Usual disclaimers here. I don't own anything. Never have, most likely never will.
Please checkout the first story at 2983607/1/Youve_got_another_thing_comin
That will make this an easier read

Song: "This Animal I Have Become"
Artist: Three Days Grace
Location: youtube /watch?v=wE0-_2n1Vh8

Chapter 1 This Animal I Have Become

Ron looked up and saw Warhok reach down and pick up Kim, holding her upside down by one leg. When he heard Warhok offer to have her mounted in the trophy room, for the first time, Ron allowed the Mystical Monkey Power free reign. His brown eyes started glowing a cool azure. Rising to his feet, he held his right hand out to his side and murmured, "Lotus Blade." With a "BAMPF" of displaced air, the blade appeared in his hand.

I can't escape this hell
So many times I've tried
But I'm still caged inside
Somebody get me through this nightmare
I can't control myself

The sound drew the attention of the potential conquerors. And where before there was someone they dismissed as a buffoon, there now stood a threat. An armed threat. What he intended to do with a sword against two of the greatest warriors of Lowardia was anyone's guess. Looking at him was strange. It was like looking through a pane of glass that had a layer of water flowing across it. His image was wavering and surrounded by a dim blue haze.

So what if you can see the darkest side of me
No one will ever change this animal I have become
Help me believe it's not the real me
Somebody help me tame this animal!
This animal, this animal

The Warrior with the Blade was standing with his right side facing the pair. The sword held low to his left in a strange reversed grip. His eyes were downcast, looking at the ground just in front of them. Then he spoke in a calm, quiet, chilling voice, "If you wish to live, GENTLY, set her down, board you ship and leave."

Warmonga placed herself in front of the Warrior with her hands on her hips, asking with a snarky voice, "Or what? I remember you from the last time. And even the false Great Blue called you a Buffoon. So I ask you again. Or. What."

I can't escape myself (I can't escape myself)
So many times I've lied (So many times I've lied)
But there's still rage inside
Somebody get me through this nightmare
I can't control myself

The eyes blazed from the cool azure to an incandescent blue/white and the Blade took on the same fierce glow. His image blurred for an instant and the only reason Warhok was able to track the Blade was its' glow. Three strokes, the first vertical moving upwards, the second from right to left just below shoulder height, the last back across right above the hips.

So what if you can see the darkest side of me
No one will ever change this animal I have become
Help me believe it's not the real me
Somebody help me tame this animal I have become
Help me believe it's not the real me
Somebody help me tame this animal

And Warmonga, the only female he had ever cared about, one of the greatest warriors of Lowardia, second only to himself, fell to the ground in ten pieces. Her wounds cauterized by the Blade, The vertical stroke had bisected her body and the two lateral strokes had separated the arms from the shoulders and hands from the wrists, while cutting her torso into three sections.

"That.", the Warrior answered matter-of-factly. Shifting his attention to the remainder of pair. Still in the quiet, bone-chilling voice, he repeated his warning. "If you wish to live, GENTLY, set her down, board you ship and leave."

Looking aghast at the remains of his lover his expression changed to one of fury. Flipping the female in his hand over and grabbing her by the front of the blue and white suit she was wearing, Warhok hurled her it the Warrior, and leapt after her at the Warrior screaming his rage.

Somebody help me through this nightmare
I can't control myself
Somebody wake me from this nightmare
I can't escape this hell

Something strange happened then. He saw the Warrior catch the female, and the next instant, the world was tumbling. He landed on his side, but it was weird, he didn't feel the impact. He couldn't even feel the ground. Seeing the Warrior enter his range of vision, he tried to leap up to crush the killer of his mate. But he couldn't move.

The much smaller Warrior reached down, grabbed him by the back of the head and lifted him to eye level, with no effort at all. He looked into the eyes of his enemy with ruthless, remorseless, pitiless eyes and with a voice as cold as space spoke. "You know dude, it's strange the things you can learn from TV. Like the fact that it takes 3-4 minutes for the brain to die from lack of oxygen. Or that the eyes and ears, unlike everything else in the body, are wired directly into the brain."

