Sweet Dreams, Kimmie - Part Two
Usual disclaimers: Disney owns the Kimmiverse. Catrlgirl owns her stories. I own my stories.
Chapter Five: Rendezvous
Hand to hand combat between two closely matched, truly lethal opponents is no spectacle. The very quick against the very strong can be exciting, but when the two are nearly equal in these things it is a dull affair. The combatants move slowly, generally staying only several feet apart. They don't stop; a still muscle is a stiff muscle, and takes an extra few milliseconds to respond. They stay close enough to take advantage of any opening, but far enough away that any attack would require a step, a visible motion that could be seen while there is still time to respond. The two move, but there is no bouncing or bobbing. Their centers of mass move only horizontally. Vertical motion is easily seen, and it is very hard to move quickly without some vertical motion. Good martial artists bounce and bob to disguise the dip or rise that signals the start of an attack. The best martial artists instead eliminate the tell-tale dip.
The eyes seldom meet. Heads move quickly and allow feints, and eyes catch the attention and cause delay. The fighters instead watch the center of their opponent's body. Peripheral vision allows for the hands and feet, but they are unimportant. There is no danger unless the center of mass moves, and what causes no danger is unworthy of attention. A hand waving is meaningless if it is too far away to strike.
The observer of an encounter sees the slow motions. Occasionally there will be a hesitation, a slight shift of balance, a twist of the shoulders. One fighter has seen a possible opening, or is perhaps throwing a feint. The other has noticed the unusual motion and responded, and the attacker withdraws. All this is no more than a shift of the feet or sway of the hips. Then, occasionally, there will be a flash of movement, one combatant driving in so quickly that the observer has barely noticed before the strike is made, blocked or deflected or absorbed, a counter thrown, a flurry of two or three strikes by each and then either one is down or they are once again slowly, calmly circling, and the watcher is uncertain of what just happened, unable even to count how many strikes were attempted, and by whom.
An encounter might contain three or four such exchanges, seldom more. While each fighter can absorb some level of damage and remain lethal, if they are closely matched the odds shift quickly. Any advantage will be taken. The first significant strike is often effectively the last; the next exchange will find slightly less resistance, a slightly less effective response, and will either do yet more damage or finish the contest.
In such an instance, such a meeting of the few truly lethal fighters, any advantage looms large. A greater reach allows strikes that land before the counter. Greater strength, unless much greater, is only a slight advantage, but it usually also means more muscle mass, a greater tolerance for damage, and that can be the necessary margin.
Physically, this Monday morning, Shego had the clear edge. She was a few inches taller than Kim, and somewaht stronger. Even without her plasma, she could break bones and easily damage joints with a strike from fist or foot. Kim might have been a fraction quicker, but if so it was a tiny gap, not a chasm in their abilities. If it came to a contest of strength or endurance, Kim was certain to lose.
The mental aspect of combat is less clear, but here the advantage was all Kim's. Shego wanted to win this fight, but more than that, she wanted Kim to know that she had lost. Shego was angry. She was far too experienced and skilled a fighter to let it make her reckless, despite her sure knowledge of her physical superiority. She knew Kim was dangerous, a fast, strong, skilled fighter with mastery of several forms of martial arts, well-trained, and focussed for the past few months on nothing other than this encounter. She would be ready. But Shego was stronger, was likely faster, was at least as well trained, and was, she felt certain, more motivated. And then there was the plasma. And so she was confident. Shego's anger hissed and bubbled beneath her calm surface, leading her to anticipate and savor victory, hungry for the punishments she would inflict upon her ruined princess.
Kim had no goals for the fight at all. She would try to win, because if she did not win she would not survive. But losing was acceptable if she also died. She would not return to Shego. This was her lodestar, her only concern, her one and certain truth. Her mind was completely clear of anger or ambition. She did not hate, nor did she fear; she did not care about her opponent. She had no thoughts of the future. There was nothing after the fight. Her world consisted only of the ground upon which she stood, its texture and her footing. She was aware of the building to her left, of the time of day and the rising sun. The term 'Shego' existed in her mind only as a label, a way of denoting the bundle of strengths and dangers that she now faced, and which she fully catalogued and understood.
