Green Silk, Black Satin
Chapter 1: The Nightmare
Disclaimer: I do not own Kim Possible or any of the characters there within, they're property of Disney.
There was nothing but darkness.
A deep, silent depth of oblivion. It was an infinite that bore madness on noiseless wings, for no senses were of use here. The naked eye could not penetrate the obscurity, ears deafened by stillness, every breath a taxing chore.
There was only darkness.
And she was lost in it.
The black closed in on all sides and she fought, uselessly expending all of her energy to tear away the gloom as if it could be ripped away to reveal the colorful, sense-filled world—but her clawed fingers made contact with nothing but choking, heavy air. Panic forced bile into her throat. She had to escape! The air was getting heavier, her mind would not focus, every which way she turned looked the same as the last; or so she thought, it was impossible to tell. She was suffocating; she was on fire. She was dying.
Her wild eyes flickered in every direction until at last, she found it: A small light in the distance. The blank, weighted space around her seemed to fall away and she could breathe at last; her resolve affirmed in that glimmer of hope. She raced for it with every fiber of her being. Where her footsteps should have hammered her desperation, there was nothing but deathly silence. But the light steadily grew closer as it was constantly jarred in her sprinting sight.
Finally, she reached the light circle that beamed from somewhere above. She stumbled and fell onto the floor, landing hard on her knees as she gripped her arms by the elbows. She was seized by a horrible racking sob as tears slid from her green eyes.
She had been attacked while lost in the dark. Her clothes were in tatters and her lustrous raven hair was ragged and cut. Blood as black as her painted fingernails streaked her pale body, each a testament to her unseen encounters. As the horrible tears continued to stream down her face, her cheeks burned; they had been slashed among innumerable other such wounds. She did not know if the attacker stalked her out in the darkness still, or if she had done these injuries to herself.
Piercing green eyes glared up into the beam of light.
Why did this keep happening? What was the purpose of this torment? Why didn't she wake up?
The worst was yet to come.
Out of the darkness came ribbons of beautiful green and black sashes. They moved with the grace and charm of serpents and she was entranced. Something about them was familiar, but she could not ascertain why. The sobs and the tears ceased as her body slackened; muscles relaxing slightly in their esteemed presence. She rubbed at her moist eyes and rested her hands on the floor. The motion dizzied her and the ribbons circled, waiting. She knew they came to her out of love and comfort, and so she beckoned them to her with the subtlest of shifts in her posture. They responded.
The green was first to elegantly slide over her thigh, to curl around her bruised stomach once, twice, thrice around, ever moving upward—took a detour to wrap lovingly once around her right arm and finally to stroke her offended cheek with its softness. The feel of silk across her skin caused her to exhale a shuddering breath, a breath she came to realize she had been holding.
The black came next, snaking its way around one palm, it slipped around her torso to cover her heart and up still to caress her neck, fully circling it once to fall down her spine. Satin.
Still the ribbons glided and slid over her body in graceful arcs in a distinguished dance, urging her to rise so they might shield what yet remained uncovered. She stood. The green rolled over her left shoulder and coiled its way down her arm. The black weaved through her legs and coiled around her right leg from the height of her calf to her ankle. The green wrapped her waist, the black twined her fingers; the silk caught her forearm, the satin snared her wrist…
Then suddenly, the sashes yanked tight.
What had been a soft embrace became a death grip. Her arms were snapped to her sides, her thighs wrenched together, her chest crushed, her throat constricted. Her body was pulled in all directions by the ribbons—while her upper arm was being pulled in, her forearm yanked up and her wrist dragged down. The same went for all of her appendages, and all the while she was being suffocated, her cries muffled by the black satin that had once so lovingly brushed her lips. Her chest was compressed each time she exhaled; she could feel the pinch as she was wrung out like an old rag. Her throat crushed tighter and tighter. Bones cracked, skin tore, blood rushed to her head—a hideous scream ripped from her throat as the darkness collapsed the light around her.
Shego screamed and sat bolt upright into the darkness. But this black air she could breathe, smell, taste. She gulped down the refreshing cool air and tried to think.
Her surroundings came back to her in a rush. This was Drakken's lair; she was in her own room, on her own bed. Her sheets had become so entangled around her it was difficult to move. With an angry grunt, she tore herself free and kicked the linen off of the bed. She was sticky with sweat and the tangy taste of it mixed with the bitter salt of tears. She angrily wiped the discharge from her eyes.
Shego ran her hands over her face and through her hair, gripping it by the roots. This was the fifth night in a row that she had had this recurring nightmare. Night after sleepless night, she would jerk awake with a scream and discover the sweat and the tears that had perspired in the course of the night. Always in her dream, she would be trapped until…until she died. Shego heaved a sigh.
Damn, her throat was dry and her lips cracked. Shego reached over for the glass of water she had brought with her to bed, only to discover that the glass had fallen to the floor, its contents spilled all over the carpet. She swore to herself and, though she did not want to, looked at the little digital clock on her dresser. It read 2:19 a.m.
Shego rested her tired eyes into the palms of her hands. There was no way she was going to be able to fall back to sleep now—not after that nightmare.
At last, she decided to just stay up and stumbled out of bed, taking pieces of sheet with her. Shego could not stop the sigh of exasperation at the folly of another bed spread ripped to shreds during one of these night episodes. She would worry about the bed later; hopefully she could hide the evidence of her destruction before a hapless interloper stuck his nose into her private business. She would make sure any who did so would be dealt with swiftly and given no burial rights.
Slipping into a robe, Shego groggily made her way down the stairs, wandering aimlessly and not caring where her feet led her, so long as she did not fall asleep again.
