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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
- 7
- 8
- 9
It was very dark, and very quiet in the bathroom attached to Kim's bedroom. Quiet, that is apart from the sound of muffled sobbing. Wracking, gasping sobs. Sobs that were stifled only by a stuffed Pandaroo, which Kim was hanging on to for grim death. Her watch told her it was 3 AM, and the tiled floor was cold under her bare feet and backside, but she daren't move away from the lavatory too far in case... those... images flashed through her head again. And then she would surely be violently sick again. Or more likely, dry heave - there was nothing left to bring up. There was no way she could sleep at the moment. Even closing her eyes was terrifying. And she had to be back at GJ first thing in the morning for that postponed briefing. She really had believed that she didn't want to know more about why Shego was wanted by the Uzbeks. She really had believed that Betty Director had been sincere. Now she knew why.

oOo
Kim made her way up the stairs, fully intending to get her head down for an early night. Telling the Dr's Possible over dinner that she would be away on a mission for a couple of weeks hadn't really been the problem she had imagined it might be, once Dad had been reassured that her summer assignments would all still be done before the start of the new school year. Indeed, Mrs Dr Possible had seemed happy that Kim would be keeping busy, with Ron being unexpectedly away. She suspected that had she suggested the two week hiking holiday with Ron that she had tentatively been dreaming about organising, before Ron had been whisked away from her, the reaction might have been somewhat less positive. At least from Dad. She had long ago given up trying to fathom the thought process that allowed Mr Dr Possible to treat her regular dices with death with almost total equanimity, yet completely blow a fuse when confronted by the reality that she might be dating; some things just defied rational analysis. One unexpected benefit of her briefing being postponed until the next morning was that she'd been able to tell them as much as she knew about what she would be doing. Which was precious little, truth be told. Usually, whenever Global Justice had worked with her in the past they had imposed ridiculously melodramatic secrecy requirements, in return for offering her use of their resources, and she had a couple of times been in the most uncomfortable position of having to walk a fine line between lying to her parents, if only by omission, and breaking her agreement with Global Justice. Still, for some reason she hadn't told them about what had happened to Shego. She didn't know why.
Just as soon as she had closed her bedroom door behind her, the Kimunicator chirped. "What's the sitch, Wade?", she asked.
"Kim, I've pulled a lot of data together on what Shego was doing in Uzbekistan. I've got a copy of the Global Justice after action report, some pictures and I've managed to get hold of video from both Global Justice and from Uzbekistan. Should I send it to you or would you like me to analyse it and just give you the headlines?" asked Wade.
"Wade, don't even look at it. Any of it," Kim said, quickly. Wade just blinked, enigmatically. Had he already looked, Kim wondered? Perhaps it wasn't so bad after all!
Then she made a fateful decision. She could do anything. So of course she would be able to cope with whatever Wade might send her. "Wade, download all of it to the Kimmunicator, and then delete your copy, OK?"
"Err..Kim...", Wade started to protest.
"Sorry, Wade, but I need you to do this", she admonished. "I so don't want you to have nightmares on my account! Please and thank-you!"
Wade frowned. A few seconds later he said "OK, transfer complete! And I've deleted my copies."
"You rock, Wade!", she asserted. Then she cut the link, swapped her Club Banana street clothes for a comfortable sleep shirt, climbed into bed and settled down to read the after-action report on the Kimmunicator's screen.
The dry language of the report failed to capture the true horror of what had happened in and to the small town of Tarqand, although it described the events visible from a satellite overhead in excruciating detail. It also referred ominously to the events that had occurred inside the Interior Ministry building, but only in passing and by reference to the garbled second hand accounts of a couple of survivors from the town who had escaped into the surrounding hills after the Uzbek security forces had brutally 're-established control'. They had almost wiped out the town's population in the process, using overwhelming and brutal force, up to and including air strikes, against any dissent or resistance, past or ongoing. The consequences for the inhabitants of Tarqand had been catastrophic, with the majority of the population killed, and most of the survivors swept up and herded en masse into a slave labour camp at gunpoint. The town itself was substantially destroyed, while the police, the interior ministry and the SNB had all suffered mass casualties and enormous infrastructure damage at the hands of the enraged Shego.
