Kim Possible: InSide, Looking Out.

Another short one, while I try and defeat writers block on Noir and Senior year.

"So, Kim…ready?" Kim Possible looked over to the door, the speakers carrying the sound of Marla's voice. Lithely, she got up and smiled.

"Yeah—if I don't exercise, I feel the pounds coming on. It must be the food." Marla laughed. A tall, African American woman, she was 45, with a friendly face, with no-nonsense grey eyes.

"You're the only one to say that here-" Marla said. "OK…ready?" Kim nodded. Now they were on the clock and it was time for the procedure.

"Prisoner…stand up." Marla said, voice businesslike. Kim got up and stood in the middle of the room, or cell. No bars on it—just an alloy that could be turned transparent with a touch of a button and cameras that viewed all sections of it at all times. That had bothered Kim for a while.

"Prisoner. Step into the entryway." Kim walked forward as the door opened. This was another new touch, installed five years ago—every cell had an airlock style security entryway. In it was a pile of gear, and Kim walked up to it and waited. Once you were on the clock, you didn't do, or say, anything, unless you were told to. Those were the rules.

"Place your restraints." Kim bent down and got a pair of anklets, placing them around her ankles. A moment later, they clicked and a red light turned green, indicating that they were secure, the 12 inch chain connecting them strong enough to tow a battleship. Then, she clicked on the bracelets around her wrists. They were also connected to each other, along with another chain connecting the leg and arm chains to each other. When finished, Kim was slightly bent over, hands barely six inches apart, and legs only a little better off. She couldn't do more than shuffle forward, unable to even stand to her full height. Completely helpless…as the designers had intended. Not that they took any risks—the restraints could also shock her into unconsciousness.

The outer door opened.

"Prisoner Secured." Marla said, "Walk forward." Kim did as she was told and the two turned and walked down main street of the Federal Super Maximum Security prison. Pretty much empty, Kim reflected. They didn't waste this sort of thing on your run of the mill bad guy. Her "next door" neighbor, was a certain former President Hussein, since Iraq had decided not to worry themselves with the political dangers of an execution. A few more blocks down was a serial killer who was waiting for his final appeal to be declined, and just next to him a Serbian General with a taste for ethnic cleansing. No women, which had meant they'd had to find some female guards when Kim had become part of the little community.

Ten minutes later of shuffling, Kim found herself infront of the entryway to the "outside" exercise yard. The repeated the process in reverse, and found herself alone in the yard, "Outside" only in the sense that the top was transparent, and vents brought in some of the air from outside.

It was, however, the closest she'd come to outside in the last ten years. Once separated by the airlock, and no longer in potential danger, Marla could revert to being human. That was another intent of the system, Kim had been told—if the guards did not fear for their own safety, some of the pressures that might lead to abuse were removed.

"So, Kim…looking forward to it?" Kim started dribbling the basketball, trying to keep her spotless record of successful shots intact.

"It?" Marla snorted.

"Parole, Kim, where you get to say good bye to the upscale and posh surroundings of Ft. Leavenworth, and return home." At 'home', Kim missed a shot.


"Don't you say 'no big' to me, Girl." Marla said. "Remember? I've been a guard here—hell, I was transferred here because of you." She paused, "Shall we run the tapes of you crying yourself to sleep for the first 300 days?"

"Yeah…but I got better—It's been what, 3600 days?"

"Pretty close."

"And you got here for…" Kim shook her head.

"I don't feel like this was wrong, Marla, you know that. I assaulted a federal officer, and let a war criminal out of jail." She paused, "I would do it again."

"Yeah, well girl, do you regret hurting those cops?" Kim paused.

"You know I do."

"OK, let your aunt Marla tell you something—when the parole board asks you questions, a little birdie told me they ain't going to say: "Would you do it again." They'll say: "do you regret hurting those cops." You say yes." Kim nodded.

"Yes Aunt Marla." She said.

"Good. Plenty of people deserve to be in here for ever, not you— you paid your dues, and part of parole is to get people who deserve another chance out so we can save the space for people who should never be let out." She looked at the clock. "Best get to exercising—we only have 45 minutes today."

"OK." Kim said, but she missed more than one shot.

"Very well." The judge said. Kim was sitting in the place of the defendant—or guilty party, in the bright orange jumpsuit. Her parents, Ron's parents, her family was there. But not Ron. Not surprisingly—it was a bit much to expect someone in ICU to make it in.

"You have pled guilty. Do you do this of your own free will?"

"Yes, your honor." The judge nodded.

"Kimberly Ann Possible. I understand the reasoning that led you to undertake your actions. However, this court cannot condone behavior that leads to assaults on federal officers. To do so would to be break a bond of trust between the courts and the police, one that could not be easily repaired." He paused "And your actions in releasing a known source of biological weapons could have endangered not simply the SEAL team who was forced to retrieve him, but literally millions, had they not been successful. Nonetheless, this court has received a number of petitions, including some from those individuals you injured, requesting clemency. I regret to say, that I cannot fully grant them, due to minimum sentencing guidelines." He looked at her, "Your lawyer has agreed to have the sentencing now, are you ready?"

"Yes, Your Honor." Kim said, while part of her gibbered that she was still three months from 17. She could hear her mother behind her, sniffling into her Kleenex, the sound of a sudden cough from the back of the room.

"Very well, Having pled Guilty, I sentence you to the minimum term of 21 years, credited for time currently served. The Federal Department of Corrections will determine what location you will serve your term in. Kim swayed. She would be nearly forty when she left. Then the bailiff was coming over to her, motioning to the other side of the court room where she would go to be processed.

She shook her head.

"Yeah, I'm ready." Kim paused. "But…"

"But things have changed?" She nodded.

"This isn't as bad—hell, it's nowhere near as bad as some places." Marla said. "No worrying about knives in the dark or getting chosen to be someone's "special" friend." She looked through the transparent glass at Kim, "But not being able to walk out a door is a pretty big downside. Having to chain yourself up for a walk is a pretty big downside."

"You haven't been bad…"

"Thanks, but that's not the point." She paused, "you've grown up, in here." She shrugged, "And you have the BA degree to prove it." Kim laughed.

"For all the good it's going to do. I don't think many places hire convicts."

"You might be surprised." Marla said, "don't fall on your sword." She looked at the watch.

"We'd better go-- It wouldn't do to be late for your own hearing." Then, all business again.

"Prisoner. Step back to the center of the room..."