Gee, when I wrote my first one of these, I thought it'd be my 
only one... but obviously I was wrong, since this is, like, a part four 
to the whole thing.  And it was going to be the ending (thus the 
title)... but then the idea of '?' came up - I got a nifty idea - and now 
I'll hafta write just _one_ more part.  Sigh.
	Of course, considering I'm enjoying this, I guess that's a good 
thing!  So, for something that ain't as goofy as it aughta be... enjoy!
	(And sorry for the slightly pretentious title...)

	-Mike
***
                 SKJAM!: The Authors Strike Back
                 The Onnawulf Cycle - Part Four

                             Endgame
                           Chapter One

     Stripping out of her clothes in the bathroom, Mike couldn't
avoid catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror.  It was still
hard to believe that the girl looking back was him... was _her_. 
Yet it was: the reflection moved when Mike did, the fingers lightly
met on the surface of the mirror as she reached up, strawberry-
blond bangs fell forward over the blue-green eyes of both.  She let
out a deep, exhausted sigh, turning away.
     The shower sprang to life as she twisted the dial with a
savage jerk.  Steam began to rise immediately.  Mike had recently
discovered that she now liked her showers _hot_...  She glanced
back before stepping into the shower; already, the mirror had
fogged up, clouding over the image of her naked figure, leaving
just a face visible - the face of a pretty, yet worried,
frightened, and thoroughly annoyed female university student. 
Shaking her head with mild incredulity, she stepped into the
shower.
     Mike sighed again, this time in relief, as the water washed
away the grime, sweat, and femininity from his body.  Try as he
might, he couldn't get used to his cursed form, couldn't accept it,
didn't want to accept it, desperately wanted to be rid of it.  But
how?, he wondered.  
     He turned his face up into the full spray of the nozzle,
scrubbing the skin vigorously.  According to the constant E-Mails,
a counter-attack _was_ being prepared, hell, had even been
implemented by a hasty few.  It turned out that the Fred rumour was
true, after all, and that a number of authors had begun training. 
And yet... that wasn't Mike's style.  He couldn't bring himself to
train for forty years, even if he wouldn't age a day; he couldn't
even bring himself to wait for two years, before launching the
counter attack... he wanted to be cured NOW, dammit!  And, he
admitted to himself, he was a little scared.  What if the plan
didn't work?  What if Ranma returned to further punish him?  Mike
could end up being female permanently!  Like poor Wing!  And yet...
and yet he didn't have any other hopes for getting cured!
     Mike felt an all too familiar despair begin to fall over him
and he slumped against the shower wall.  A shiver ran across his
skin despite the water's heat.  What if he was _never_ cured?  He
twisted the shower-knob over to cold, and shivered as the cold
water and transformation flowed over her.   Could she live like...
like _this_ for the rest of her life?  Emotions welled up in her
chest, but she pushed them down.  She was _not_ going to cry.  They
could strip away the physical components of her masculinity, but
she was damned if they were going to make her cry...  Hot water
shot out again as she jerked the dial.  He was a _guy_!
     Taking a deep breath, he pushed the thought aside and returned
to his cleaning.  He took a last cursory swipe at his face - after
all, he'd look silly if he didn't get all the makeup off.  Makeup. 
Something he'd never worried about before.  Or would again, if he
had his way.  It was just that, when his friends had decided to use
his face as an easel, he just hadn't been able to refuse.  He might
be one himself half the time, but he still found it difficult to
say 'no' to a girl...
     Squirting some shampoo into his hand, he started scrubbing and
lathering up his hair.  It had grown out considerably during the
last few weeks.  As a guy, it almost reached the nape of his neck
(making it just long enough to be thoroughly unmanageable and
annoying); as a girl, it stretched down to between his shoulder
blades (making it quite fetching, actually).
     He rinsed out his hair and started to soap down his body. 
Rubbing down his legs, he briefly wondered that, if he were to
shave them as a _girl_, if the hair would be gone when he was a guy
as well.  Not that he'd ever find out, of course... guys didn't
shave their legs... or their armpits.  And no matter what the anime
world tried to do to him, he was a guy!
     The water washed away the soap suds.  For a few minutes, he
just stood in the steady stream of hot water.  Here, he was safe. 
In the shower, under the hot water, he could be certain of
remaining male.  Out there... out there, his manhood was an option,
not a certainty.
     Finally, though, Mike reached over, turned off the shower, and
stepped out.  A white haze hung over everything.  Reaching down, he
scooped up his damp clothing.  Girl clothing.  Shaking his head, he
left the bathroom, flicking on the fan as he left.  It whirled into
life with a dull hum behind him.

