Chapter 11: Contest Interlude, Part 2.
"Okay, so tomorrow is like, a complete beauty and charm thing?" Bonnie asked.
"From what Senior said, yes," Kim replied. The three Middleton teens were gathered in Bonnies luxury suite, discussing tomorrow's events.
"I think you have this one locked up, Bon-Bon," Ron told her, before flinching under Kim's glare.
"Quit calling me Bon-Bon," Bonnie snarled. "And why do you say that?"
"Well," Ron forged on ahead, knowing that he was going to owe Kim a major explanation later. "Camille really isn't all that attractive. I mean, she has the designer fashions and the attitude but, when you really get down to it, she's not very pretty."
"So why are the paparazzi like, snapping pictures of her everywhere she goes?" Bonnie demanded.
"She's a media sensation," Kim explained. "Not only is she's…well…kind of hot, they can count on her to do just about anything to stay in the news and they can count on her to say some really stupid things. Look, why would a lazy reporter put in the time and effort to unearth some representative's bribe scandal, which the representative is trying to keep secret, when people are willing to buy magazines with Camille in a skimpy outfit? Since Camille is more than willing to have her picture taken like that, it isn't any real effort."
"But you say that I have this one locked up?" Bonnie prompted her two attendants.
"Yeah. Yeah I do," Ron answered. The blonde boy figured he was in trouble anyway, so he forged on. "Bonnie, you and Kim have spent years cheerleading. Add to that, you've done ballet for about the same amount of time that Kim has done Kung-fu and world saving. Now, Kim can beat me to a pulp later, but your bodies have adjusted to your lifestyles, making you toned and athletic. To me, that's hot. Now, some guys might like the 'starved and skinny' look, but not me! I don't think Junior is much on the 'undernourished waif' look, either. Bonnie, all you have to do is go out there tomorrow, look your best, and Junior's going to think that you're a dozen times hotter than Camille."
"Do you really think so?" Bonnie insisted.
"I know so," Ron assured her.
"I never thought my boyfriend could say that another girl was hot without irritating me," Kim commented. "But he managed it."
"Okay, Monique sent quite a few outfits along with me, tell me what you think!"
For the next forty-five minutes, Bonnie repeatedly disappeared into her suburban-home-sized bathroom, to emerge each time wearing new clothing. Kim and Ron, (mostly Kim) offered comments for her active wear, casual wear, and formal outfits, helping her to select what she would wear during the following day. When Bonnie got to the swimwear "exhibit", Kim rather firmly sent her boyfriend back to their room, suggesting that he needed to prepare dinner for the two of them. Bonnie grinned at her formal rival the moment Ron left the room.
"You don't like him seeing other girls in bikinis, do you Kim?" The brunette asked, stepping back into the bathroom.
"I trust him," Kim rose her voice slightly, so Bonnie could hear her through the door. "I just don't want him to get too comfortable with ogling other girls."
"Oh, wait a minute!" Bonnie exclaimed, throwing open the door and stepping out to reveal a very flattering one-piece. "That wasn't for your benefit, it was for his! Very good move, K!"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Kim grumbled, motioning for Bonnie to turn around.
"I think you do, K," Bonnie countered, pirouetting to show off the suit. "When you chased him out of here you told him that he was worth keeping in line! I didn't expect something like that from you!"
"Hey, he's my guy, you know," Kim replied. "That's a very Monique creation, it's kind of modest but flattering all the same."
"Monique told me that anybody can just bare it all and hope for the best," Bonnie agreed with Kim. "But it takes an artist to be flirty, to not really show it but to kind of suggest. She says that the best swimsuits pique the interest but let the guy's imagination run wild."
"She hit the mark with you and that suit," Kim nodded. "It really works for you."
"Thanks, Kim, let me try the two-piece."
Much to Kim's surprise, she actually enjoyed talking about the fashions and accessories with her formal rival. The two young women talked and compared notes and suggestions for almost an hour, before Kim's stomach rumbled.
