Kim Possible: The Darkness Without: redux Chapter 6, a kim possible fanfic

Kim Possible: The Darkness Without

Redux

Pt 6

By Eoraptor

Now, on with the Story...

Please leave reviews?

-KP-KP-KP-KP-KP-KP-KP-KP-KP-

"How the hell did Kim do this every day?" Monique grunted softly to herself, reaching up for the next hand hold. She was half-dangling, half-climbing on a manmade mountain.

The mountain in question was a tangled mass of steel rebar, structural members, and broken concrete that had once been the upper stories, roof line, and television antennae of the Sears Tower. It now sat in a government controlled scrap yard on the edge of the city's waterfront district overlooking the lake. The twins had been surprised when they'd found out it was still around. The price of scrap metal was through the roof, and it should have been melted down and sent to China months ago.

'I only wish. I wouldn't be out here, getting dirty and smelly if it had.' Monique thought to herself as she found purchase and pulled herself up onto a makeshift ledge. She wiped a gloved hand over her sweaty brow, and paused, breathing a bit heavily.

She looked out over the depressing mass of steel and ruble, trying not to think about what it symbolized. It symbolized her B.F.F.'s actual tombstone; not that empty casket in California, nor the granite and bronze plaque she'd visited two nights in a row. Here was where Kim's mortal remains lay… such as they were.

The first night she had been to the aforementioned granite memorial had been part of the official memorial service that marked the one year anniversary of the Sears Tower Detonation.

The second night had been by private request. UniquePossibilities dot com had gotten its first hit, ironically, to investigate the defacing of Kim Possible's memorial. The site's name was a bit of an homage to her girl. The twins had loved it, and put it into effect almost immediately. It had been up for three weeks, and she'd received only the usual drivel and spam she'd expected during that time. Mostly they were both positive and supportive of her attempt to pick up the helping business; or a few which had been derisive, accusing her of cashing in on someone else's memory.

Finally though, the building manager of Sears Tower had contacted her. He was mildly shocked, to say the least, when Monique had shown up in his office, considering the two had talked briefly the night before at the memorial. After a brief discussion of what had been found in the memorial, and her adamant denials that she had anything to do with it, Monique was given the patch that had been found by a janitor, a patch stuffed into the monument.

She'd also been given a check. That was the main difference between KimPossible dot com and UniquePossibilities dot com. Saving the world was not an inexpensive proposition. Gadgets, like the ones she was using tonight, also didn't come cheap.

She didn't demand or extort anything in exchange for her services, especially since they were mainly investigative. However, Monique did make it clear that there was a difference between saving the world and recovering stolen industrial secrets. Kim might have been willing to do it all in exchange for rides and good will, but these guys had money to burn and Monique was not a fan of the Ramen diet. So she had no qualms about accepting rewards, finder's fees, and other forms of remuneration when they were offered.

Well Technically Sears Tower had been the first to "officially" offer… The rest had been things she had stumbled on in her quest for Kim's killers, such as global diamond market scheme to devalue the real ice with carbon crystal synthetics. That had been a nice and unexpected payday; so said the diamond studs in her ears and the La Prima bag back in her hotel room.

She sighed after a long moment and stood up, dusting her gloved hands off on each other, and thus cleaning the microscopic hooks that let her do her spider-girl act. She placed one booted foot on the sheer concrete wall before her, and began climbing up the surface slightly less gracefully than an arthritic three-legged platypus.

"I swear girl… You better be worth all this." She grumbled under her mask once more. Monique was not the natural-born athlete Kim had been; and her burning thighs and forearms were reminding her of that fact now with every grasp-and-pull movement.

She was thankful, therefore, for all the help the 'tights' she was wearing gave her. They were a warm sort of chocolate color, accented with glowing golden strips at her hips and along her arms and legs. Along with the gloves and boots that enabled her tenacious and graceless clinging, they were probably the only thing keeping her from plummeting seventy feet to the ground. Her 'tights' were in fact, the latest iteration of Kim's battle-suit.

When the boys had taken particular glee in pointing out her lack of mad skillz on their old jungle gym, she'd challenged them to come up with a better solution. A few hours later, they'd returned to her with a dusty garment bag containing a set of white and blue tights.

"Uhhu… I ain't no magic mage." She'd said in disgust at the labor-day violating armor. She'd said it in an affronted manner, but holding the battle-gear in her hands had nearly choked her up. Well it had, in fact, but the twins were also too choked up to notice.