     Mike awoke from her exhausted slumber with a start.  What had
woke her?  A blurry glance at the clock confirmed that it was _far_
too early to be awake.
     "Oh, I'm sorry... did I wake you?" asked a voice with a slight
mocking edge to it.  The lamp on the computer desk clicked on. 
Sudden light revealed Ranma leaning against the wall, smirking
slightly.
     "Get the hell out of my room, you bastard..." muttered Mike,
rubbing the sleep from her eyes.  Noticing Ranma's eyes widen
slightly, Mike blushed, pulling the sheets up around her chest. 
"Quit staring, you pervert!"
     "Who're you calling a pervert..." he retorted, than smiled. 
"Hey!  Havn't said _that_ one in a while... Heh.  Guess I've been
too busy."
     "Yeah, I noticed.  You got Stormwalker's fiancee.  WebDragon's
best friend.  And now Kun-chan is Kun-kun!  Not only is that
awkward to say... but was it really necessary?"
     "Hey!  Caroline aughta consider herself lucky!  We were
thinking of kidnapping Trish Ledoux, dumping her, then splashin'
Kun-chan with water from the Spring of Drowned Viz Translator." 
Ranma sat himself on a chair and turned to face an aghast Mike. 
"Cologne decided against it, though.  She figured Kun-chan'd
probably be _happy_ that we'd actually drowned Trish.  So we went
with the simple solution."
     Mike shuddered, suddenly realising that there were far worse
fates than being splashed with Nyannichuan water.  The vengeful
animates could have done far, far worse things to her...  Taking a
calming breath, she stared intently at Ranma.
     "So then... what brings you here?" she asked.
     He smiled.  "I guess you could just say I'm checking up on
you."  Looking her over, his smile widened.  "I gather you prefer
sleeping as a female, now?"
     Mike's face flushed red.  "NO!"  She lowered her voice.  "No,
I don't... my roommate splashed me right as I was getting to bed,
the jerk...  In any case, I have more room this way - my bed ain't
all that big."
     "You sure there aren't... other... reasons you like sleeping
as a girl?"
     Mike's flush deepened a few shades of crimson.  "Hey!  I...
I... No!  Of course not!  I'm not a pervert!" she squeaked.  "It's
not like I write lemons or 'nothin!"
     "Good thing for you..." answered Ranma ominously.  An
uncomfortable silence fell between them... at least, a silence
uncomfortable for Mike.  She squirmed a bit beneath her sheets.
     "So... is that it?" she finally asked.
     "No." Ranma stood up and turned away, turning off the light
but pulling the curtains back a little.  A few lights shone in the
windows of the apartments across the residence courtyard.  Mike
could see the boy's reflection in the glass.  "I came to give you
a little warning.  I know you've been thinking of joining up with
the Anime Liberation Front."
     Mike felt a shiver pass through her.  "Ahhh... what makes you
say that?" she asked, as Ranma let the curtain fall shut.
     "This." he said, holding up the manga of Mike's life.  She
cursed the stupid thing beneath her breath.  "Terribly boring,
really, " continued Ranma.  "Although it _has_ picked up in the
last few weeks.  Even sold a few copies.  People loved the part
where the girls took you out shopping."
     Anger pushed aside her fear.  "Liked it?  It was hell!  I
_hate_ shopping!  And now I know that I hate shopping for women's
clothing even _more_!  It was hell, I tell you, hell!  It took over
an hour to find a pair of stupid shoes!"  She hadn't had a choice,
though... her roommate was getting annoyed at having to constantly
lend her clothes out, and so had called in a few friends.  "Those
girls treated me like some kind of dress-up doll!"
     "Cry me a river, Mike.  At least your mom's still alive." said
Ranma.  Mike shut her mouth, satisfying herself with simply glaring
at him.  "Good.  So think of this as just a reminder.  There are
worse things than the Nyannichuan.  _Much_ worse.  Remember that." 
Ranma turned away, reaching up with one hand and pressing against
the wall.  Concentric circles of blue light spread across the white
surface as his hand phased through it.
     The pig-tailed boy looked back once.  "Remember.  I'll be
watching you.  I can come and go as I please."  Ranma paused for a
moment.  "Remember the Round Robin story?"
     Mike nodded.
     Ranma held up a tightly stoppered bottle.  "Than you'll know
what this is.  Water from the Spring of Drowned Pregnant Woman. 
Try to join up with your FFML buddies... and you'll have the
personal insight you need for writing that pregnant-Ranma story of
yours."  He turned away.  "See ya... Mike!"  He paused.  "That
doesn't really fit anymore, does it?  How about... Michelle? 
Mishieru?  Yeah, I like that!"  With a small laugh, Ranma stepped
through the wall and out of the room, calling over his shoulder. 
"See ya around... Mi-chan!"
     "HEY!" Mike yelled after him.  "That's -san to you, you jerk! 
I'm no friend of yours!  And I'm not a girl, either!"  There was no
answer, of course, as the portal squeezed shut.
     She slid back beneath the covers of her bed, a hollow feeling
in her stomach.  The blue glow of the wall illuminated the room for
a few moments before fading away.  She couldn't believe it.  Not
only does he first curse her... now he was _threatening_ her. 
Calling her names.  How _dare_ he?
     And yet... what could she do?
     What could she do... but get some sleep?