All of this was clear from the text she was reading, some of it open mouthed, some of it her lip bitten. But in the coldly dispassionate prose of the professionally written reportage of events that comprises an after action report, it was quite obvious why Shego had done what she had done, quite obvious that her motives were indubitably far from evil, and quite obvious also that she hadn't thought through the consequences or considered her actions carefully at all, to the detriment of those she had tried to help. And evil or not, she had definitely killed a great many people, some very violently. But all that was easy to say, reading the report in the safe and comfortable surroundings of her own bedroom. It described a whole series of horrific events, but in a way that diluted their impact. And that diluted impact lulled her into a false sense of security.
She opened the first video, which it became clear originated from the global justice satellite that had been tracking Shego's jet through Uzbek airspace. It was a bit hard to pick out detail on the screen of the Kimmunicator, so she set it down on her bedside table and switched it to projector mode; the images were displayed in much larger form on the white painted door of her bedroom closet. She found that rather than watching video footage, she was actually watching a series of extraordinarily high resolution still images, taken from space approximately ten seconds apart, and then assembled into a stop-motion film that approximated to real time.
The sheer weirdness of the video gave the events it depicted a spurious air of unreality. The first few snapshots in the sequence were of Shegos' jet over different pieces of Uzbek terrain, and then suddenly the next snapshot showed the plane against the backdrop of a small town, and Kim had ten seconds to look at tiny bodies and even smaller pools of blood on the ground beneath the plane, with little people in uniform standing amongst them. And then events unfolded, just as the after action report had described. The snapshots made it all the more vivid, of course, but there were no real surprises. Some of the individual vignettes were memorable. In one frame, red streaks that could only be from tracer rounds were converging on a tumbling Shego, captured in mid gyration, from various directions.
In the very next tablaux, captured ten seconds later, there were hardly any red streaks in the frame, but a number of the vehicles from behind which the police had been firing at Shego were ablaze, surrounded by more diminutive bodies.
Although the disjointed and silent images of Shego carving her way, sometimes literally, through the police of Tarqand were powerful and sometimes disturbing, the small scale and the perspective from directly overhead, combined with the flashcard style, did dim their impact somewhat. The fractured mute images of events after she left the town, the shooting down of the laden helicopter gunships, Shego's desperate and repeated strafing of the column of interior ministry troops, the burning vehicles, the death and destruction, then the start of the assault on the town and its population, were more poignant than horrific.
Thinking about the reality the images depicted was harder. The pictures themselves had an almost video-game quality about them. Especially the way that, as Shego was forced to make a break for it, the satellite's cameras followed her and the fate of the town was sealed without witnesses. Nevertheless, Kim found an involuntary tear springing from the corner of her eye, and she realised that she had bitten her lip a few times. Still, she concluded, she would be able to cope with having watched this.
Then she turned to what it transpired was a group of videos, which were accompanied by a hypertext document containing a floor plan with camera locations marked, a brief description in American English of the layout of the Tarqand interior ministry building's basement, and the timeline of each video clip. These hadn't come from Global Justice. Indeed, judging by the after action report, Global Justice had never seen them. These looked like they had been lifted straight from an archive in Uzbekistan. Those marked camera locations also doubled as hyperlinks to the raw video from those same cameras. There was also another link to a compilation video which the document explained was the significant action from the 11 cameras edited together to make a single film, a film which started at the point in time that Shego first overflew the town, and ended at the point she was forced to escape. She was quite blasé about watching this video. How bad could it possibly be?
Worse than she ever could have imagined in her wildest nightmares, if only she had known.
The first thing she noticed when she played the compilation film was the better-than broadcast quality video and the hi-fidelity sound (in her headphones, which she was using to save keeping anybody else in the house awake).
At first Kim thought that somebody must have over specified the security cameras hugely. It was only later, when she was huddled in the bathroom, that she realised the chilling truth - that somebody had wanted to be able to enjoy what was happening in that basement, and possibly in others like it, without having to physically be there.
Somewhere in the Uzbek hierarchy, there was somebody being entertained by what was happening in front of those cameras. It was a realisation awful enough to make anybody retch. There were other things that Kim at first misinterpreted. For example, she was immediately puzzled by what appeared to be a slaughter-man carefully skinning a side of beef hanging on a meat hook.
It was only as the carcass was turned that Kim suddenly realised that it wasn't a side of beef being skinned, it was a human being.
Kim's head span, and her stomach heaved, but she stared in awful, horrified fascination. And then what she had assumed was a corpse opened its eyes, started writhing and screamed at the top of its lungs in mortal agony.