"It's time for me to grab a bite," Kim told Bonnie. "Are you going to be okay here?"
"Sure, I'll lock the door behind you," Bonnie assured her guardian. "I wouldn't put it past Camille to try something before Junior makes his choice." Bonnie hesitated for a moment, "Look, K, not trying to be snarky or anything but…I'll stay here tonight, in case you want a little alone time with Ron."
"Bonnie I…thanks," Kim said, simply. Kim stepped outside of Bonnie's door, made sure her charge locked the door behind her, then crossed the hall and used her card to open her door. A good meal's smell struck her as soon as she stepped inside. Kim smiled, seeing the table set for two and Ron meditating in the living room.
Kim poked her boyfriend, taking him out of his meditative state so that the two of them could dine together. After that, they cleared the table and Ron did a little prep work for breakfast, what should be their last breakfast on Senior's island. Much to her own surprise, Kim found that she had enjoyed her stay this time, probably because the spinning tops of doom hadn't made an appearance.
"So, is Bon-Bon all settled in for the night?" Ron asked.
"She was digging through her cosmetics, trying to find the perfect look, when I left," Kim informed him. "I think that's the one place where Camille might have a slight advantage over her; a woman who can alter her appearance at will doesn't have much use for makeup."
Ron chuckled a bit before stating, "So, our responsibilities for the day are finished, and we're just about ready to go home."
"Yeah," Kim agreed. "This must be what it had been like for the 'rents when they got us to bed and the dishes washed. Time to unwind."
"K-KP," Ron began, a little hesitantly. "What was happening last night. I mean, what we nearly did…"
"Was something I wanted to happen," Kim assured her boyfriend.
"And with a day to think about it?" Ron prompted.
"It's still something I want to happen," Kim assured him.
Moments later, the teens were on the couch again, this time with Kim on top of Ron. Lips and tongues met and fenced, hands slid over each other's bodies, leaving two very fit teens gasping for air. Again, Kim felt an overwhelming sense of this being the right thing to do. This wasn't some heat of the moment thing, even though things were getting hot and heavy. This wasn't some infatuation on either of their parts. They had worked hard to get to this point, bonding themselves together on an incredibly deep level. What was happening, what was about to happen, would enhance that bond.
With that realization, Kim let her analytical mind go and just lost herself in the moment. Her mother had told her that she should use her brain to get to the right moment, then let the moment take over. Now she was all over Ron, her mouth glued to his and his hands under her mission shirt, touching, caressing, and inflaming. Kim pulled back slightly and, like last night, pulled off his mission shirt. Moments later his hands were under her shirt again, peeling it up, about to return the favor.
Again, like last night, a rapid series of knocks provided scant warning before Bonnie Rockwaller stormed into their suite.
"I can't believe this!" The brunette shrieked, gesturing into the hallway behind her.
"YOU can't!?" Kim snarled back, making a desperate effort to straiten her clothing. Ron had rolled off of the couch and was fumbling for his own shirt.
"Get this, K," Bonnie complained to the flustered redhead, who now joined her at the doorway. "This…servant…just showed up and told me that I have to give him all of the clothes I'm going to wear tomorrow, for some sort of special cleaning!"
Kim followed Bonnie's gesture and saw a trim young man, wearing Senior's livery.
"My pardon," he said. "But as I was trying to explain to your client. Senior Senior Junior has allergies to certain chemicals commonly used in dry cleaning. Senior Senior Senior has his own, special dry cleaning facility. We need to re-clean all fabrics, to make sure that Junior doesn't suffer any ill affects."
"And you couldn't tell us this on the first day?" Bonnie demanded. "I mean, I don't see any way you can have my casual wear washed in time for me to wear it to breakfast tomorrow."
"I can assure you that we will take care of your items, Miss Rockwaller."
"Hold on," Kim asked. "Just what chemicals are we talking about here? I'll contact my tech support and we can find out if any of these chemicals are present." Kim picked up her Kimmunicator, prepared to call Wade.
