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The World Must Never Know	By : fulwiz123 Category: Kim Possible > FemmeSlash - Female/Female Views: 53063 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own Kim Possible, Disney does. I make no money from this story. Real people, places, and events are used in a fictitious manner. The other characters come from my own twisted mind.

Chapter List
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The World Must Never Know
Part One - The Project

Written by fulwiz
Beta by Wirenfeldt Jr

Disclaimer: I don't own Kim Possible, Disney does. I make no money from this story. Real people, places, and events are used in a fictitious manner. The other characters come from my own twisted mind.
Warning: This story contains explicit sexual situations, intense violence, torture, rape, death, incest, and many other mature themes.
Note: This story assumes the historical events depicted in the episode “Rewriting History” were just a dream and not in any way accurate.

Chapter 01: Nana's Choice.

(26 kilometers north of Nicoya, Costa Rica - June 10th, 2008)
Special Agent William Du wiped the sweat from his forehead with his, already saturated, handkerchief. It was early morning and the heat was reaching oppressive levels. He wrung out the handkerchief as he watched the Global Justice technical team under his command work dismantling a Lowardian battle robot. It was a good two years since the invasion and they were still finding these things in all sorts of out of the way places.
He was just about to reprimand a technician for using a laser cutter in a way not laid down in the regulations, when a voice drew his attention away.
“Agent Du?”
Will turned to see a man dressed even less appropriately than himself for the climate. At least his singlesuit uniform was designed for field work. A black business suit certainly was not. He frowned at the man for a moment before recognizing him. He rarely saw him outside of a video conference call.
His name was Redmond Tappe. The field was not his normal habitat. He belonged in a place where air conditioning ruled, keyboards clicked, and files were sorted. He was a bureaucrat. He was also the United Nations Special Security Council's representative to it's primary operations branch, Global Justice.
“Mr. Tappe. It is good to see you again. What brings you out to this little slice of humid nowhere?”
Will could tell his attempt at humor was lost on the man. He had been practicing, but loosening up still just wasn't in his nature.
Tappe glanced over at the technicians, then back at Du. “I've come to speak with you about an important matter.” He glanced toward the technicians again. “I saw a small cantina just down the road. Perhaps you can leave your team unsupervised long enough to come have a cool drink with me?”
Not usually one to give in to curiosity, Will hesitated. During that brief pause, he realized something must be very wrong. Tappe didn't leave his office like this. He also rarely ever contacted anyone but the head of Global Justice, Will's own boss, Dr. Director.
Those reasons were enough to make Will find himself seated across a table in the cantina from Tappe ten minutes later. “What is this about Mr. Tappe?”
Tappe took a swig of chilled beer and sighed. “As you are aware, the Lowardians caused large amounts of damage worldwide. Mostly in larger cities and government installations. One of those installations was the Pentagon. It was hit hard. So hard in fact, they are still working on rebuilding it.”
He stopped and took another drink. “During the rebuilding process, workers found a sealed records vault. Nobody knew it was there. According to documents found inside, it appears to have been bricked up and hidden more than half a century ago.”
Will took a sip of ice water as he listened. He was already breaking one regulation by leaving his team, he wasn't about to break another.
Tappe finished off his beer and sat staring at the empty bottle for a few seconds. “What is contained in those records is why I am here. If the information ever got out to the general public...”
Will interrupted. “One moment. Why are you telling me this? As far as I can tell, this is something that should go straight to Dr. Director.”
Reaching inside his jacket pocket, Tappe extracted a small folder. He slid it across the table. “Under normal circumstances that is exactly what I would be doing. Circumstances are anything but normal. I was sent here by the Council to task you specifically with a mission. Dr. Director must not be informed, ever.”
“Why? What is the mission?”
Tappe stared at the file for a moment. He looked up into Will's eyes. “Everything you need to know is in here. It contains your orders and all the pertinent documents our researchers could put together.”
He stood up and looked down at the confused agent. “William. The world must never know.”
Will sat and watched the man leave the bar. He simply didn't understand. Picking up the file, he proceeded to open it and lay out the contents. Twenty minutes later, he waved to the lone waitress and ordered a beer.
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(Frankfurt, Germany - February 2nd, 1945)
Dr. Dietrich Hall trudged past the snow covered ruins of the city center with a battered suitcase clutched in his pudgy hand. Chill wind found it's way past his great coat and prickled his short, rotund, body. With his free hand, he held his hat atop his unruly black hair. He kept his gray eyes focused on the equally gray sludge covering the ground, not daring to look at the destruction caused by repeated Allied bombings.
He wanted to remember the city as it was before the war took it's toll. He tried to recall the historical splendor that so captivated him when he first arrived, years ago. It seemed like only yesterday when he stepped off the train, an eager young man, and marveled at the sights. His mind was filled with visions of German glory as he made his way through the city to the prestigious Institute for Hereditary Biology and Racial Hygiene.
