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Enter the Naked Mole Rat	By : kwh Category: Kim Possible > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 18153 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Kim Possible, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
'Sixteen thousand...'; Shego braced herself solidly in the open doorway at the rear of the cockpit section of the plane she had so recently been piloting, as the horizon, the sea and the sky span crazily through her vision. Her eyes were already streaming from the effect of the 150mph wind, and she was still partly sheltered by the mass of metal around her! She was waiting for the distant coast of Africa to pass through her field of vision at just the right angle for her to kick off towards it, belly down. She needed the reference, the haze made picking out the horizon between sea and sky far too difficult with the wind in her face. And time was definitely not on her side! At a rough guess, based on an assumption about the terminal velocity of the cockpit section of the plane, she now had less than thirty seconds before it hit the sea, with or without her on board. Her whole head was still ringing like a bell from the pressure wave that had accompanied the 'whump' of the rapid chain reaction of sequential fuel tank explosions, and judging by the intense pain in her left ear and the sticky feeling around the side of her face, that eardrum had perforated yet again. So far it had always healed up, amazingly quickly as well, her comet enhanced healing powers working wonders with injuries that would normally never heal, but miracles took longer - and the break down of scar tissue was one of those miracles. And the scar tissue meant that the damned thing kept bursting again under stress, and it hurt like hell. All she needed was a couple of years without blowing the thing out again, and it would be as good as new, but she had been telling herself that for ten years now and hadn't managed to get that far.
'...Twenty thousand, Twenty-one thousand...'. Height getting critical now, she thought, and then decided that if she didn't get a break soon she was gonna have to jump anyway and take a chance on not being shredded in mid air by the several tonnes of fast-spinning jagged metal she was currently riding.
'...Twenty-four thousand, Twenty-five thousand...'. Shit, twenty seconds to a big splash if her maths was right. If her maths was wrong, she doubted she'd know much about it. Then suddenly the horizon flew up from beneath her, Africa directly in front of her, at a jaunty angle. 'Fuck it, that'll do!', she said to herself as she launched herself with a two-footed thrust into the airflow, head first and down, arms tucked in to her sides, desperate for speed and separation.
'...Twenty-eight thousand...'. She could barely see, unprotected eyes all but closed yet still streaming as she accelerated towards 300mph, noticing through tears that the sea was coming closer, faster and realising that her time on this earth was spooling down ever more rapidly. And then two things happened in quick succession. At about 280mph, the Orange boiler suit suddenly ballooned, and then shredded, followed a second later by the adult diaper, but not before it had thrown her into a violent uncontrolled tumble. As she struggled to stabilise herself, she felt a violent and very painful blow on her right upper bicep and she saw a sharp-edged piece of wreckage tumble away. The pain was excruciating, but her arm still seemed to work as she finally righted herself and opted for a slightly less extreme, more horizontal track, falling at perhaps 200mph and moving out across the sky from the debris storm as far as possible. Clammy, diaper-rash afflicted skin stings in 200mph wind blast. Who knew? If this was nude skydiving, you could keep it.
'...Thirty-three thousand...'. This was where she thought she ought to be feeling grief. She could only feel burning regret that the arsehole in Langley who organised this horror show wasn't going to die a long, lingering, painful death by her hand. Maybe she could haunt the little bastard to death instead! Shit, the sea was hurtling up at her now, and time was slowing down. If she had been wearing a parachute, she'd be thinking she had left it too late to open it. No point in spreading her body now, just to try and slow her fall and get an extra second of life. The faster she hit, the better really. She knew she wouldn't actually feel it as such, it would be like hitting concrete at 200mph. Well, she hoped not. She pushed her head hard down again to accelerate and make sure.
'...Thirty-four thousand...', and it was touch and go whether she'd finish the next count. It was true, though, not that she was ever going to be able to tell anybody, that the last second of her life was also going to be the longest. But why hadn't her entire life flashed before her eyes yet? As she mentally formed that thought, suddenly she was experiencing a vivid flashback. But not the one she was expecting...
She was 14 again. And really not coping with being a green freak. Or with being 14, really. Or with being able to do the impossible, without getting the rush she used to get before when easier things were more difficult and scary... Or with Henry (or anybody, really, but especially Henry) trying to order her not to do something, anything. So she was standing on the top tier of the scaffolding swathing the Go Tower, looking down at the sea far below, and the tiny figure of her brother Mike standing on the rocks far below with a camcorder, ready to record her utterly pointless quest for cliff-diving immortality. Mike waved, so she took three big paces back and then launched herself as fast as she could towards and over the edge of the platform, in a gloriously perfect swan dive, from 250 feet above the sea. She had a plan. It scared her just thinking about it, unlike most things now, so she was looking forward to the rush. Just as she was about to hit the sea at bone-breaking speed, she fired a blast of plasma from her hands, straight at the water. She had sort of assumed in an optimistic High School Physics kind of way that she could slow her fall by firing a blast downwards. It made a kind of sense, but she wasn't certain enough to try it over concrete. Water, on the other hand, well even if she was wrong, now that she was the incredible hulk, worst case she'd get away with a bit of pain. What could possibly go wrong?