"I'm afraid that won't be good enough, Kim," the servant told her. "And I don't know which chemicals cause the problem. I simply received my instructions to clean all of Miss Rockwaller's clothing."
"So what's going on with Camille?" Bonnie demanded.
"I'm sure that another servant will collect her clothing, for the same treatment."
"Maybe I can shed some light on the whole sitch," Kim suggested, pressing a button on the Kimmunicator and aiming the device at the servant. The man jumped, squealed and morphed, revealing Camille Leon.
"Nice try," Kim grated at the fallen socialite.
"This isn't over, Kim," Camille snarled, before storming away.
"What was that all about?" Bonnie demanded.
"I'm sure that if you would have turned over your clothes, they would have either vanished or had some really nasty alterations inflicted," Kim informed her. "Now, did he…er, she…do anything except ask for your clothes?"
"She…er….he…er….she dropped off some complimentary chocolates."
"Did you eat any of them?"
"I haven't had a chance," Bonnie told her. "Why?"
"Let's grab them and have Wade run an analysis."
Moments later the three teens gathered around the Kimmunicator. Kim sliced a cross section off of one of the chocolates and put it in the Kimmunicator's sampling hatch. Odd sounds emanated from the high tech device.
"It's drugged, all right," Wade reported. "Nothing permanent, but if you had eaten one of these, you would have had some very interesting blotches all over your face, a swollen tongue and body odor that would offend a professional manure slinger."
"That's horrible," Ron complained.
"Like I said, no permanent effects," Wade countered. "Everything would have worn off in 24 to 48 hours."
"That's not what I mean," Ron whined. "Messing with a coconut is bad enough, but she tampered with the nougats. That's like defacing a piece of art!"
"Focus, Ron," Kim interjected. "Now, what do we do about it?"
"Well, I'm not staying alone tonight," Bonnie declared. "She could be anybody!"
"You're perfectly safe as long as you keep your door locked," Kim countered.
"I'm not taking any chances!" Bonnie declared. "I'm sleeping here tonight and that's final!"
"I'll grab the couch," Ron muttered with a resigned sigh.
"Oh no you don't!" Bonnie snapped. "I'll come out here in the morning and there you'll be…scratching yourself or something!"
"And your point would be…" Ron prompted.
"It's disgusting!"
"It's my eighth favorite hobby!"
"What are the seven above that…DON'T ANSWER!" Bonnie shrieked, as Ron smiled at the beginning of her question.
"Okay, Bonnie, you grab the couch," Kim instructed.
"No way! I need to look my best tomorrow and that means a good night's sleep." Seeing Kim's glare, Bonnie continued, "after all, K, you do want me to win, don't you? If you let Camille win because she forced me to try to sleep on a tiny couch overnight, you'll have failed in your mission."
"Fine," Kim threw up her hands. "I'll sleep on the couch."
"I'll be keeping you awake when I watch movies tonight," Bonnie protested. "I keep later hours than you do, K."
"Didn't you just say that you wanted a good night's sleep? " Ron asked.
"When I decide to go to sleep, I want to be comfortable," Bonnie informed him, with her nose in the air. "I'll take Kim's room and Kim will just have to move in with you for tonight. Just don't keep me awake with your carrying on!"
"But if you keep later hours than we do…" Ron began.
"Let it drop, Ron," Kim instructed him. "Let's help her move over for the night."
Ron was admittedly confused by the fact that Bonnie saw fit to pack an overnight bag for her stay. However, he gamely took the sheets off of Bonnie's bed and used them to replace the sheets on Kim's. Kim scooped up a set of clothes and bundled them into Ron's room while Bonnie settled herself into Kim's. Shortly after they completed the move, Bonnie and Kim settled in to watch another movie. Ron, having no interest in the show they chose, went to his room for a little reading and some meditation.
Kim called it a night after the first movie and went into her new quarters to see Ron seated lotus style on the bed, with a large book next to him, clearly in meditation. Kim changed into her pajamas then stood for several minutes, watching him. She was reluctant to rouse him but, as he was seated on top of the covers, she would have to make him move at some point. She reached out to poke his shoulder, but he opened his eyes before her hand made contact. Instead of poking him, she draped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him in for a kiss.