After that cathartic moment, the boys had gone to work for her… on the condition that she got to design. After all, she and Rufus had stol- erm had designed Kim's second generation mission-ware. J and T, as she had dubbed them, had owned up pretty darned well. With a few color changes, and some stylin' lightning bolts that glowed a warm golden color, her mocha-colored battle armor was done in a couple weeks time. Not only did this suit have the strength enhancing and self-healing abilities of Wade's previous suit, but it had gyroscopes built in that made her somewhat more nimble than she was on her own. She still wasn't vaulting around like a flea on a hot-plate, but she didn't look like a total newb; and that was what was important.

Wade had never solved the plasma-blaster problem that made Kim stop wearing the suit, and neither had the twins. So she wouldn't be trading blows with the likes of Shego and cutting her way through steel walls. In exchange though, T had told her, they had extra power for all sorts of other things. One of those things was the mono-filament cable she half-dangled from every few minutes. It launched, also spider-girl-style, from her wrist, and adhered to surfaces with the same micro-velcro technology that her boots and gloves did.

This of course, had led to J saying she needed to call herself 'The Brown Spider.' That suggestion had quickly been shot down when the more worldly fashion designer-turned-detective had told both boys of its euphemistic meaning.

She grinned under her mask at the memory of that conversation. The family Possible was many good and wonderful things… but they sure were white-bread sometimes.

Reaching the top of the concrete wall, which she discovered was actually a concrete floor turned on its side, Monique leapt through space, and latched on to one of the skewed twin television masts. The 'Chocolate Ninja,' as she sometimes thought of herself when looking into the mirror, had done it again.

In fact she did look just like her nom du guerre would imply. The boys had used a little of the suit's extra power and built her a facemask that included a communicator, a digital camera, and an air-filter/scuba setup. It made her look for the entire world like something out of a Hong Kong action movie marathon.

Blinking her eyes in a specific pattern triggered said camera; and she photographed the base of the TV antenna in visible, infrared, ultra-violet, and various other kinds of light. She was about to use the torch built into her right finger-tip, another add-on, to cut a sample when she was illuminated by a handheld spotlight.

"You! Freeze!"

She had learned the hard way a few nights before that one never looked into the beam of a flashlight at night. It never did any good, just made her eyes and head hurt. Of course that had been a harmless security guard at Sears Tower. She had been invited there.

This was entirely different; she was in a top-security bone yard, uninvited. Keeping her back to the light and guessing it must be damned bright to light her up seventy feet in the air, she took one step backwards.

Counting to three, she twitched her wrist and was thankful when the battle-suit did what she wanted, as if reading her thoughts. The cable flicked out of her wrist and caught a hanging beam, transforming her rather graceless fall into a clumsy but far less dangerous swing. She swung out and yanked the cable in a way that made it release its hold, dropping her a good twenty feet away from the holder of the spotlight.

Bullets whizzed past her and raise the dirt at her feet, cutting off any time she had to congratulate herself on her artful and impromptu flying act. Monique darted to her feet and started running for all she was worth, once more thanking the suit and the twins for their assistance. Running faster than a fashion designer or even an Olympic track star had any business running, she vaulted the razor-wire topped fence, and came down on her feet for a change. The suits gyro's had kept her upright, thankfully, and she only fumbled a few steps.

Escaping the top-secret savage yard, which contained more than just the one mountain of debris, was only the first part of the mission. She still had to get back with the evidence.

'chalk up another for the twins.' She thought to herself as she jumped into her rented SUV and tore off into the night. As she went, she couldn't help but think that was one dangerous 'mish' down… and a far more delicate mish to go. Coffee with Ron.

-KP-KP-KP-KP-KP-KP-KP-KP-KP-

Sara growled and rolled her surviving fingertips, the ones burned with the pattern of the grip of the old grapple-dryer, across the bridge of her nose as she clumsily set the brandy glass aside with her old prosthetic hand. She'd known today was going to be a bad day as soon as she woken up this morning from a version of the usual nightmare so bad that she had clawed open her own remnant limb with her fingernails in her sleep.

She'd figured for a week that that was how it would be, Kim's old memories coming back after the anniversary of the detonation. Still, this was progress tonight. She hadn't drunk herself to numbness, despite the itching of her stump. She wasn't crying or even sniffling… Well, aside from the runny nose that slight inebriation was inspiring. She was finding that in her new life, now that she was learning to control the vestigial pains and aches of her body without pain killers or alcohol, that she rather enjoyed sweeter liquors like brandy. Of course, her former life as Kim had left her chaste, only so much as sipping the occasional beer or wine; though Sake in Japan had held a little more pull for Kim for some reason.

