinks told his step-parents that he was too young to realize what happened and soon the nightmare would fade.
The nightmares never faded away.
The nightmares only grew more intense as years of physical and emotional abuse crushed his spirit. Experiences like that summer in Camp Wannawept being locked with the camp mascot in cabin 13 only added more variety to his nightmares. Just enough so that his mind would not become so jaded.
They were staring at him. They were accusing him.
His mother's and sister's worm-gnawed eyes asked him why he was still living when they had to die.
Mrs. Stoppable drunkenly yelling at him, "Why did my real Ronnie-poo have to die? You are not even one millionth of the boy he was meant to be!" Then she would reach into the draw and pull out the sock and a bar of soap. Unlike Mr. Stoppable, Mrs. Stoppable never left a bruise, just a little kid in pain wishing for this life to end.
Mr. Stoppable was grabbing the bright orange extension cord and venting out all his frustrations on Ron. Every promotion denied, every last minute overtime session, every jerk that Mr. Stoppable encountered on the way home earn the young child another strip on his back.
Mr. Possible threats of sending Ron to the nearest black hole was nothing. Ron remembered the circumcision. He was almost four. He remembered the screaming and the pain. He remembered the threat. Mr. Stoppable told Ron that if Ron embarrassed him in any why, that next time the cut was going to be a lot higher.
Ron remembered every blow, every laceration, every time he supposedly fell down the stairs. He remembered having to cry in the closet so that Mr. Stoppable won't whip him for being a cry-baby or sissy-boy. He remembered the threats that Mr. Stoppable made if Ron ever told a soul about the hours long discipline sessions.
Ron could not tell.
He never told.
Shame ensured that the secrets would be kept. Kim would never understand how the two people he hated most in the world broke him.
Ron Stoppable did not deserve to have capital letters in his name or even to capitalize the I the pronoun that referred to one's self. He did not even deserve having the honor of a name or even the honor of breathing oxygen.
How could he, someone that faced down super-villains be unable to stand up to the Stoppables, for so long he wanted to defy them, to pay them back for all the pain and anger they carved into the hidden recesses of his soul?
Ronspent hours replaying the planned confrontation in his head. He knew exactly what he was going to do. Violence, blood, and the public display of internal organs were going to be the order of the day.
However, on his eighteenth birthday, Ron merely slipped away, withdrewsome of the naco royalty money and bought a small condo near the university. He never went back. He never confronted that two who broke his spirit.
Many night he would look back. He lost track of how many times he contemplated suicide. It was all too easy ... a parachute that would not open, a mistimed leap into one of Shego's plasma bursts or Duff's exploding golf balls. However, he could not summon sufficient spirit to end his misery.
You aren't a man. You are nothing but a parasite leeching off of those around you. Instead of dying as a man, you lived as a worm eating the slops that other left behind.
Kim was ... Kim Possible. She was his chance. She was his chance to be something more than a whipping boy. She was his chance to be somebody.
Kim was right.
Ron Stoppable was nothing but a monster.
Although not physically deformed, Ron met all the other criteria. Something evil inside Ron's headenjoyed inflicting death. He enjoyed the God like power. God Almighty might have been the Alpha, but Ron was the Omega. He was the end of the line for dozens of living breathing human beings.
Hell was cunningly designed.
The Stoppable taught Ron how to handle physical pain, how to ignore it. He learnedhow to not acknowledge the hurt. He learned how to act like he was not hurt. He accepted his lot.
However, this version of hell attached his sanity at its weakest point. Ron memories were eating away at the last of his mental reserves. He was going to crack. He was going to beg for more pain, anything so that he would not have to live with the memories of his inadequacies.
Suddenly, Ron felt like his insides were cut out and that he was choking.
Major Alice Myers, US Army Nursing Corps looked up from her charts towards the monitors.
The patient in Room 3432 was undergoing some violent reaction.
His heart-rate was well up over two hundred fifty. The rhythm was becoming erratic.
Myers yelled for one of the doc to follow her as she raced for the crash cart. She swiftly made for the room.
The patient was not on the bed.
Looking around, Myers spotted the patient twitching uncontrollably on the floor. With practiced ease, Myers drew five cc's of sedative.
"Doc, inject him?"
The young doctor nodded and Myers injected the patient with the sedative. Five minutes later, the patient stopped his violent twitching.
Now the alarm buzzed.
Christ, he's flat lining.
"He needs Narcan, two milligrams. Now!"
The doctor okayed Myers demand.
Myers quickly grabbed an ampoule of the drug and injected the contents into the patient's heart.