This animal, this animal
This animal, this animal
This animal, this animal
This animal

Warhok was starting to get an inkling of where this was going. For the first time in years, Warhok, conqueror of worlds, a scourge of space, the bane of more then a few civilizations, knew fear at the hands of a Warrior less then half his size.

"That means, that if it happens fast enough, when you cut off someone's head, they can still see and hear you." The Warrior turned him to look at his own twitching headless body. The last thing he heard was the space cold voice close to his ear, telling him. "I warned you."

So what if you can see the darkest side of me
No one will ever change this animal I have become
Help me believe it's not the real me
Somebody help me tame this animal I have become

And the world faded to black for Warhok, Warrior of Lowardia.

After looking at the lifeless eyes of his enemy, Ron casually tossed the head aside. Looking at the crumpled form of his soul mate, he knew she would never look at him with her shimmering emerald orbs again. He had known it the instant Warhok had thrown her. Her neck at an unnatural angle.

He screamed his pain and frustration. Finished he looked at his dead and defeated enemies. Something occurred him. 'They conquered the world, no they've conquered worlds. And I conquered them. That means…'

Help me believe it's not the real me
Somebody help me tame this animal!
This animal I have become

Raising his arms overhead, holding the sword in his right hand, he laughed as he saw his arms and hands changed from the normal skin tone to a malevolent blue.


In his bed, eyes twitching violently behind his eyelids with the unmistakable signs of REM sleep, Ron Stoppable tossed and turned in the grips of the nightmare.

As the vision reached it conclusion, he snapped awake with a scream. Looking fearfully around to see that he was in his room. Not the battleground the outskirts of Middleton had been three months ago. Not knowing what else to do and feeling terribly alone, he hugged his pillow to his chest and sobbed. He had been alone for close to two months, ever since he and Kim had split up. She just couldn't understand how he could have killed the Lowardians, and the fact he had no choice didn't seem to be a good enough reason.

The last mission they had gone on hadn't helped. Dementor, trying to take advantage of the chaos surrounding the aborted invasion, had tried another whack plan to capture the Pan Dimensional Vortex Inducer. When Team Possible had arrived to stop him, things got out of hand. Kim had been slightly off her game since the invasion, and Ron had been wound tighter than a lute string.

It started off fine, until one of Dementor's Henchmen had gotten lucky at the same time as Kim's focus slipped. Landing a hit with his stave, he slammed her into the wall hard enough to rattle her teeth. She was stunned, but she wasn't completely out.

That's when she saw Ron go berserk. In a span of two minutes, he had either brutally disabled or mercifully knocked out the remaining Henchmen. Then he turned his attention to Dementor.

Dementor had heard reports that 'The Buffoon' had defeated the invaders, but dismissed them as either fabrications or disinformation to frighten the villainous community. He was wrong. When Ron focused on Dementor, the short Bavarian came to the conclusion that, if anything, the reports had been understated.

Ron had taken one of the Henchmen's staves and was standing there holding it in an attack stance, eyes glowing a malignant blue. Dementor turned to run but he hadn't taken two steps before he felt something crash into his side with enough force to break his ribs. The next blow rang his steel helmet hard enough to dent it. The second blow had knocked him over onto his back. Looking up he saw 'The Buffoon' holding the stave over his head, ready to drive it through his skull when he heard a feminine voice scream, "ROOONNN."

Like a switch being thrown, the malignancy faded from his eyes, leaving a warm azure. Snapping his head to where she lay, he appeared to teleport to her side. He let go of the stave and moved so fast the he got there at the same time it hit the ground. Wrapping her in his arms, he cried, knowing she was safe.

Someone at GJ had leaked the video of the mission to the media, and while the newsies still got his name wrong, every single one their normal adversaries had gotten the message. Hurt Kim Possible at the risk of your own life. Because if you do, 'The Buffoon' would make you pay. Dearly. He was on video tape brutally and ruthlessly taking out a squad of Hench Co's best in less then two minutes without taking a scratch, bump or bruise. They might still have called him 'The Buffoon', but now they said it with fear. And only because they didn't know his name.