Her internal consideration was broken, and her headache lightened a bit as her expensive little smart phone chirped. Her smile increased as the header appeared.

"eVile-bid Auction ending in two minutes. Your agent is currently the high bidder. Would you like to join chat?"

"Why yes… Yes I think I would actually…" She mused to herself. She maneuvered the phone in her good hand and began typing away with her surviving thumb with unusual dexterity as she managed to sip again from the apple brandy with her prosthetic.

She paused, considering the ugly beige hand that held the stem of the snifter, "You, my friend… Your days are numbered."

-KP-KP-KP-KP-KP-KP-KP-KP-KP-

Dr. Cyrus Bortel blinked, and then grinned. He typed in a fairly fat figure of Euros on the Villainster message board and waited for a response. The wait got longer.

…and longer still. Had he got too greedy?

"Done." came the response after a heart-stoppingly long moment.

"Your reputation for neuro-physiology better live up to the hype." appeared a moment later. Bortel, a plump, easy-going little man, wasn't sure how to take that.

"Off course it ees. You would not be bidding on zhis I f you were not zo certain of my abilities, yes?" he typed back. He watched a few more responses appear from other, disappointed bidders on the live auction chat.

The deal being discussed was right up the wayward scientist's alley. After the failure of both his Moodulator and his mind control chip, he'd only made a little money contracting on the Evil Enhancer Aura Filter component in something called the Attitudinator. He'd heard that that had worked too well at the convention it was demonstrated at, turning some boy into an evil mastermind. Two years now he'd spent on this nerve interface; it would allow human nerve cells to control robotic servants without even having to cut open a skull. Now, finally, someone wanted to license the technology. This S.S. person, who claimed to be with Wraith Technologies, whatever that was, seemed very eager in fact.

Once he'd confirmed the eBid payment, he sent off his information to the address specified.

"V.F. Porter... Why does zhat sound so vamiliar?" The plump little scientific profiteer mused. "And who is W. Loade to have that kind of money?"

-KP-KP-KP-KP-KP-KP-KP-KP-KP-

Shego was convinced that she must be going slowly, irreversibly mad. In less than three hours she'd ridden from Chicago to Des Moines. This could be done when one was riding at upwards of one-hundred miles per hour and had no concern for one's own safety. She'd been forced to stop again for fuel at a rest stop on the east side of the rural state's gilt capitol dome. As she listened to the slow pinging of the bike's engine cooling in the night air, she'd to come to a realization.

The realization was encouraged, in part, by her own numb ass and inner-thighs. Her bike was damnably fast… but it was no cross-country cruiser. What had made her think that she could cross three-fourths of a continent on it, especially in one night? For some ethereal promise of money and 'a cover-story?!'

She was generally not bothered by the cold, even if it was past midnight on Halloween night in the Midwest. In fact, she felt rather fortunate that the lateness of the season meant that she wasn't picking bugs from her teeth and hair. Still, she'd crossed the small city to the so called international airport and secured a flight. Being Halloween night, she got fewer of the usual number of stares at her more-than-olive complexion. For that she was thankful.

Shego had been through the farm state before. In fact, it was one of her favorite places to put her little two-wheeled Oni 1250 through its paces. The rural countryside meant plenty of hills and twisted back roads to fly through at speeds that would make the cycle's manufacturers wince. Her love of the roads department, however, did not translate into love for its citizenry.

In many ways they reminded her of Kimmie, she thought as she sat in the first class section of the 777 bound for Frisco. The people of Iowa seemed to be polite to a fault, and took everyone at their word. They hadn't even asked twice when she told them she wasn't sure when she'd be back for the bike after she put it in long-term parking at the airport. Just like small-town folk everywhere, though, their eyes followed her soap-green skin and shimmering green-black hair.

She sighed heavily, settling back into the plush seat with a flute of champagne. Another reason she didn't spend so much time in her favorite riding territory was that, short of riding, there wasn't anything for her to do there. No clubs to occupy her restless body with music that would deafen a mere mortal, no movie houses offering late night showings of Rocky Horror when she got into an odd mood, and not a strip of passable sea-food to be found in the land-locked territory. And yeah, to a person, everyone she had met in that state acted like a slightly-less-cosmopolitan version of her pumpkin.

