WOW! It's been months since I've written a new story and at LEAST a year or two since that story has been about Kim Possible! Hehe…for some reason I started looking back at the livejournal communities…and I suddenly felt out of touch with KP…namely Monty. So I watched a few episodes on Youtube (the ones that WEREN'T messing up for me) and decided, what the hell, I'll write a dark fanfic. Try something new.
A wealthy child's life has always been a hectic one, full of commands and obedience.
A wealthy English child's life has always been full of commands, obedience, and control.
For Monty Fiske, this was too true. He could only faintly recall his parents being kind to him, only a handful of memories where they came to some sort of school function without a cell phone attached to their ears, and could near to not remember any warm, physical contact. He, like many others born into the blessed curse, was not a son but an heir; nothing more.
Monty had always been passed off to servants, nannies, and governesses. It was only when he saw his first karate match that he came alive, that he realized there was more to life than just…being an heir.
It was such a young age when, on a rather warm day, he met his soon-to-be-karate teacher in a match. He couldn't recall much, not even age, other than the actual fight and the slick, smooth way the teacher moved. Not even a week later he was learning stances from the man.
His first lesson: control.
Everything after that was just a sub-lesson, something that came out of the first one every time. It wasn't just in Tai Shing Pek Kwar, it was in life too. He managed to get an education and, therefore, escape his parents' controlling hands. By the time they were deceased, he had already found one of the monkey statues he had heard so much about.
And now, so many years after the fourth was brought back by Kim Possible, he found himself questioning his control. If it was as stern as before, as stern as he once prided himself on, why was that irritating red head still alive?
Monkey Fist had let Kim Possible get away alive one too many times. Why? It was because his mind was split in two on Kim and Ron…and which to kill first. It was that precise lack of control of focus that sent him failing twice over every time they met and departed without so much of a cut off limb.
This time…Monkey Fist smirked. This time, he would get back on track. He would cut his problems in half by cutting Kim Possible in half.
It was winter so the days were usually cloudy, dark. Around noon he snuck into her house and hid in the closet, waiting. By the time she came, she was exhausted. Monty had picked winter for more than the easy hiding; it was also the fact that she was studying relentlessly for finals. When she got to her room, she threw her bag off of her shoulder and collapsed on her bed.
To shorten the chances of screwing up, he waited ten minutes. When he finished counting in his head, Monty slipped out, his monkey hand still holding the closet door just in case. The other hand held not wood, but metal. Sharp metal. A dagger.
With Kim out of the way, that bumbling fool of a sidekick would be an easy prey. Perhaps Monty would toy with Ron for a while…torment him. The idea of torture suddenly made him smile; he knew what he would do.
It was Tuesday morning: Algebra, Chemistry, and P.E were Ronald's final exams for the day. He slammed his head against the locker, wondering if he'd be able to fake sick for one more day of studying. But wait, he had done that yesterday…and Friday…and Thursday. Yeah, he was out of those days.
It probably wouldn't help him anyway. He had spent all those days off, and the weekend, playing games and betting things with Rufus. He just lacked discipline, control.
Where was KP? Usually she was there already. Surely she wasn't off on a mission!
As he opened his locker, the lock just taken off, to get his notebook, he saw a smudge of red on the bottom. "Huh?" He frowned, pushing his blond hair back. When he opened it fully, there was something hanging inside, dangling.
A bone-chilling scream was ripped from his throat. Those nearby, even in the next hallway, shuddered and rushed over. All those surrounding him, however, were not seen by Ronald, for his eyes lingered on the thing in the locker.
Tied up from the jacket-hook on the top was red hair which was attached to a head. Kim Possible's head. Her lovely eyes were open, staring dully at Ronald, and her mouth hung up with blood dripping from her lips and the remaining pieces of her neck.