That was the final straw for Kim though. In their entire career no one had gotten seriously hurt. And in the span of less then a month, her partner had permanently disabled seven Henchmen, hospitalized another eight, sent Dementor to the hospital where they had to set his ribs and cut off his helmet to relieve the pressure on his brain and killed the two aliens.

She cut off all contact with Ron until they had time to think things over. That was nearly two months ago.

In the time since his only support had come from his Mothers brother, Roger. It wasn't that his parents didn't want to help, they just didn't know how. Uncle Rog had showed up one day about a week after the split. Ron hadn't seen Kim in 7 or 8 days by then and hadn't slept in longer. The nightmares were keeping him up.

Dragging Ron back to his place, Roger took him to the garage and slapped a wrench in one hand and a tall frosty beer in the other. When Ron looked at the beer funny, Roger said. "Shut up and drink it or I'll kick your ass. You cant be a shade tree mechanic without a beer."

"Mechanic? What are you talking about Uncle Rog?"

"This." with that short statement he walked to the far corner of the garage. He pulled a cover off of a car that had been there as long as Ron could remember. The car was so old Ron had no idea about the make or model. When he questioned his older relative about it, he got a weird answer.

"This is Elma Lee."


"Don't ask. Really long story. But to answer your question, Ronnie. This is a 1964 Ford Galaxie 500, four door. Used to belong to your Grandpap. I drove during and after high school. She might not have been the fastest car in Middleton, but she always did me right. HEHEHE, check this out."

Roger went to the drivers side, opened the door and sat on the LONG, WIDE bench seat. The seat back had no head rests. "Watch closely." He reached to the side of the bench and pulled a lever causing the front seat back to lower until it was level with the rear bench. The result was nearly as big as a queen sized bed. "HAHAHAHA, like I said, she wasn't the fastest, but she always did me right."

"WHOA!" was the only response Ron could come up with.

"Dig this, Hehe, the guy your Grandpap bought the car from, yeah, he decided the original 390 wasn't big enough and replaced it."

"WHAT? What's in there then?"

"Take a look." Opening the hood, Roger could see Ron had no idea what he was looking at.

"Ronnie, this is 428 CobraJet. When I got the car, I took off the four barrel Holly and manifold. I replaced it with three Carter 400's. Triple Deuce. A Six Pack. 1200 Cubic Feet a Minute up top and a set of waste gate underneath, three/quarter cam, dual exhaust and a Dynatrack rear-end. This was years before turbos and computer chips. We made our power the old fashioned way. A lot a Cubes, a lot a air and a lot a fuel."

"Ol' Elma Lee here use to take off like a rocket sled. Her only problem was, she was a sled alright, a lead sled. She couldn't take a corner for shit. I always meant to give her to your cousin, but you know what happened there." And Ron did too, when he was about 7 or 8 his cousin had been hit by a drunk driver. And now while Roger might drink, he was rabid on the subject of DUI's.

Looking down the length of the car, Roger started getting nostalgic. "I met your Aunt in this car. Hehehehe, there's a good chance your cousin was conceived in this car." Roger was getting wistful now. "But when we got married, I had to park her. I couldn't afford the gas and insurance. I had a family."

Running his hand along the front fender, he continued, "I couldn't be driving around in a hot rod all the time. I almost sold her a bunch a times. But every time I thought about it, your Aunt talked me out of it. So now here she sits. Every year a little more rust, a little more dry rot, a little more deterioration."

Looking at Ron with a wide cheesy grin he said, "But your gonna help me change all that."

Wide-eyed, Ron looked back at his Uncle. "Uhhh, I don't know Uncle Rog, I mean, me and tools don't get along too well. Are you sure you want my help?"

Taking a long pull from his beer Roger gave Ron a hard look and pointing at him with the bottle. "Aren't you the one who nearly took over the world with the Mega Weather Generator. The one you built by yourself. Or built a catapult out of the shop classes table saw. Come on Ronnie, don't try to B.S. me. I know better. Now, lets get busy."