"Now THAT'S the way to come out of a trance," he quipped, once she let him have some air.
Kim's giggle was short-lived. She appreciated the humor, but had other things on her mind. Bonnie was safely in the other room, distracted by another movie. Kim eased Ron back onto his back and reclaimed her earlier location on top of him. The redhead brought her lips close to his ear and asked him, in a breathless whisper,
"Shall we take up where we were, before Bonnie interrupted us?"
Ron answered with his lips and his hands, re-igniting the passions they had kindled earlier that evening. Barely conscious of her actions, Kim reached up with one hand and pulled back the covers on one corner of the bed. Slipping off of Ron, she slid between the sheets and made her best effort to put both an invitation and demand for him to join her in a single glance. The usually slow Ron Stoppable understood her immediately.
Ron had no sooner joined her between the sheets than she was in his arms again, wrapping her limbs around his body. Again, she eased him onto his back before sliding on top of him, pressing her slender body against his. Ron's mind reeled; assaulted by sensations and yearnings he had never felt with such intensity. One of his hands grazed the book he had left on the bed, the Upperton University Playbook.
Somehow, Ron's hormone-addled brain correctly identified that particular piece of literature. Ron didn't want to cause any damage to the book, but he also didn't want to interrupt the activity he was currently experiencing. He barely recalled the desk off to the side of his bed and concluded that it would be a safe place for the playbook. Ron lofted the book at the desk, hoping to land the book, flat, on the desk's surface. Unfortunately for the young man, the twin surges of adrenaline and testosterone he was experiencing caused him to lob the book harder than he had intended. The playbook struck the wall behind the desk.
The same wall that separated Ron's bedroom from the living room.
A feminine shriek of surprise and mild pain shocked the two lust crazed teens out of their hormone induced stupor with a sudden realization.
Bonnie Rockwaller had been listening to them, her ear pressed against the wall.
"Goodnight, Bonnie!" Kim called out, to be answered by the sound of pattering feet, retreating from the wall.
Kim and Ron, by unspoken agreement, simply cuddled together and tried to go to sleep. While the mood was broken, the desire wasn't.
It was a long night for both teens.
It just didn't work out! No matter how many times Warmonga studied the genomes, she couldn't see the structures that would give her samples superhuman capabilities. Genetically, the clones looked like normal male and female humans, of primarily European descent. Warmonga was perfectly aware that the powers Shego and Stoppable exhibited could manifest themselves post-puberty, but she should still be able to locate genetic precursors for the biologic systems that would generate and manipulate these powers. Warmonga rubbed her temples and tried to come to grips with the mystery.
Warmonga refused to believe that Stoppable's and Shego's powers didn't have a genetic origin. After all, neither subject used any sort of external device to exhibit their abilities. Since the abilities originated from their own bodies, their bodies had to be able to generate and control superhuman traits. Thus, they had to be genetically equipped to do so. So why couldn't she find these genetic traits? Even in infancy, the blueprint had…to…be…there…
Warmonga jumped to her feet, berating herself for her own idiocy. It was so obvious now! Neither Shego nor Stoppable had been born with their powers. Shego had obtained her powers, from a comet, when she was twelve years old. Stoppable had received his powers, from four, jade statues, when he was sixteen. These affects probably only affected the bodily systems needed to actually generate the abilities. Therefore, the blood and tissue samples she had obtained, from both subjects' digestive tracts, might not have the genetic alterations she was seeking! Now, the question was what to do with this knowledge.
There were two possibilities: The more dangerous course was to seize Shego and/or Stoppable and force them to utilize their powers so that she could analyze them. However, such an action would thwart her goal, which was to confront the two of them, unexpectedly, with their own powers. The second course was more uncertain; she might be able to replicate their powers if she could obtain their reproductive cells.