Kim had realised that she was watching a woman being skinned alive.
She was fortunate that there was a metal trash can beside her bed. The horrifying blood-curdling screams continued to bounce around inside her skull, and they so paralysed her mind that she couldn't pull together sufficient faculties to even rip the headphones from her head. Each new scream caused another involuntary contraction of Kim's stomach, as a momentary sideways glance at the closet door showed the delighted looking perpetrator of this inhuman cruelty throwing handfuls of salt at the blood-soaked flesh and muscle of his excorticated victim.
Finally, Kim was able to muster the motor control to hit the pause button on the Kimunicator. By now, the waste basket already contained her last two meals and half her stomach lining, and her face was streaked with tears. She hadn't even realised that she was crying. But the moment she stopped the video, she realised that she felt compelled to watch it to the end. Even if it killed her; which she considered that it just might. The after action report had said nothing about this. It had referred to 'unreliable first and second hand reports from excitable local witnesses' and 'some evidence of overly robust interrogation protocols in operation'. This was... this was...
She steeled herself, and resumed the playback. The film cycled around the other cameras, as the torturer continued peeling the skin from the screaming woman. The architecture, in this vaulted basement, was very gothic, almost stereotypical for a dungeon. A few of the cameras showed corridors, empty apart from bored looking guards, the others were in the cells.
One cell appeared to be a holding cell - there were 20 or so people in there, Kim estimated, all chained to the wall at height by their wrists. A few of the inhabitants were hanging by their manacles; some looked like they had already been horribly abused.
The other cells were clearly for the purpose of inflicting pain. In one, an apparently unconscious man was dangling from his manacled wrists, ankle deep in a vat of water; boiling water. The winch capstan set up to raise and lower him was a chilling clue to the fate that was planned to befall him; being boiled alive an inch at a time, in this case.
Kim was again horrified, but still transfixed.
Each of the remaining cells contained some piece of almost cartoon-like medieval torture equipment - a rack in one, a furnace and a collection of pokers in another, and an ominous electrical installation in another, which Kim surmised was designed for applying shocks to sensitive body parts. In each of them was also a victim, either manacled to the wall awaiting his or her fate, or attached to some fiendish engine of abuse. Most were unconscious, some were sobbing, others gibbering incoherently, sent insane by the ceaseless torture they had been subject to.
In the cell with the red hot pokers there were two people, a man and a woman, both apparently unconscious, both naked and both covered in hideous burns. Obviously part of the torture for each of them was watching the other suffer. But where were all the torturers, wondered the part of Kim's mind that hadn't gone tilt in response to graphic horrors unfolding on the door of her bedroom closet?
There was another, longer louder, more blood-curdling scream from the woman being skinned alive, and the camera viewpoint switched back to her jerking, twitching body. It wasn't clear what the smirking man in the slaughter-man's apron and the chain-mail glove had just done to her, but it had clearly been particularly painful. Oh how Kim wished Shego would arrive and wipe that smirk off the man’s face. In fact, she found herself wishing for Shego to do rather more. Kim was suddenly aware that she was watching genuine premeditated evil in action. Not the kind of deranged and dangerous idiocy perpetrated by the likes of Professor Dementor or D N Amy, but the real, hideous, unspeakable thing. Shego's regular assertions that she was in fact evil herself would never have been even slightly convincing again, if she had still been alive that is.
The screaming abruptly stopped. The woman had apparently lapsed back into unconsciousness. The smirking torturer placed his blood-stained tools back on their hooks, then hung up the chain mail gloves and the blood soaked apron and walked away, whistling cheerfully. Kim found herself hating him viscerally, desperate for Shego to arrive and to stop this.
The compiler of the video obviously had delusions of directorial grandeur, as the camera viewpoint was repeatedly changed, tracking the relaxed stroll of the cheerfully whistling torturer along one corridor and then another, until he passed through a set of double swing doors.
It was only a few seconds later, when the swing doors stopped moving that the budding Spielberg showed Kim what was happening behind them. There were armchairs, and carpet, and a coffee jug. The whistling butcher was pouring a coffee, and around the room a number of other men and women were lounging, drinking beverages, reading magazines and eating snacks. On one wall hung a giant plasma TV screen, which was currently tuned to International Musicvision, the 24 hour satellite music channel. A legend on the screen proclaimed 'Oh Boyz Afternoon' and indeed, the light and frothy lyrics of 'Hello, Hello, Hello' could be heard in the background, as the band members danced enthusiastically on the screen. The Oh Boyz; music to boil people to.