Unexpectedly, she didn't seem to slow down at all. Worse, and even more unexpectedly, the water beneath her just vanished as it turned into steam. No bone-crunching impact with the sea, just barely tolerable steam-room heat as she continued to fall through the hole she was burning in Go Bay! Making it up as she went along, she cut the plasma power and hit a brick wall of water, which hurt about as much as she was expecting, but then suddenly there was nothing. Then pain, beeping of machines, a metal halo around her skull, delirium, gaps in her memory, confusion, nothing from the neck down for a month, thinking that was going to be the rest of her life now, Henry ranting at her for being stupid, then more pain as severed spinal nerves impossibly healed, and some unforgettably terrifying nightmares as even the brain injuries repaired themselves. She had hit the sea bed, broken her neck and almost everything else, including her skull. Henry had run outside from a meeting with the architects, dived in and pulled her out of the water. For some reason she had never got round to trying that dive again. Possibly because she had never been closer to death than she was then. Except for right now.
But with less than a second between Shego and certain oblivion, she suddenly had an improbable lifeline! She punched her fists up over her head and fired them up at full power and closed her eyes tight.
'...Thirty-six thousand...'. She wasn't dead. She felt like she was inside a steam hose, but she was alive. How long for? The Atlantic could be half a mile deep. It could be three miles deep. Or anything in between. At 250 miles per hour, no time to think, what to do about it? Acting on instinct, she forced her outstretched arms a bit further behind her ears and was rewarded by a sickeningly violent body slam in the chest, stomach and thighs, and a feeling like a super-heated water cannon trying to rip her poor abused tits right off her chest. If she had had time to take in a proper breath before she had hit the sea, it would have been knocked out of her time and time again. The bruises that Kimmy had inflicted were as nothing to the sustained and brutal beating that Shego was subjecting herself to as she bounced down a rough scalding-hot water-slide of her own making at over 200mph, slowly forcing the translation of her near vertical plummet into horizontal speed. She felt herself slowing slightly, and the steam got hotter, so she reduced the power in her hands until the temperature became just tolerable again, and continued to lift the direction of travel. She wasn't sure, but she felt like she was travelling slighty upwards now, and slowing as she climbed. Her lungs were bursting, and all the time she was definitely slowing now. Water engulfed her ankles, knees and thighs, clawing her back, and suddenly the water rushed into the remaining steam-filled void she had cut in the water, and she slowed rapidly, scalded and abused flesh caressed by cool water and then attacked by the stinging salt. She opened her eyes and looked up, cutting her plasma. There, above her but not too far, looking at that moment like the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, was the surface. And, she realised, she might yet drown before she reached it. She kicked out towards the light as hard as she could, fighting the overwhelming instinctive urge to breathe in despite being underwater. The surface was getting closer now, but not close enough. She felt the blackness closing in at the edge of her consciousness, as oxygen starvation began to close down her body and brain. Still she kicked for the surface, weakening but desperate. Nothing now but the vestiges of a massive adrenaline and endorphin spike was keeping her going, but she was fading... fading...
'Fourty-four thousand...', and breathe! Glorious fresh air! Sunlight! Alive! Fucking hell, alive! Ha ha ha! Alive! Sweet daylight, sweet air, sweet life, sweet miracles!
'Fourty-fi...', the little voice in the back of her head was continuing the count she had started before she undid her belts in the cockpit, the count that was originally only about telling her how long she had to get clear before it hit the sea. Quarter of a mile behind her the booming crash of a huge chunk of wreckage hitting the sea cut it off short, and she slowly turned herself around as the sea still boiled, marking the spot. As she floated there, still breathing deeply, she became aware of the water in front of her being dappled by little splashes, as a hail of nuts and bolts and unidentifiable lumps of metal hit the water, some as close as fifty yards away. Looking up, she could see the wings, one of them trailing burning fuel and black smoke, fluttering down like satanic confetti. Even higher into the sky was another strata of wreckage, seat cushions, paperwork and the like. At first, Shego was content to watch it all fall, to watch it hit the sea, and to enjoy just being alive. But watching the wreckage fall, and thinking about the late pilot for who 'sorry' was such an inadequate word, and a little-leaguer who would never see his father at a game, and that poor Algerian bastard, Shego's 'joie de vivre' was soon supplanted once again by righteous anger. If CIA HQ at Langley had been within her reach at that very moment, it would not have been a good place to be.