And so Kim stood calmly, in the early morning shadow of her training building, as the pale green woman approached.
"Hiding out here, Pumpkin? Did you think I wouldn't find my own princess?" Shego called out. "You knew I would come for you, little one. You know you need me. I came to bring you home, Cupcake. Back where you know you belong."
Kim did not react, only watching as Shego joined her in the shaded area. With the sun behind the building neither needed to worry about being blinded by an unguarded turn of the head, but equally neither could use the sun's glare to their advantage. Shego stopped eight feet from Kim, an amused smirk on her face. Her hands began to glow, and Kim felt her heart take the single beat for which it had time as the plasma grew to a pair of small, pale balls of energy. Shego flicked them at her, not very fast, one-two, left hand then right, and Kim easily dodged, backing away a step as she did so. Shego chuckled softly and advanced. As she did, she kept up her mocking monologue.
"You hurt me, Kimmie. You know that. You hit me, and that was bad, but leaving me, that was worse. Come back home now. I'll let you make it up to me. I'll let you make me feel good. You know how you like to make me feel good." Her hands were glowing again, once again up to full strength. The glow was the brighter green that Kim knew meant a heat blast rather than a kinetic strike.
Kim ignored the words from her pale opponent. They had no information content that bore on the current contest, and intent for the future was meaningless. Her lack of response surprised Shego, and annoyed her. Spinning up the heat in each hand, she sent these faster, one at Kim's left shoulder, the other just to the right of her torso. By rights, the redhead should have dodged the first and moved directly into the path of the second, but she twisted to the left and arched her back slightly and both passed harmlessly by to disperse in the desert.
Remaining silent, Kim began a slow circle to her right. It took her away from the dojo, but she stayed well within the building's shadow. The sun was only a few degrees above the horizon, so the shadow was long and would remain so for at least half an hour. There was no chance that the combat would last that long.
Shego suddenly moved in, so smoothly it was almost undetectable, but Kim saw it and skipped to the right, so that the wicked side kick missed. The redhead saw the low heeled boot in the corner of her eye as she responded with a hook-heel kick, snapping it at a pale green temple, but Shego dipped a little farther back and Kim's foot whipped half an inch over her head. Kim chambered and flashed the foot back out in a round kick, her toes pulled back in her kevlar mocassins, the ball of her foot driving towards the other woman's kidney. Shego spun hard to her right, dodging and adding distance. The kick glanced off her hip and suddenly the two were again five feet apart and moving, neither even slightly winded by the exchange.
From this distance, Shego could see her opponent clearly. She looked into Kim's eyes and saw nothing there. The woman's face under her cap of close-cropped red hair was calm, nothing showing but concentration. Kim's eyes did not meet hers, not because she was avoiding it but because she had no interest. Then they did, for a brief second, and there was no response, no hesitation; they slid back to watching Shego's center of mass without a flicker of recognition of who she was.
Shego's anger spiked at this. She spun up a kinetic blast in her right hand, not waiting for it to come to full strength, and as the sphere of energy began to grow Kim responded by stepping back, to put some distance between them so she could dodge. She was still in motion as the green ball came towards her, earlier than she had thought it would, before it had reached much strength. Her dodge was just a bit clumsy, too little to matter with most contestants, but Shego was already coming in with a front kick behind the plasma ball and the toe of her boot hit Kim on the left side, below and behind her breast. Kim's inward forearm block was too little and too late, and they both heard it as a rib cracked. The block pushed Shego's leg and altered the direction of her momentum, and that gave Kim the chance to skip to the left and then she was moving again, slowly circling to her left, and if she felt the damage she gave no indication.
Both women knew that the rib would be a factor. Shego felt a thrill of satisfaction at having landed a damaging blow. She knew that Kim would have to guard that side a little extra, that the muscles on that side would be a little bit slower to react, and that the pain would be a distraction. She knew that Kim knew all of this as well, and she formed a smirk as she glanced again into the younger woman's eyes, only to be surprised at the complete lack of any sign of desperation in them. Kim looked as she had before. Her eyes were calm, her expression untroubled, her breathing smooth and even. Shego scowled, more angry now than ever.