At the Institute he studied hard, embraced the concept of Aryan superiority, and devoted himself to helping The Führer bring about the ideal Fatherland.
He also made friends among his fellow students. Friends who's visions paralleled his own. Most notably was Josef, already a doctor of Anthropology when they met at the Institute in '37. They were inseparable during their days in school. Always encouraging each other to take greater strides in their search for human perfection, and their studies of the numerous imperfections that impeded their goal.
Both went their separate ways after graduation, but corresponded frequently. Josef went into military service, while Dietrich, who was physically unsuited to such strenuous activity, went to work at The Führer's secret research laboratory in Berlin.
Dr. Hall switched hands holding the heavy suitcase as he turned down a side road, heading toward the railway station. He thought about the letters from Josef tucked inside, along with his own research notes. The letters, especially the ones posted from Auschwitz, were full of details about Josef's ongoing research. The experiments on twins were especially fascinating.
The most recent letters were more disturbing in tone. They told him of Josef's concern Germany might be losing the war. Dietrich wasn't one to dismiss the warnings of his friend. That was why he was here, instead of the lab in Berlin where he was supposed to be.
The Fatherland was dying around him. He knew better than to stay and die with it. There were other ways to continue his research. Other places where he could work. He would pursue the great dream, even if it meant doing so in the arms of the enemy.
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(The Pentagon - Arlington, Va. - April 6th, 1946)
The General shuffled through the papers on his desk. He disliked being relegated to an office. The battlefield was where he belonged. Unfortunately, in his eyes, the end of the war left him with only two choices. Retirement or a desk job. Retirement was an even less appealing option. At least behind a desk he was doing something productive.
He found the paper he was looking for and read it over carefully. As the head of the Army's Special Projects Division, it was his job to oversee all aspects of each project, no matter how mind numbingly trivial they were. The report appeared to be exactly that. He still made sure everything was in proper order before turning his attention to the Sergeant standing at attention on the other side of the desk.
The man was not overly tall, but his broad shoulders made him appear larger than he actually was. His sandy hair was clipped even shorter than regulations required. All in all, the General thought, he was the epitome of a good solid soldier.
“At ease Sgt. Barkin. Tell me something. How long have you worked with Dr. Hall?”
Barkin snapped from attention to parade rest, clasping his hands behind his back. Nothing about the stance reflected ease in any manner. “Sir! I was assigned to Dr. Hall's security detail right after his defection from Germany. After that, I was assigned to the project he was put in charge of. Sir!”
The General reached down and opened a desk drawer. From it, he pulled out a pair of rubber stamps and an ink pad. “What do you think of the project Sergeant?”
A look of bewilderment crossed fleetingly over Barkin's face. “Sir?”
“I'm asking your opinion Sergeant. How do you think Dr. Hall's project is going?”
“I'm not privy to the details of the project, Sir. But, according to Dr. Hall, progress is being made.”
“Do you see any reason why the project shouldn't move beyond the animal testing stage?”
“No Sir.”
Flipping open the ink pad's cover, the General selected one of the rubber stamps. He dabbed it on the pad. “Very good Sergeant.”
He pressed the stamp to the paper. After returning the stamps and pad to his desk drawer, he offered the paper to the other man.
Barkin came to attention and accepted the paper. He didn't even glance at the word stamped on it. He waited for orders.
“Take that to Dr. Hall. Dismissed.”
Sergeant Barkin saluted. “Yes Sir!”
The General returned the salute.
After watching the Sergeant pivot and march out of the office, General Gideon Stoppable resumed shuffling papers.
Out in the hallway, Sgt. Barkin looked at the paper in his hand. He saw the ink drying on the word stamped at the bottom. APPROVED. He grinned, knowing Dietrich would be happy to finally begin human experimentation. The grin widened a little, showing something akin to predatory malice. He knew he would enjoy it too.
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(Burning Sands, Nevada - April 20th, 1946)
Nanette Maiden, prisoner number forty-two, made a tiny scratch on the cell wall beside her bunk. It joined the 729 marks already there. She closed her eyes and lay back on the thin, bug infested, mattress. It was two years to the day that she was forced to call this place home. Only eighteen more years to go, if she was lucky.
Luck was something she no longer believed in. Just as she no longer believed in truth, justice, or hope. They were all things that belonged to another person, in another world. Not to her. Not anymore.
One night of too much drink, not enough caution, and a single elbow to the gut of a military policeman cured her of those silly notions. The prosecutor at her trial had not even bothered to bring the lesser charges against her. He only needed the one big one. Murder.
Three eyewitnesses spoke for the prosecution at her trial. None spoke in her defense. Not even herself. She couldn't because she had her broken jaw wired closed and was saturated with morphine throughout the entire process. The judge overruled her doctor, telling him that if she were conscious, she was capable of standing trial. Nor did it help that her court appointed attorney was so wet behind the ears, he didn't know enough to challenge the ruling. The nail in her coffin, so to speak, was that two of those who testified against her were also MP's. That was all the jury needed to come to their swift and final conclusion. Guilty.