Roger gave Ron a set of coveralls to protect his clothes and forced Ron to do most of the work while he directed, explained and fetched. During that time they talked about anything and everything. A few hours and SEVERAL beers later, Ron could dimly remember Roger's question, "Hey Ronnie, don't you have a car?"

Ron was slurring badly by now. "Noooope, had a scoooooteeeer for while."

"Why not?"

"Can' ford one, use jus ride everwhere wid KaaayPeeeee." Sigh "Not ne more though."

"Hmmm, You got fifty bucks?"

Checking his wallet, all Ron found was two twenties and a five. Roger snatched the money, saying. "Good nough. Here." and he stuffed a folded piece of paper into Ron's wallet.

A little later Roger walked to the phone on the wall. Picking it up he dialed a number. "Steve, it's Rog. Hey, do me favor? I've been drinking, give Ron a ride home? 20 minutes? Thanks."

Pushing the switch to hang up, he released it and dialed another number. "Barb, it's Roger. Listen, I got Steve bringing Ron home… Because we been drinking, why do you think… Course I did… Yea, but I bet he sleeps tonight… Look, when he gets home just pour him into bed. Hehe, you might wanna leave a few bottles of water and some Tylenol on his nightstand… Yeah, I'll clean im up before I send 'im home. I'll swing by and pick him in the morning… Alright. Night Barb, I'll see ya tomorrow."

Hanging up the phone, he turned back to the car. Ron was laying across the fender with his tongue in the corner of his mouth, patiently trying to fit a distributor wrench through to remove the bolt in the hold-down. Without much success.

Shaking his head Roger called "Hey Ronnie." When Ron looked up all bleary eyed, chuckling Roger added, "Come on, let's get you cleaned up. Your mom will have my guts for garters if I send ya back looking like that." Thanks to the heat they had both removed their shirts. Ron was covered past the elbows in grease and grime. He also had streaks on his face and torso.

Ron followed to the outside of the garage where Roger had a sink installed under the carport. Squirting a liberal amount of GoJo into Ron's hands, he had him scrub the pumice loaded cleaner up to his shoulders. Using a milder soap they cleaned their torsos and faces.

Getting Ron out of the coveralls proved tricky, but Roger had experience with more then one bender. His wife went on one after the death of their son. He was two years straightening that out, while he was dealing with his own grief. They nearly divorced over it.

When Steve Barkin got there and saw the state Ron was in, he jokingly threatened Roger. "Rog, I oughta call Officer Hobble about this."

Gone was the affable Uncle Rog. In his place stood a grim figure with a military bearing. "Go ahead, I'll deal with it. The boy needed some sleep and something else to think about. Since that stupid female he was hanging with can't help him, I will!"

"Rog, I was just joking."

"Mnnnggggggg, I know. But I read the reports, what the fuck else did she expect him to do. The boy had no choice."

"I know, Rog. But she's all caught up in with 'Thou shall not kill', know what I mean."

Roger growled "That's not how the sixth Commandment translates from the Hebrew, and you bloody fucking well know it. It translates as 'Thou shalt not murder', there a difference."

"I know. Look, let me get Ron home. You've been drinking, you gonna be OK?"

"Steve, when's the last time you seen me stupid drunk?"

Barkin replied with a rueful grin. "Bout ten years."

"Yep, so what's that tell ya."

"Hehe, fine. See ya tomorrow?"

"Yeah I'll be here most of the day, except for when I go to pick up Ronnie to work on his car."

Barkin was stunned. "Rog, you didn't."

With a wide grin Roger answered, "Sure did. I had a friend of mine pop over, he's a notary. Title is signed, sealed and delivered. It's in Ronnie's wallet now."

"Rog, your wife would roll over I her grave if she knew you sold that car. She loved it as much as you did."

"Yes, she did. And, no, she wouldn't. And that's because I gave it to Ronnie. He might have only been a nephew in law to her, but she loved that boy, almost as much as our own son."

"Hehehe, alright, I'll see ya tomorrow."