Most ethical geneticists didn't deal with superhuman powers and energies, Warmonga did. As such, she had learned that superhuman powers, obtained later in life, were sometimes reflected in the subject's reproductive cells. While blood cells remained blood cells, and muscle cells remained muscle cells, reproductive cells, which were designed to pass on genetic information, sometimes reflected the superhuman enhancements. The only problem was that she didn't know of any discrete way of obtaining their reproductive cells.
Warmonga came to the conclusion that her best course of action was to build her economic base and observe her two tormentors. In the meantime, the two clones she had developing opened the door to some very…interesting…possibilities.
"Okay guys, this is the place," Little Jack told his companions, as they crouched in a drainage ditch in one of Seattle's less than affluent quarters. "Remember what we said before, don't go shooting for the hell of it. If Bigfoot has our medicine in here, we don't want to shoot it up." Smoke, Robbie, and the six other Boyz Little Jack had selected nodded at him.
Little Jack felt a surge of confident swagger for the first time since Bigfoot had injected him. This was what had allowed the Boyz to rule their turf: a combination of his toughness, Robbie's business savvy and Smoke's planing. There was no more following commands and hoping for the best. In the next few minutes, they would live or die depending on their own wits, guts and toughness.
"We don't know what we're going to find inside," Little Jack whispered. "So we stick together and keep cool. Take out anyone who fights but don't waste anyone who ain't fighting back. We might need 'em later. Now, is everyone ready to go?"
The assembled Boyz nodded their readiness.
"Okay," Little Jack nodded back. "Sticker's on the cutters and Tubs and Flex have the ram. Let's go!"
The small band burst out of the drainage ditch and across the night-deserted street. The first obstacle was a perimeter fence, with a padlocked gate. This proved to be no hindrance as Sticker, following the plan, stepped forward with the bolt cutters. The rest of the Boyz stood watch; weapons out, as their comrade cut the padlock and opened the fence. Sticker returned the cutters to his back sheath as the band swarmed through the opening and approached the factory's door.
Tubs and Flex, the two largest of the Boyz present, stepped forward with a battering ram similar to those used by firefighters and police. The two bulky, young men swung the ram twice, sending the door flying into the supposedly abandoned building. The rest of the Boyz swarmed into the building keeping Flex, who carried the ram, near the center of their group. They found themselves in what must have once been the factory's office section. Dust lay thick on the floors, mute testament that nobody had been in this area for weeks, at least.
Little Jack had expected this. After tracking the delivery boy to this building, he had observed the site for a couple of days. The only activity he had ever seen had been at the back of the factory, where the loading docks were located. Little Jack guessed that any operation would be taking place near the docks and he hoped that anybody there wouldn't be expecting an assault to come through the buildings abandoned sections. Thus, he led the Boyz through the derelict office section, following hallways that would lead them towards the back. Soon, they found their way blocked by a steel door.
Little Jack first tried the knob, which was locked. He kicked the door and, not surprisingly, failed to break through. He waved behind him and the rest of his band backed off, making room for Flex and Tubs to move forward and ply the ram again. Two more strikes shattered the bolt and sent the door flying open. As they had planned, Tubs and Flex dropped to the ground, allowing the rest of the Boyz to vault over them, guns ready. They found themselves in a pitch-black, echoing space.
Again, Little Jack had expected this, guessing that they had entered the old manufacturing area. Half of the Boyz produced flashlights while the other half kept their guns ready. Little Jack and Robbie searched the wall until they found a bank of light switches. A handful of lights came on when the two men turned on the switches, revealing a deserted, open space. Wasting no time, the Boyz crossed the abandoned manufacturing floor.
"I've been in factories before," Smoke whispered to his companions, when they reached the far wall. "I think there's more open space, before we get to the shipping docks, on the other side of this wall. Let's check out the doors before we open any."
The rest of the Boyz remained alert while Smoke, Robbie and Little Jack inspected the doors. There were three personnel doors and a vehicle, rollup type door. All three gangsters noticed that the dust near the doors had been disturbed and that the doors were all brand new.