Just as the whistling knife-artist was heading for a chair, one of his colleagues pointed out, in Uzbek, that he had blood on his face. Kim knew this because somebody had helpfully added English subtitles to this compilation of Uzbek security camera footage.
The two torturers were just sharing a joke about the blood spatter when there was an announcement made over loudspeakers.
Again, there were subtitles.
"Attention! Attention! There is an insurrection in the town. The police station is under attack. All security personnel stand to. Staff should not leave the building until further notice."
"Ah! Excellent! Overtime!" exclaimed a man sitting in an armchair reading the paper. The rest of the torturers laughed out loud.
Kim realised that by now, Shego was indeed in the adjacent police station. This basement was designed to be completely soundproof, so that the screams of the victims didn't disturb the other occupants of the building. But that worked both ways. As far as Kim was concerned, Shego couldn't get there quickly enough.
A couple of the torturers started a discussion about the poor condition of the rack, and the Oh Boyz were crooning "You know that I gotta stay, It's not that I love you, baby" behind them. Then another found great amusement in the way the man currently being slowly boiled alive had cried and pleaded for almost an entire day as he held himself above the water, before his strength had finally given out and his feet had fallen into the boiling liquid. Kim felt sick again. And angry. Then klaxons sounded, and Kim noticed the first flicker of fear on the face of one of the torturers, and Kim knew that Shego was in the Interior Ministry building. The monster who had found amusement in the fear and humiliation of the poor man being boiled alive went to the wall mounted phone and had a short and inaudible conversation with somebody, and as he spoke, his face went white. When he put the phone down he looked terrified, and said to everybody in the room "There's something inhuman coming!"
Kim found that bitterly ironic.
The viewpoint switched to the camera covering the entrance. A panicky looking interior ministry guard stood with his back to the steel plate door, an AKM now in his hands as he scanned the torture chamber, as if expecting an escape attempt. Thus he never saw the area around the heavy duty mortise lock glow first red and then white behind him. The first, and last he knew of Shego's arrival was when the door flew open with great force and struck him in the back, knocking him flying. He landed in an unconscious heap, his rifle skittering away to the far side of the chamber.
Shego entered at a crouch. Through the door, the camera showed at least two prone Interior Ministry guards, obviously stationed outside the door of this vile dungeon, and who Shego had encouraged to have a little lie down on the job. Part of Kim had been waiting for Shego to arrive, not knowing what she would do exactly (or had done, Kim had to later remind herself), but subconsciously hoping that she might do something that would adequately reflect the enormity of the torturers' crimes against humanity. Hoping, Kim later realised, that Shego would do something that she could never even contemplate doing herself; because she was Kim Possible, teen hero. Did that make her a hypocrite; a moral coward?
What actually happened took Kim by surprise. As Shego stepped inside the door, hands flaring green, she was clearly looking for threats. It was a couple of seconds before she did a very obviously shocked double take, and became rooted to the spot, staring through the open cell door in front of her at the bloody, part-skinned woman, who was gruesomely twisting lazily on her hook. She was clearly transfixed, slack jawed, eyes moist, horrified by what she was looking at. Kim felt a degree of real empathy with Shego at that moment. She'd only ever seen Shego telegraph such raw emotions once before, and that was when she had been equally screwed up by those moodulator gizmos.
A good twenty seconds passed with Shego standing statuesque, staring. It seemed longer. With each passing second, Kim realised, the green glow around her hands was getting brighter.
And brighter.
And brighter.
Kim wondered for a second whether she might explode, until she remembered that this was something that had already happened.
Twenty-five seconds after Shego had entered the interior ministry dungeon, the plasma around Shego's hands was glowing so brightly that it illuminated that part of the basement with a brilliant green glow that the camera struggled to cope with, and there were fizzes and pops as little balls of plasma flew off her hands and exploded against the walls and floor. And then the guard from the main corridor walked round the corner into the entrance hall to see where the weird green light was coming from, and seeing Shego, started to pull the butt of his rifle up towards his shoulder.
It never made it there.
His arrival seemed to break Shego's reverie, and she exploded into action. She fired two bolts of plasma at the hapless guard, and gave forth an enraged bellow that left her state of mind in no doubt. The guard was there, and then there was a loud 'crack' and he wasn't.