There was a faint tapping noise somewhere down the corridor and Shego numbly followed the sound.
The bright light assaulted her eyes as most of the lair was dark; only a few fainter lights illuminated the corridors as a handful of the henchmen did their rounds. None dared to bother the robed villainess as she stalked around after hours.
Coming at last into the room, which took her a moment to discern was indeed the kitchen, she saw none other than the mad blue doctor himself. With his back to her, he worked diligently at one of the dining tables momentarily converted into a work bench. Beside him sat a mug of coffee.
Coffee. Sure, why not, she wasn't going to go back to sleep tonight anyway. She drowsily shuffled to the coffee maker knowing the coffee was "fresh" if Drakken was drinking it himself.
"You're up late, Shego." He grumbled to her, hunched over what looked like a remote control. Elbow deep in wires and soldering tools, Drakken uttered figures and electrical equations Shego couldn't make hide or tail of.
"So are you." She retorted, reaching for a mug from one of the cabinets and returning to the coffee maker to fill it. Drakken brushed off her assertion.
Shego huffed a noncommittal noise as she frisked the fridge. Finding what she wanted, she snagged the little plastic case and shut the refrigerator door with her foot. Shego placed her hot drink and snack between blueprints and assorted lengths of wire before taking a seat opposite the goggled Drakken. Still the mad doctor did not look up from his work.
"What is it with you and strawberries?" he asked as Shego popped one of the firm little red fruits into her mouth. She chewed for a moment and swallowed before answering him.
"That's privileged information."
Drakken frowned at her response, but did not argue. He had just finishing wiring his device and now worked to screw the casing on the back. Shego swallowed her fourth strawberry.
"What exactly are you working on anyway?" she said offhandedly, eyes elsewhere.
Drakken paused in his efforts and he looked at the device as though seeing it for the first time. He turned it over slowly in his hands so that the single red button faced him. His eyes went a little wide as though he had just realized he had been working on it all this time. He studied it for a full moment before sighing tiredly.
"Probably something I'll never use."
"Really?" Shego's building tirade dampened at the exhaustion in the man's face. She bit back the urge to reprimand this idiocy and instead chewed more wickedly on the unfortunate strawberry in her mouth. He gingerly set the object aside and took up his mug of coffee for a long, well needed shot of caffeine.
"So," his voice grated as he rubbed at his bloodshot eyes, "what brings you here so early in the morning? I thought you'd be sleeping off your last heist."
Shego shook her head and took a gulp of coffee herself. Drakken gasped suddenly.
"Shego, your face." He pointed. Shego numbly reached up to the offended cheek, drawing her fingers away at the cool sensation. Blood. Shego studied her finger tips a moment, and shrugged the observation off.
"Must have scratched myself in my sleep." She mumbled.
"Looks more like a slash to me." The mad doctor frowned. "Are you all right? This is the fifth night you've been wandering the lab—"
"You've been spying on me?" she accused.
"Please, I prefer the term 'monitoring.'" Drakken made air quotes.
"More like 'major invasion of privacy.'" Shego mimicked right back. Drakken's snap temper surfaced.
"With two hundred people on your payroll, you'd be monitoring your staff for—don't change the subject!" Drakken's small hands balled into fists. "What happened?"
"It's none of your business." she took a swig of coffee. It was bitter.
"Shego, you know that one of my rules is no secrets!"
"So I have secrets. Everyone does."
"Shego. While under my roof you follow my rules—"
"So rewrite them."
"Oh right, Shego, because revising the SOP's to suit one employee isn't a bureaucratic nightmare."
Drakken and Shego bristled at each other, but the latter had superpowers that promptly went on display.
"I'm about to be your worst nightmare." She glared at him. It wasn't the first time Drakken tried to impose rules and regs on her, but he never seemed to remember her disobedience directly correlated with strict obligations. But suddenly Drakken's eyes popped, realization dawning in their corners.
"Is that what this is about? Nightmares?" Drakken's dark eyes surveyed the startled woman. "That would make your sleepwalking make sense."
"NO, it's—I just—stay out of this! It has nothing to do with you!" She jumped to her feet and slammed her glowing green palms on the table so hard every item on its surface shook. Even Drakken drew back. It unnerved her Drakken knew more about her haunted nights than she did cared to remember. Shego turned on her heel and stormed away, muttering. "The less you know the better."
"Shego," Drakken jumped to his own feet, gesturing wildly, "you've been wandering the lair at night for months, sleeping on the job, botching missions; it's—it's affecting our operations! Hiding from…whatever's bothering you won't make it go away." Drakken's ranting outburst buckled and he suddenly fidgeted, uncertain. "An evil family sticks together."
Shego stopped dead. Her fists pulsed bright with raging energy.
"I don't need your help." She said lowly, not turning to face him, venom dripping in her every word. She left the room, leaving behind an air of obscurity and isolation. Drakken slumped back into his chair; his arms crossed on the table before him and rested his chin on them. He stared listlessly at the little device on the cluttered table.
What had he done?
Author's Note: HELLO REA-DAHS! Blackfire 18 is signed back onto Green Silk, Black Satin until completion. For real this time.
A hearty welcome to imitateslife who has graciously agreed to be my beta for the duration of this monster project. Now that I have a higher authority to answer to ahem, the editor, I have no excuse to slack off aside from, you know, work. XD
But yes, this chapter has been updated for readers old and new to enjoy. Shego's nightmare is less verbose and her late night visit with Drakken is much more in character than this chapter's initial release seven years ago. Shego's story unfolds, so stick around. It's sure to be an adventure.
As always, "How's My Driv-Writing? Call the review box below!"