In a few minutes, there was complete silence. No splashing of wreckage, no jet engines overhead, no bird song, nothing. Suddenly, Shego felt very small and lonely. And she realised that she hurt. Everywhere. She was covered in cuts and bruises, all of which were now flaring up now that the adrenaline rush that had bought her here had faded, muscles and ligaments had been strained to their very limits and were now protesting, and she had scalded almost her entire body, including some particularly tender parts of it that you would never ever want to scald. The sea salt was making every inch of sore flesh scream at her like it was on fire, and at the moment, that was all of her flesh, and in addition, her breasts felt like they had been stamped on several times by an angry elephant in metal soled boots.
On the plus side, the diaper rash wasn't bothering her any more.
She glanced down at the water and was shocked to see that it was red. Blood? She was bleeding? And not a trivial amount, either. Certainly enough to attract hungry sharks! But where from? Everything hurt, where to look? She suddenly remembered the mid-air impact and looked to her right arm, and was greeted by a gaping wound. Damn! Of course it would heal. A bandage to stop the bleeding, keep it still for a bit, and she would be fine. The blood loss didn't look like it was critical. Yet. But there was a problem. She didn't have a bandage. She also couldn't keep it still if she wanted to get herself out of here. She had been half hoping that the plane's liferaft would have popped up from the deep by now, but if it hadn't by now, it was never going to. She really didn't fancy fighting off sharks, and if she kept on bleeding then she'd be in real trouble with blood loss soon enough. She realised that there was really only one thing to do, and she was definitely not enthusiatic. She positioned her right arm so that the cut closed up, and while treading water with her legs, she fired up a finger jet of plasma on her left hand, and with a steady hand began welding and cauterising the wound closed. Alone with the ocean, she allowed herself to scream as she did it, a scream laden with pain, with frustration and with rage. When she had finished, she was breathing heavily again, her right arm was defaced by a deep, angry jagged wheal of burnt and agonisingly painful flesh, but the bleeding had stopped.
Now, she looked around herself one last time, took a look at the late morning sun, did some rough mental arithmatic and geography to work out which way her nearest chance of landfall was, now that both the continent of Africa, and the islands of Cape Verde were concealed from her by the curvature of the earth, then factored in anything she could remember about Atlantic oceanography. And then she took a deep breath, and struck out in a lazy front crawl. She knew she had about sixty nautical miles to cover, plus whatever the fickle ocean currents added to the trip, provided she didn't completely miss the islands of Cape Verde. The sea wasn't cold, but frankly, she was in no fit state to be starting an unsupported marathon swim. On the other hand, it was either do this or chose to stay where she was and become shark bait. By all sense and logic, she should already be dead. Nobody would possibly believe that she had survived. She didn't, and she was the one swimming away from it all. She was almost tempted to check herself for wings and a harp. Or horns and a tail.
It was about twelve agonising hours of metronomic swimming later that it occurred to her that if she herself didn't really believe that she had survived, neither would anybody else, including the CIA. By then, the heat of her anger had been subsumed by pain and fatigue into a terrible and coldly calculating determination to visit vengeance upon the root cause of her present desperate situation. They say that revenge is a dish best served cold. Alone in the dark, Shego was chilling hers in a deep freeze! Every muscle, every sinew, every inch of her flesh was ablaze, and yet she had no option but to swim.
Then the rain started, and the sea got up. On the one hand, it compounded her misery, but on the other it saved her from the dehydration that was already causing her to cramp up. She took a brief break from the swimming, on her back, mouth open, greedily drinking the water falling from the sky in sheets until she could drink no more, and then once again, she forced her battered and exhausted body back into motion, and struck out once more for the distant flashing light that was now her goal. Once the sun had finally gone down, before land had appeared on the horizon, she had feared that she might spend the night swimming in circles, but as darkness fell she was grateful for the bloom of the beam of a lighthouse passing overhead, a lighthouse that could only be on one of the islands of the Cape Verde chain. Just before dawn, the light itself was clearly in view well above the horizon, and she was using the sequence of its flashes to pace her ruined body as she continued to swim, stroke after agonising stroke, not daring to pause or try to take a rest lest she was unable to start again.
At 5 minutes after ten in the morning local time, twenty two and a half hours after finding herself in the sea, Shegos knee hit the sand of a deserted beach on the north shore of Ilha de Santo Ant�o. For three hours she had been swimming on nothing more than the power of distilled hatred and anger. Every reserve gone, every inch of her body spent, every nerve screaming, she had nothing left. Except anger and hatred. So she had used them. And now she had made landfall. But there was no way she could stand up. She tried, but her arms collapsed, her legs refused to obey and she slumped back into the surf. In desperation, she painfully half leopard-crawled, half dragged her naked, battered, bleeding body above the tide line, and then just as she was set to collapse, she realised that she might be seen if she lay in the open, so she spent another ten agonising minutes dragging herself still further across the black sand and jagged razor sharp rocks of the beach, until she was well hidden from above under an overhanging boulder.
Then, and only then, she passed out unconscious and slept the sleep of the dead.
- 13
- 14
- 15
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Enter the Naked Mole Rat