In the area shadowed by the dojo, there were several patches of gravel that included mica, chips of stone that would glitter brilliantly when struck by the sun. As she circled, Kim saw that the edge of shadow was about to cross one patch. She maneuvered so that Shego was between her and the dojo. She was prepared when the other woman's eyes were suddenly drawn to the side as the shadow retreated to let the sun light up the mirror-like stone.
Kim dove forward, her motion pulling Shego's eyes to her. She was too far away, and both women knew it. She lunged, usually a desperate move, and Shego did the only thing she could with such a dangerous antagonist diving for her. Pushing off on her front leg, she slid backwards, waiting for Kim to arrest her forward motion. Instead, the redhead let her upper body fall forward, and even as Shego pressed down with her front foot to shift her weight back, she twisted in her fall to drive her right elbow into Shego's quadricep. She hit the pressure point at the tip of the big muscle, the vastus medialis, above and inside the knee, and the tension that Shego had on the leg made it worse. Just tapping that point unlocks the leg; hitting it with such force stunned the nerve and sent agony shooting up Shego's leg. As the green woman staggered to the side, Kim rolled in the other direction and sprang to her feet.
Shego's fury erupted. She spread her hands and began to bring them to a peak of steel-melting heat, ready to show the younger woman what she was capable of. As she did, Kim flashed forward, her right foot feinting for the same pressure point, and Shego could not help flinching. Her leg spasmed as she tried to move. Kim dropped her foot short of its supposed target. Her upper body rocked forward between Shego's hands and she struck. Shego's right hand was out of play but her left hit Kim in the side, in the floating ribs.
Kim ignored the impact, the burn, the pain. She had already struck. All of her attention, all of her focus, was on her right hand. The knuckles at the base of her forefinger and middle finger met Shego's cheekbone in the Platonic ideal of a Kempo backfist, perfectly executed, pure in motion and action and speed, blindingly fast and utterly relaxed until that final microsecond. All of Kim's chi, all of her force, flowed through that strike, and Shego dropped. Her hands never had time to reach full heat, and they faded as she lost consciousness, falling boneless to the hard desert ground.
Kim pulled up, taking one deep breath. She noted the slight smell of charred flesh from her side; the suit had offered some protection but damage still had been done. There was pain, but she had no time for that at the moment. Shego was out, on her back, but even after such a strike Kim did not want to count on her being out for long. She strode quickly to the dojo and pulled cuffs and leg irons from behind the trash can.
The leg irons went on first. Then Kim reached under Shego's neck and with a hand on each shoulder she flipped the woman onto her front. The cuffs were two-inch sleeves of braided metal that pulled tight around the wrists. Once on, they were joined with a ring only an inch in diameter.
When Shego woke, twelve minutes later, Kim was ready. She had drunk a pint of water, sent a quick message to Global Justice, and was standing a few feet away. She carried a short barreled ten gauge shotgun. She saw the slight tension in Shego's shoulders that told her she had woken.
"The cuffs on your wrists will last several minutes even at your full power. If I see you trying to use your glow, I will shoot you."
"You'd kill me, Kimmie? Again? Haven't you killed enough?" Even in her predicament, Shego was mocking.
"I won't kill you. I will take your feet off. It will be enough to stop you."
"And if I bleed out?"
Kim did not reply. Shego remained silent from that point on.
Twenty-seven minutes later, a helicopter landed. A Global Justice lieutenant led a squad of silent men to the two women. One looked at Shego and wordlessly shot her in the buttock with a tranquilizer dart. She was hoisted over the shoulder of the largest of the men and carried to the helicopter.
The leader looked at the redhead. "You're hurt."
"Yori and Hirotaka will take care of me. I'll check in at headquarters in a couple of days, when Yori says it's okay. Did you get Spider?"
"We had a team ready. They got the 'go' signal when you called in. We'll have their after action report soon."
Kim nodded. The lieutenant knew she would say nothing more. He nodded, turned, and walked away. Soon, the helicopter disappeared in the distance. Kim went back to the dojo to wait for the ninjas. Her mind was calm, untroubled, empty.