Kim Possible: Final Masquerade

The New Life

The cabinet door opened, with the redhead reaching inside. She grabbed multiple items from the medicine cabinet to start working on healing her wounds for her most recent mission. She saw the pain pills, hair scissors, and an oversized box that barely fit in the cabinet. The translucent blue carrying box had a piece of painters tape on the top of the lid that said "Mission Box" in Kim's handwriting.

She sat the box down, and looked at the container of pills. Completely ignoring the instructions as she always did, she twisted off the lid and just poured herself a small dosage of painkillers. She closed the container and placed it back behind the mirror before shutting the cabinet door.

When she took the pills, she looked at herself in the mirror. Emotionless. Her face was blank with a bruise on her right cheek and a cut on her bottom lip. Her hair was a combination of knots and ruffled patches. She looked tired and exhausted. More than she ever did when she had someone that fought by herself. That took care of her after missions.

She gulped a small cup full of water to wash down the pills with and headed back into her room. She made sure to shut and lock her door on the way up, so she wouldn't be disturbed.

Sitting down on her bed, she laid her box down in front of her and flicked the tabs open with her thumbs. When she opened the box, she saw her usual bundle of supplies.

A thick roll of wrapping tape, bandages, a package of gauze, a stitching needle with some wire, skin-safe tape and a small pair of scissors.

She took off her cut and torn up purple t-shirt shirt, and threw it on the floor. As well as her freshly torn mission sweatpants and her long sleeve white Under-Armour shirt. Since it was winter, she needed something that was warm underneath her purple shirt since it was so short. And she was not going back to her old black sweater.

When she stood up to change, that's when she stopped. She was staring at herself in the mirror, wearing nothing but her bra and underwear. She saw all the cuts and bruised skin from her recent mission, almost close to resembling scars. But the scars weren't what she was staring at.

She saw the small rounded scar in the bottom corner of her stomach. A scar she remembered as if it were just yesterday. It was the wound from so long ago, when she was shot while running away from the mercenaries. She saw quick flashes of when it happened, just by staring at it. She saw a certain freckled blonde teenager sitting her down against a wall, and caring for her injury.

Her life flashed back to reality, as she easily rubbed the scaring with her hand. That's when she caught a glimpse of her entire body. It had been so long since she'd seen her self as what she was and what she had become.

She not only looked exhausted, but there was something else to her. Her smile and gleeful face was now a bleak and blank scape of emotionlessness. She didn't even recognize herself anymore. She couldn't even remember the last time she genuinely laughed at something that made her happy.

The girl shook herself back out of the daze, and walked into her closet. She pulled out a pair of black sleeping shorts and a long sleeve dark red shirt. She stepped into her shorts but didn't bother putting her shirt on until she tended to her injuries.

She sat back down on her bed, and started stitching up the cut on her left thigh. The pain of stitching it shut meant almost nothing to her, as she had the mindset of just having to suck it up. Especially since she had several she needed to fix up.

She finished up the one on her leg, then clipped the end of the wire to completely close the wound. Next up was her bicep, which was going to be a challenge. She's stitched herself up one handed before, but that didn't mean it was easy. That alone took her a solid twenty minutes. She then went to her shoulder, then finally her stomach.