"Okay, I say we go with the middle one," Smoke told the others. "If there isn't anything in there, we work to our left and…oh, shit!"
The other Boyz followed Smoke's gesture up into the poorly lit rafters, where they saw several, very new looking security cameras.
"No time!" Smoke snapped. "They may know we're here! We gotta move now!"
"Warmonga," a message bellowed over the intercom speaker. "The cameras have picked up a band of armed men entering the factory. They will be here shortly."
"How many and who?" Warmonga demanded, reaching for her staff.
"Roughly ten," her technician answered. "It's hard to count them. I think they're from group twelve-A."
"The Boyz," Warmonga concluded. "We…utilized…one of their younger members a short time ago."
"Affirmative, they're approaching through the old factory. They should be in the bulk production facility in minutes."
"Okay, I want the two of you to get under cover," Warmonga told her assistants. "I'll deal with these. Get ready, we'll be moving to our secondary location as soon as I've eliminated this threat."
"Understood, what about our production tanks?"
"It's too risky to take them with us. We'll move the supporting hardware to the new location, but destroy the tanks themselves."
"It will take some time to acquire new tanks," the technician reminded her.
"We have a three day supply of our product on hand," Warmonga informed him. "And we'll be at partial production levels within twenty-four hours. The three-day stock we have will be enough to supplement our production until we're fully on line. Now move! I can't risk loosing you!"
"We're ducking and hiding now."
Warmonga chuckled and trotted out of her specialty lab, where she kept the production tanks with the clones, and jogged up the stairs to the old factory's main level. It only took her moments to reach the bulk production facility.
"Take the door!" Little Jack yelled.
It took Flex and Tubs four strikes to break down the middle door, a mute testament to its strength. The two large gangsters stood aside while the rest of the pack swarmed through the open doorway. They found themselves in a clean, well-lit corridor. The corridor terminated at a set of airtight doors, perhaps thirty feet in. Little Jack led the way down the corridor and through the doors, with Flex and Tubs bringing up the rear. Little Jack found himself and the rest of the Boyz in a laboratory of some sort. They stared around in horrified amazement, trying not to believe that they were actually seeing what they had found. They were all still stunned when a door on the far wall opened, admitting a woman unlike any they had ever seen.
She had green skin, yellow eyes and long, purple hair. She was wearing some sort of leotard, which showed off her athletic, yet feminine form. She carried some sort of a lethal looking staff and wore a smile that was almost alluring yet, none of these attributes made the assembled Boyz stare at her in wonder.
It was the fact that she stood nine feet tall that had them shocked into immobility.
"B-B-Bigfoot?" Smoke gasped. Little Jack's own mind suddenly started working again. It couldn't be anyone else.
In response, the giantess's smile shifted from alluring to predatory. She produced a small control device from a pouch at her hip and pressed a button.
The lights went out.
All hell broke loose.
The Boyz weren't idiots. Several produced flashlights while the remainder kept their weapons ready. Unfortunately for them, Warmonga didn't need things to function in the dark, she had modified herself for this contingency. It had been child's play for her to provide herself with a pit viper's heat sensing organs. Manipulating her own body's systems too keep these organs cool enough to remain useful had been more difficult, but the effort was paying off at this moment. While Warmonga couldn't recognize the men she was confronting, she could see them as warm blobs in the cool room. Because she had two such organs, she even had the depth perception needed to strike from a distance.
Before the terrified men could illuminate her, Warmonga tossed three bags, each containing twenty pounds of lead shot. Each of the bags struck one of the men with a flashlight, sending them sprawling back, senseless. The armed men started to shoot wildly, and Warmonga avoided the gunfire by leaping the twenty feet up to the room's exposed girders. Smiling to herself, she clung to the underside of one of the beams and began to shinny along it, positioning herself above her assailants.