The only good point, if there were such a thing, was that she was a WASP and not a regular Air Corps pilot it happened. That was the only thing to spare her from facing a Courts Martial. During wartime especially, she could have been facing a death sentence. Still, twenty years to life was not something that made her thoughts much more cheerful.
The sound of a guard approaching made her turn her face away from the bars of the cell. She did not want anyone to see her crying... Again.
She jerked when she heard the guard's billy club strike the bars of her cell.
“Prisoner forty-two. Stand and face the rear of the cell.”
Nanette rubbed her sleeve across her eyes and cheeks. She didn't hesitate to follow the guard's instructions. There were only two reasons for that order. Either she had a visitor, something that only happened once since she arrived, or there was a surprise inspection. The latter was much more likely.
She listened to the guard's key clattering in the lock, as she remembered her one visitor. It was only one week into her incarceration when her father arrived. He only stayed long enough to completely disown her, and tell her he hoped she rotted to death in prison for what she had become. That moment broke her heart and shredded what little was left of her spirit. Since then, life for her was nothing more than going through the motions.
The door swung open with a rusty squeal. Footsteps approached. The door repeated it's tortured cry as it closed again.
A voice, that wasn't the guard, spoke in a clipped baritone. “You can turn around now Miss Maiden.”
She turned to see a man wearing military khakis. Her eyes darted to his rank adorned sleeve, to the name tag on his broad chest, and finally to his face. She tried not to let the surprise, confusion, and hint of fear she felt, show on her face. She tried to think of something to say to him, but her mind left her flailing in silence.
His voice cut through the tense air separating them. “My name is Sgt. Barkin. I'm here to offer you a second chance.”
Deep inside her chest there was an almost painful twinge. A tiny flicker of hope, something she thought gone forever, burst into a flame.
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(Somewhere over the United States desert southwest - April 21st, 1946)
Nanette craned her neck to look back down the cabin of the C-54 Skymaster at her fellow volunteers. The plane could seat fifty, but there were only thirty of them aboard, not including the pilot, co-pilot, and Sgt. Barkin. There were plenty of empty seats separating the small groups that huddled together, talking in low tones.
As she herself had early in the flight, most of them were catching up on current events. Prisons weren't overly concerned about keeping their inmates up to date on what was happening in the outside world. She was not the only one surprised to find out the war was over. The tale of an “Atomic” bomb being used to end the war left her incredulous though.
Some of the news hit close to home with her. Senator Truman was now the President. He was a good friend of her father. She grew up calling him Uncle Harry. He was influential in getting her father the post of Ambassador to the Kingdom of Nepal when she was a young teenager.
That was a heady time for her. Living in an exotic country. Exploring it's customs and learning things she never would have at home. It was a time she and her father had been their closest. She shook her head, trying to will away thoughts of her father. That part of her life was lost forever.
She returned to studying the other passengers. Like herself, each and every one of them was a convicted murderer. Most, again, like she did, denied the charge. Of the thirty of them, only she and three others were women. It was not surprising the huddled groups were mainly centered around them. She rebuffed the men's advances early. Since then, they left her alone, for the most part. There were still some covert glances in her direction, she was determined to ignore.
From the speech Sgt. Barkin gave her in her prison cell, she knew the group was chosen for diversity. It had something to do with the research they were to undergo. They came from different institutions all across the country. None of then ever met before today.
It struck her as odd, though, as her eyes went from person to person. With only a few exceptions, the group was remarkably similar. All the men were tall and fit. The women, with her as the only exception, were voluptuous. They had generous curves in all the right places. She knew she was too slender to ever be given that appellation. One thing stood out as remarkable. Excluding her, and the two Negroes sitting together in the back of the cabin, all of them were fair haired and blue eyed.
Before she could ponder it more, a sound distracted her. She turned her head back to the front and saw Sgt. Barkin coming through the cockpit door.
He folded is beefy arms across his broad chest and spoke to them in a stern tone. “Attention people! We are about to land. I want to remind you all what I told you when you volunteered. This will be the very last time I do so, so listen close. As I said before, the medical research being conducted in this special project has a very slight risk to your health. Once you leave the plane and enter the compound, you will be required to sign a form agreeing to participate. Until then, you may change your mind and decline.”
He looked around at the group before continuing. It was almost as if he was silently daring any of them to take that option. “Those of you who do decline will be returned to your former situation. That is all.”
He turned and re-entered the cockpit.
Nanette didn't have to think about the choice. The benefits more than outweighed the risk. As a pilot she lived with risk. This was no different in her eyes. Spending six months being poked and prodded by doctors for the chance at a clean slate, and her freedom, was more than worth it. She never, ever, wanted to be locked in a cage again.
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The World Must Never Know