'So polite… God, how do they stand themselves!?' Shego again scrubbed her face with her hands, groaning to herself within her own mind. 'May I help you with that? Yes Miss? How are you today?Thank you very much! Please come again.'

'…and what's wrong with polite? You never seemed to mind that in me. …and since when was I your pumpkin anyways?'

'well… since…' Shego stopped that train of thought quickly. She also self-consciously looked around the dimly lit first-class cabin. Kim's voice was so clear in her mind that a tiny part of her wanted to believe it had come from someone sitting nearby.

When she saw that there were no redheads nearby at 4 am on the flight, she sighed again, and took a sip of her champagne. It did nothing to soothe her nerves or quite the discussion that had begun in her mind.

'Well, since when?'

'Since whenever, okay?' Shego's own voice spat back.

'…fair enough.' Kim's voice in her head went on after a moment, deciding to allow the self-delusion of her host to continue. '…did you really have to do that to the GJE agent the one night?'

'you mean kill him?' a memory flashed before the two eyes of the mental constructs. The man screaming for mercy, and then was silenced when the grenade Shego had forced into his open fly, one of his own weapons, detonated. He'd refused to say anything after seeing the look in the madwoman's eyes when he'd admitted to flying the helicopter that night.

'…yeah, that.'

'God you're naïve!' The inner-Shego snapped, 'You always were! Those bastards killed you! They tried to kill me! That one right there?' the inner-Shego pointed at the visage in the theater of her mind, 'He was in that damned helicopter! He watched them PUSH THE FUCKING BUTTON!!'

Shego was white-knuckled as she sat there, arguing internally with her adopted conscious. She slammed back the remaining half of the champagne and swallowed it bitterly.

In her mind there was a version of Kim… two versions in fact. One never said anything. She merely watched over her shoulder when Shego did the things she'd done these past few months, and occasionally tugged at her shirttail like a lost little girl, reminding Shego that she was still around.

That was the one that drove her on, made her hunt the GJE dogs wherever she could find them. She looked like a pitifully lost puppy to Shego's mind, and the mercenary wanted to protect her.

The other Kim in her mind was the vexing one that was with her now. She was the real Kim, or so she claimed. She was the one that insisted on reminding Shego that Kim didn't steal. That Kim didn't lie. That Kim didn't beat people senseless when she could avoid it. That Kim Possible didn't kill.

That Kim in her head also told Shego that she wouldn't want such things done on her behalf either.

The Kim-conscious remained silent finally after being yelled at. Shego sat in her seat and nodded triumphantly, holding up her glass flute for another serving of champagne. She smiled to no one in the real world.

'Besides, I didn't kill any of those others… even the one that pissed himself last night.' Shego's own inner voice added after a moment, as if to ameliorate her motives.

'…that was so totally nasty' agreed the Kim-conscious, giggling in that way the real Kim would have.

Shego giggled softly. Then she clapped her hand over her face and groaned loudly.

"Fuck… I am going mad. I'm having arguments with the voices in my head… and they're winning!" She sighed, whispering quietly to herself now in the still of the red-eye flight.

After a moment she sat up, gratefully accepting the second drink as it was delivered to her. She knew she wasn't really going insane. The two Kim's in her head were her own mental images, and if they didn't take the form of her Kimmie, they would have taken some other form to get her attention over these morally ambiguous activities.

As she settled back to sip her drink and try to get some sleep, the Kim-conscious got in one parting shot. '…you still didn't tell me since when was I your Kimmie?'

-KP-KP-KP-KP-KP-KP-KP-KP-KP-

Author's notes additional: Hey! New scene with Sara! Those of you who read the previous version will notice that she appeared rather quickly, so I am trying to ease her away from Kim this time around. No, Shego's bike, the monster crotch rocket Oni 1250 is a fantasy, not a real bike, sorry folks.

Please forgive a little narratorial indulgence with Shego's long night-time ride. Having grown up in Iowa, and then spent time in larger cities… There really is nothing to do for a die-hard urban girl in this rural state… I too have broken more than a few speeding laws on the winding back roads and county highways like T-15, in my little red sports car though, not on Shego's expensive little crotch rocket.

People around here really do remind me of Kim, in her behavior anyways.

Okay, I know we're heading into Chapter 7 and I have yet to even hint at who the major villain is… don't worry, we'll get there.