Little Jack was caught by surprise, but he recovered quickly. He snarled at the rest of the Boyz to take cover and quit shooting. Although badly shaken by whatever had taken out the guys with the flashlights, he personally picked up a light and started to scan the room. Two other Boyz did so, while the remaining three prepared to shoot anything the lights revealed. Several minutes passed with the Boyz unable to spot their quarry. Little Jack, unnerved by his surroundings, had the uncomfortable thought that Bigfoot wasn't the victim in this confrontation.
"Okay, we move!" He snarled to his companions. "Follow me!"
Little Jack had only managed a couple of feet towards the door Bigfoot had entered, entertaining a vague idea that…she?…must have retreated the way she had come in, when thunder sounded behind him.
It hadn't been easy for Warmonga to swing along the girders and reach her goal. Since the girders were the same temperature as the surrounding air, she could not see them using her pit viper's senses. Still, her enhanced strength and large size allowed her to feel her way from handhold to handhold, well above the frightened gangsters. She reached her goal shortly after one of the gangsters regained control of the situation. Smiling widely, the geneticist released her current handhold and dropped into the middle of the nervous men.
Warmonga swung her staff in a wide arc the moment her feet touched the floor, sending two more of the would-be assailants flying across the room. Bullets flew wild as a flashlight beam illuminated the giantess, allowing one of the larger men to swing a battering ram at her. Warmonga dropped her staff and caught the ram with one hand, stopping it cold. Warmonga savored the gangster's look of terror for the second it took her to deliver a massive, open-palmed strike to his stomach.
The remainder of the gangsters didn't give her time to gloat. They had dropped their automatic weapons and pulled out ether handguns or other close-quarters fighting implements. Flashlights, wielded by jittery hands, illuminated the immediate area with a surreal, shaky light as the overwhelming woman spun to face the remaining thugs. She felt two bullets tear into her torso before two more gangsters. One of the men thrust with a knife while the other swung his flashlight like a billy club.
Redundant organs and sheer mass allowed Warmonga to ignore the gunshots, then her two assailants were too close for the gunman to risk shooting again. Lashing out, she caught both of her assailants by their leading wrists and squeezed. Bones broke, the thugs dropped their weapons and Warmonga unleashed her surprise: She had used electric eel DNA to help her withstand Shego's plasma blasts. This same DNA allowed her to deliver an incapacitating shock to the two thugs, dropping them senseless to the ground.
Little Jack stared with horror as the huge woman he assumed was Bigfoot tore through his hit squad. He figured that most of the rounds he had sent at her had flown wild. He had hit her twice, right before she had taken out Smoke and Robbie, then fired his last round into her when she dropped them. He knew that he didn't have enough time to change clips, but he tried anyway. He managed to eject the empty clip before a massive hand clamped over the weapon, preventing him from inserting the new one. A second hand caught him by the collar and effortlessly lifted him off of the ground.
"I guess I'm dead," he muttered, hoping that Bigfoot would make it quick.
"Not hardly," Warmonga murmured to him, in an almost friendly manner. "Killing is very wasteful. Why kill when you can exploit?"
Little Jack had a moment of abject terror, recalling what was in the room around him, before an electrical shock made everything go black.
"Alright guys, get in here," Warmonga called over her wrist communication device. She re-enabled the buildings lighting so that her technicians could see.
"Fire up the incinerator," she continued. "I want all of the production tanks destroyed except for the two that are holding my…pet projects."
"Are you uninjured?" Her lead technician asked her.
"I've been hit in one lung and, I believe, my large intestine. I have enough energy reserves to heal the damage before I need to eat again. As for the lung, I can operate on the other three until that damage heals up, although it's going to be messy draining the blood out of the injured one."
"What do we do after we dispose of the tanks?" The second technician asked.
"Load up the supporting hardware and bring it to the new location," Warmonga instructed him. "We have a lot of work to do to get the new facility on line. Fortunately," here, she gestured to the moaning and writhing Boyz. "We have some volunteers to help us get back on line."
A/N:
The last day of the contest is coming up! Thanks for staying with me this long and thanks to Joe Stoppinghem for his beta work. Who will win? Stay tuned.
Until my next update, best wishes;
daccu65