Kim had never seen anybody vanish when hit by Shego's plasma before. Apparently the apprentice Spielberg was also surprised, as the video went back and repeated the sequence for a second time, but in slow motion with varying camera angles. Kim was amazed to see the two bolts of plasma hit the guard, a tenth of a second apart. The first went straight through the man's torso, leaving a clean cauterised hole almost a foot in diameter. It would obviously be fatal. The second bolt was more diffuse, bigger, and it hit the man and carried him away with it. This partially explained him vanishing. A second viewpoint showed the first plasma bolt hitting the stone wall at the end of the long corridor and exploding violently. A moment later, the second arrived, and imprinted the carbonised remnants of the guard on what was left of the stonework with a bang. Globules of molten metal from his rifle were splattered all across the wall, and running down towards the floor.
Kim was amazed. She'd been caught by a couple of Shego's plasma blasts in her time. They had hurt and thrown her across a couple of rooms, but... seeing what Shego could have done to her but never had was as sobering as it was astounding. She could also see why Global Justice had decided that antagonising Shego was wholly counterproductive.
Once the spell had been broken by the arrival and rapid departure of the guard, Kim watched Shego instantly turn into an angel of apocalyptic vengeance.
Later, Kim realised that there were at least four distinct aspects of what happened on her closet door during the next two and a half minutes of the video, and since she re-watched the segment between her dealing with the first guard and smashing through the barricaded doors of the recreation room at least ten times, she had had plenty of opportunities to understand them all.
If she ignored the brutal reality of the extreme violence that peppered those 150 seconds of action, Kim could look at it as balletic, graceful, fluid, and beautiful. The way Shego moved through the dungeon, Kim imagined that you could set it to music; Kim could almost see Shego cartwheeling through the vaulted basement to the strains of the Blue Danube Waltz, sheer poetry in non-stop motion.
Then again, it really was brutal. One interior ministry guard took cover behind a stone column and then reached around it with his AK-M to wildly spray bullets in Shego's general direction. Shego, mid somersault, merely fired a blast of plasma straight through the pillar and the guard, bringing about a ton of masonry down on top of his smoking corpse. Another guard ducked into a cell after his weapon jammed, and Shego followed him in and cracked him around the head with a typically beautifully executed Juen So Tek (spinning heel kick) so brutally efficient that Kim heard the sickening crunch of his jaw shattering in her headphones. Shego then followed it up as part of the same fluid movement with a simple but very powerful Juk Tek (side kick), which caught the unconscious guard before he could hit the ground, and sent him flying across the cell where he slammed into the main power distribution panel, becoming impaled on the electrodes normally used to power the implements of torture. There was a lot of twitching and some smoke, which Shego ignored, and Kim tried to.
The third somewhat incongruous facet of Shego's whirlwind assault on the dungeon could be seen in the way that she tenderly and compassionately dealt with victims of the horrors of the dungeon. This particular cell's inhabitant was a case in point. Kim was particularly surprised by the gentle, soothing tone of voice that Shego used to the man who she found chained to an earthed metal grating against the wall, as she freed him. And she did it in Russian. Rather shaky Russian, admittedly, but neither (the gentle tone nor the linguistics) were things Kim had ever imagined were in Shego. But the fourth impression of Shego's knife-through-butter assault, especially from the perspective of somebody who saw themselves as a potential target of Shego's wrath, could only be that it was utterly terrifying. Watching her plough with the greatest of ease through the fabric and defenders of the basement, coupled with the earlier imagery of her laying waste to the police and SNB men of Tarqand could do nothing but evoke naked fear in those who might feel that they had got onto the wrong side of Shego. If the CIA could watch the same footage that Kim was watching, they would surely not be remotely comfortable, to say the least, until they had gathered the proof that she really was dead.
Once Shego reached the double doors, the director - more Tarantino than Spielberg, Kim decided - switched to a camera viewpoint inside the room, where the terrified torturers had piled all their nice comfortable soft furnishings up against the doors in a makeshift barricade. All bar one of the occupants were cowering at the far end of the basement room. One clutched a chair leg as a makeshift weapon; another was apparently armed with a stiletto. The remaining torturer was near the door, frantically trying to raise somebody, anybody, upstairs on the wall-mounted telephone. From his increasingly panic-stricken expression, and repeated dialling, it was clear that there was no answer from any internal number at all.