Fight, God damnit. You're a fucking jarhead. You are supposed to be some kind of hero. Fight.
However the nurse did not know that the patient was not fighting for his life, but to end it.
Looking down, Myers noted the blood.
"We got a crack skull. Get him to the OR stat."
However, it looked like the patient would not make it to the operating room.
She looked at the young doctor.
The doctor looked at the monitor and then down at the patient wristband.
"Note – Boiarskii, Private Vasilii is declared at 1803 local. Causes – Complications from wounds received in battle."
The doctor then stood up, made the notation on the chart as the nursing staff started removing the body from the machine that keep it alive.
Major Myers looked down on the body of Vasilii Boiarskii. He was no longer one of her patients, but a thing to be stuffed in body bag and chilled until the embalmers got to him.
One Hour Later
Kim could not believe the doctors.
They declared Ron dead once before and he came back from the grave. Now they were telling her that he was dead again.
She died inside at that moment. She would not slit her wrists. Ron's child needed a parent. However, Kim Possible life would consist of going through the motions.
Why God? Hate me. Hate me. Don't hate Ron or my child. Damn you to hell. You spend all your damn fucking time listening to the angels sing that you don't even have the time to fix this fucking world.
You left it us to us. And then you have to kill us? Ron did not go to kill, but to preserve peace. And you made sure that you placed him in a situation where he could not walk away. I hate you. I hate you and denounce you as a fraud. You are supposed to save the good and punish the bad. Fuck you.
Her salvation was gone. Her future was gone. Everything she had ever done now meant nothing. She saved so many and yet she could not save the one person that she had to save. Now she could not save herself.
Pastor Schlosser and his wife supported the distraught mother to be. Kim was in no condition to return home – Her pregnancy was too far along and too many complications have already occurred to risk another flight. Even if she could travel, all airline flights out of Western and Central Europe were cancelled due to the unstable situation in France.
Kim Possible's spirit was broken. The only thing keeping her alive was the child. Should anything happen, the couple knew that they would have to keep Kim on a suicide watch.
Pathology Department
Aloysius Schumacher was one of the hundred of locals hired by the United States Defense Department to provide services to keep Landstuhl Regional Medical Center running. As the morgue clerk, he was tasked with recording the moments of the bodies in and out of the unit.
It was generally not a disgusting job. Generally most of the bodies were already in bags and the others were covered up. Only the pathologists and their assistants see what is underneath the blankets. Aloysius task was to ensure that everyone scanned in and scanned out the tags so that no bodies were lost. He had enough seniority to not be assigned to maintain the inventory of body parts. He still had nightmares from two months on that job and that was a dozen years ago.
Aloysius was working the evening seven to three thirty shift as the unit manager was on vacation. At nine it was time to do the inventory.
Aloysius knew the status of everything that occurred in the morgue. He was punching in when the orderlies brought in a new guest. The body was filed away in the appropriate drawer to await the pathologists tomorrow morning. However all military had a thing call SOP or standard operating procedure and SOP had to be followed unless someone in charge ordered otherwise.
It was SOP for the clerk to conduct a patient check at 2200.
The guests can not walk away. They were already dead. However SOP was law, even in the morgue. A patient was a patient until the pathologist butchered the corpse and signed off on the certificate. The military never made much sense to Aloysius, even after a two-year mandatory tour with the Bundeswehr after secondary school.
Aloysius removed the clipboard off the hook, grabbed the US DOD issued flashlight, and his two way cellular phone.
Tonight went just about as well as any other night. Open the door, shine the light, place the tick mark in the appropriate column, close the door, and move on to the next drawer. At least it was routine until Aloysius rounded the corner.
One of the doors was broken out, hanging on only one hinge.
There was a naked man huddled, shaking in the corner, babbling to himself.
Aloysius did not know what to do. There were contingencies for everything, everything but this... He tried to get the man's attention.
"Hello, may I help you?"
However, the man just sat there oblivious to the fact that he was naked in a morgue. The man was just hugging himself, rocking himself as he hummed an unmelodic tone.
Aloysius did the only thing that he could do. He called hospital security.
Two military policemen or MPs arrived within the minute. One of them approached the naked man and tried to speak to him, but the man was someplace else.
"Sarge, this guy need some serious help. Any blankets."
Aloysius ran to a supply closet and handed the MP a set of scrubs.
"Sorry Sergeant. We don't carry blankets. However this will do."
It took the MPs fifteen minutes to get the man dressed. The man did not resist, nor did he help. The military policemen had to lead the man like one would lead a very young child. Tonight would be a very long night for everyone involved.