"See ya later, Steve."

Barkin helped Mrs. Stoppable get Ron into his bed and pulled off his shoes. She thanked the ex-Marine for his help while muttering about nitwit brothers. For the first time since the invasion though, he'd slept through the night and into the morning.

He woke up with a blinding headache that seemed to be centered just behind his left eye. But other then the headache he felt better then he had in weeks. With all the junk in Ron's wallet, it was two weeks before he found the title. Stuck between some Bueno Bucks and a Smarty Mart Coupon.

But the nightmares were getting worse. And tonight had been the worse yet. So Ron curled up to his pillow and sobbed.

A few blocks away, a young woman sat in her bed, with her back to the headrest and her knees pulled to her chest. She was wearing a red and black hockey jersey and clutching a plushie. It was a weird mixture of a panda and kangaroo.

Both the jersey and the plushie were tokens of someone she thought she knew better then anyone. Better then her parents, her brothers, even better then herself. But did she really know him. After all, he had done something she would have never thought him capable of. He had killed other sentient beings. How could he have done that.

And the worst part for her was, as many times as she had gone through the sitch, she couldn't find a better solution. They aliens had stopped the worlds militaries, Shego and Drakken and her. The only one that stopped them was a goofy, tow headed young man. Even capturing them most likely would have failed, because they had the innate strength, skills and motivation to escape any cells humanity could have devised.

They had been given more then enough chances to leave and refused. They were bent on conquering the planet, and the only way anyone had found to stop them, was his solution.

This was more then a blow to her worldview. It shattered it. She had never been faced with the idea that the only way to win, was to kill. And she didn't know how to handle it.

She knew Ron was hurting. She had been at the campus last week, getting ready for the upcoming semester when a man, just above average height stopped her.

"Miss Possible, may I speak with you a moment?" From his look and bearing, he was either Military or ex-Military, and definitely blue collar. She recognized him from somewhere, but she wasn't sure where.

Kim was vain enough to know she was an attractive young woman, so when this older man approached her she was on guard. "Do I know you?"

"Not really, Ma'am, but you know my nephew. Ron. You need to talk to him. He's hurting, badly. And your cutting off your relationship like you did isn't helping things. He needs your help and support. Desperately."

Hearing the name of her best friend, partner and semi-ex, she didn't know what to say or do. Here was someone she didn't really know calling her on the very same things her parents and friends had mentioned. Monique had threatened try and steal him away. Bed him if necessary. What ever it took to help Ron. Barkin had been livid and told her that Ron was suffering PTSD and the thing he needed most was her support, and he wasn't getting it.

So she sat in her bed, crying for a loss she didn't know how to articulate and for the lack of a presence she needed and didn't have.

Unknown to the both of them help was on the way.

Crossing the Eastern Seaboard at 40,000 feet was a cargo transport. A huge Antonov 124. The largest regularly flying aircraft in the world. It was even bigger then the American C-5 with 25% more carrying capacity. This massive aircraft regularly flew around the world, delivering cargo to differing locations. Always flying to the west allowed to have a slightly higher ground speed.

To insure the maximum amount of air time it had accommodations for two flight crews, working in 12 hour shifts. They would spend one week on and one week off, switching crews at its home base near Hamburg, Germany.

It had left Hamburg, Germany earlier flying to one of only two scheduled destinations in the United States on this circuit. A base outside of Yuma, Arizona, where it would discharge most of it's cargo before flying on to another base near Seattle, Washington to fill the cavernous cargo bay again.

ETA to the Yuma base was oh-three-thirty with an expected ground time of 4 to 6 hours. The Chief had deadlined the front cargo door until he could make repairs. Either in the air or on the ground. Either way, it might slow them, but it wouldn't stop them. Most of the cargo was destined to remain in Yuma. But a tiny fraction of it and two passengers would leave the Yuma base and continue on to a small town in Colorado called Middleton.


The car mentioned was real. Was my Grandmothers, bought by my Grandpa. And I did the exact same thing to it. I ruled the Drive-in in High School