And then the double doors exploded, and when the smoke slowly cleared, there was nothing left of either the doors or the barricade but smoking matchwood, through which Shego strolled. The man who had been on the phone was moaning, impaled by numerous large wooden splinters, and in due course he collapsed to the floor in a growing puddle of his own blood. Somebody had earlier muted the sound on the plasma TV, so that the Oh Boyz now pranced noiselessly on the big screen, their silent but cheerful dance routine contrasting wildly with the expression of distilled hatred on Shego's face, and of terror on the faces of the erstwhile torturers.
Time seemed to stand still for a few moments. And then the man with the stiletto threw it straight at Shego's chest with unerring accuracy. Shego caught the knife directly in front of her chest, held it for a couple of seconds in her glowing hand, and then, once the whole of the steel dagger was glowing almost white hot, she threw it back, faster but equally accurately; straight into the thigh of her assailant. The man screamed in agony, as the smoke of searing human flesh rose from the wound, followed a quarter of a second later by another even louder scream as he grabbed the white hot handle of the dagger with his bare hand, and the burnt flesh stuck to the metal. The man who had hold of the chair leg dropped it at this point and started to whimper. The man with the white hot knife embedded in his thigh screamed again and writhed on the floor in agony.
Shego's hands glowed with ever increasing intensity and her expression became yet darker, and more malevolent, if that were possible. And then, just at that moment where Kim knew she was going to be forced to address the issue of whether or not she really was a hypocrite, Shego's face suddenly became calm, almost serene, and she extinguished her hands. And then she sauntered over to the nearest cowering torturer, dragged him to his feet, and drove her foot powerfully into the side of his knee. It snapped, and he fell to the ground with a strangled scream. Shego quickly moved on to the next nearest torturer...
Despite the sustained, emotionless, clinical violence that followed, Kim bizarrely found it all a bit anticlimactic. She had steeled herself for something altogether more robust, more emotionally charged. Had she subconsciously hoped for more? She really didn't know. In due course, Shego stepped back to examine her handiwork, which lay around the floor, sobbing and whimpering.
And then she spoke, in a tone of voice that would have curdled milk. "There are some people out there", she said in Russian, "who deserve the chance to show you how they feel about you."
There was a collective wail of despair from her audience as Shego turned on her heel and left the room.
Kim was quite stunned by the Machiavellian clarity of Shego's thinking. Yes, Shego definitely had done something that Kim would never have done herself. And Kim knew in her heart that it really was wrong; barbaric in fact. But for all that, it seemed so... appropriate.
Kim didn't really pay much attention to the next part of the video, as Shego moved through the dungeon again, releasing the prisoners, comforting some of them, but making sure that every one of them knew where their erstwhile tormentors could be found. In due course, a goodly number of them, some limping, others having to be helped, took up the fearsome implements that had previously been used to abuse them, and slowly began advancing on the recreation room, intent on revenge.
Tarantino's apprentice switched into split screen mode at this point, showing Shego strolling towards the exit on the left of Kim's closet door, and the shambling mass of torture victims crowding purposefully through the gaping doorway of the recreation room, holding power tools, scalpels, blow torches and iron bars on the right hand side. And then, just as Shego was strolling out of the door of the dungeon and the surging mob of vengeful humanity had surrounded the first of the whimpering torturers, Kim hit the stop button, ending the playback. Kim had a pretty good idea what must have happened next in that recreation room, and she didn't want to even think about it, let alone watch it happen.
The sudden, oppressive darkness and silence caused Kim to shudder involuntarily. She quickly flicked on the light and then busied herself in her bathroom, dealing with the contents of her bedside trash can. In due course, the metal bin was clean and empty, and Kim had gargled away the unpleasant aftertaste of her earlier gastric eruption. Kim returned to her bedroom, grateful not to have to read about or watch any more of the horrors of Tarqand. She knew that the report and the videos had given her much food for thought. And rather belatedly, given the fact that she was probably dead, potentially a much greater insight into her nemesis. She had probably learnt a few things about herself as well. Not all of them things that she had wanted to know.
But for now, she was exhausted. She climbed wearily between the sheets and turned out the light, then reached for Pandaroo.
And then she shut her eyes. And saw, in her mind’s eye, what looked like a side of beef hanging on a meat hook. And then it opened its eyes and screamed...
- 7
- 8
- 9
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Enter the Naked Mole Rat