***

     She woke up with a nagging feeling that something was wrong. 
It wasn't the fact that she was female... she'd got used to _that_
particular feeling a few weeks ago (although, back then, every time
she woke up female, she had to remind herself that it _wasn't_ all
a dream... or a nightmare).
     The suspicion continued to nag as she stepped into the shower. 
Something about last night... something that, in hindsight, seemed
wrong.  What was it?
     It came to him as he stepped out of bathroom, towel wrapped
around his waist.  Ranma... Ranma had been acting all wrong.  He'd
been... too calm, too introspective, too wordy... more like the
Ranma from one of Mike's angst-fics, than from Takahashi's manga. 
Mike puzzled it over as he pulled on a pair of jeans.  So... so
this was a... different?... Ranma.  He thought of some of the E-
Mails he had read.  Some of the other writer's _had_ mentioned that
they'd been hounded by their own personal versions of anime
characters... could _this_ Ranma be _his_ Ranma?  Somehow, Mike'd
just assumed that it was the real Ranma that had been responsible
for his recent woes.  In hindsight, he realised it was a fairly
arrogant presumption - there were fanfic writers out there _far_
more deserving of such attention...
     He looked through his closet for a decent shirt to find,
pushing aside the new collection of blouses, dresses, and whatnot. 
Seeing them pissed him off.  Buying women's clothing was _not_ how
he had planned on spending his student loans!  Grabbing a shirt, he
pulled it on and slammed the door shut.
     So what if this wasn't the real Ranma?  Whomever he was, he
was responsible for cursing him.  And, he realised now, no matter
what the risk, he needed a cure.  He needed his revenge.  He would
not live in fear of retribution for the rest of his life!
     But how?
     The Anime Liberation Front was out.  While well organised down
south, the Canadian branch was still weak, if not non-existent. 
No, he needed to find another way.  He sat down to think.
     A knock on his door interrupted him; a splash of water greeted
him as he opened it.  George, his roommate, leered at her, giggled,
and ran off.
     "You asshole!" yelled Mike after him, then slammed the door
shut and threw herself onto the bed.  Why was it that it seemed
impossible to stay male for longer than half an hour?  Cold water
seemed to be lurking _everywhere_!  Oh well, thought Mike, maybe
being female would inspire her to think up a cure.  On the other
hand... it was also a little distracting.  Waking up as a female
might not be a surprise anymore... but occasionally, a slight
movement, a subtle shift, a sudden strange sensation... would
remind her of just what she now was... and what she had lost.
     And, ultimately, it made the next fifteen minutes of deep
thinking nearly futile.  Eyes screwed shut, she tried desperately
to summon up an idea, a plan, to focus on the matter at hand.  The
problem was, she realized, that she didn't have much at her
disposal.  She had gained neither magical powers nor super-
abilities from her curse; she had no high-tech combat armour or
innate abilities to call upon in battle.  In a fight against the
animates she'd be next to useless.
     All she was, really, was an English student and a writer - and
not a terribly good one at either.  She gave a mirthless chuckle at
the thought of threatening Ranma with her keyboard.  "Gimme that
Nannichuan, punk, or taste my QWERTY wrath!" she'd cry, and the
pig-tailed youth would cower in fear and awe before her.  Not
likely.
     And yet...
     The animates...
     The animates... were literary creations.  They had been
_written_ into existence.  They may have gained a sentience, a life
and will of their own, but they remained creations of the
imagination.  More importantly, the ones most responsible for the
recent chaos, the ones interested in revenge, had actually been
spawned by the writers of the FFML.  Looking down at herself, Mike
saw a pair of all-too real proofs that she _did_, in fact, have
power - a power over the world of the animates, power over a world
that had found a way to cross-over into hers, driven by an anger
_she_ had given them.
     And if she could create a being that would seek her out and
revenge itself upon her... than could she not as well create a cure
for herself?  With sudden hope, she sprang off her bed, dashing to
her computer.
     It wasn't until the blank, blue screen of her word-processor
actually faced her that she realised that her plan could never
work.  She might have some kind of ability to define and manipulate
the world of anime... but that still didn't give her any kind of
power over the _real_ world.  She couldn't just summon up a vial of
Nannichuan!
     "Shit!" she cursed, slamming her fists against her keyboard,
causing the word "bgtnyh" to appear.  The brief fleeting hope she'd
felt seeped away, leaving behind a bitter taste.  Dammit!  She was
so sure she'd had it - or at least, had _something_.  As it was,
she'd be able to create a cure for herself... but it had no way of
getting to her.
     Unless... unless she went to get it herself?  She paused
momentarily, fingers drumming against the surface of her desk. 
She'd been personally visited by Ranma and Akane... if they could
come _here_, why shouldn't she be able to go _there_?
     And once she got there... she might be able to get cured!  She
might even be able to get her revenge!  If her powers as a writer
remained intact... she could put Ranma back into his place,
reminder him just who had the power, and who was the animated
figment of someone's imagination!  All she had to do was find a way
to get to Nerima; all she needed was a plan of action!
     Suddenly galvanised into action, she ran to her closet,
riffling through her new assortment of clothes.  Stripping off the
too-baggy jeans and shirt, she changed into something somewhat
better-fitting.  The skirt felt a little strange, and the shirt was
a little too snug for her comfort, but her roommate had assured her
that it looked good; it suddenly occurred to Mike that, depending
on the target audience, that might not be a good thing.  She
shrugged.  Where she was planning on going, that would be the least
of her worried - at least her female form would help her blend in
a little easier.
     Tying her hair back into a ponytail, she sat down again before
her computer.  She took a moment to organise her thoughts, gently
laying her fingertips against the keyboard.  
     She began to type:

     'The birds chirped and fluttered, dancing upon the shafts of
sunlight that streamed through the canopy of leaves above.  Small
woodland creatures scurried through the roots of branches of the
lights woods that stood behind the athletic field of Furinkan
High.'

     She hesitated.  Too much detail.  The place already existed -
she didn't have to add so many extraneous detail.  There were more
important things to concern herself with...

     'A rabbi lifted itself onto its hind legs, curiously sniffing
the air.  It could feel a strange, almost electric tension forming;
spooked by the unusual sensation, it hopped into a thicket,
watching with frightened eyes from the protection of the foliage. 
Several feet above the ground, a glowing blue light appeared.'

     Mike scanned over the passage hastily.  Everything seemed...
no, a mistake.  She quickly went back and slapped a 't' at the end
of 'rabbi'... things might've been a little awkward, otherwise, if
this plan actually worked...

     'The glow intensified, seemed to ignite the very air, began to
swirl and churn upon itself.  Small sparks of electricity darted
from the periphery, grounding themselves with brilliant flashes of
light.  The centre thickened, darkened... and finally, silently,
opened...'

     Her heart beat a bit faster.  "This had better work..." she
whispered to herself.  "C'mon, baby..."  Her fingers flew over the
keys...

     'Hidden as it was in the woods, no one saw the vortex.  It
continued to swirl and strengthen, one end anchored in Nerima...
the other connecting with the room of Michael Noakes, a student in
Ottawa, Canada.  It would grant him passage to and from those two
locations, those two worlds...'

     She sat back, nervously pulling her fingers from the keyboard. 
A single drop of sweat fell from her brow, fell to her breast, and
soaked into the fabric of her shirt.  Was it... did it... work? 
Nothing seemed to be happening!
     But as her shadow began to climb the wall before her, she
realised that an intensifying blue luminescence had formed behind
her.  Slowly, almost unbelievingly, she turned in her seat.  The
wall - the one that Ranma had stepped through the night before, the
one with the Star Wars poster on it - was glowing blue.
     With a certain amount trepidation, she approached the wall. 
There was a slight static feeling to the air, coupled with a slight
smell of ozone.  Gulping slightly, she extended her had and pressed
it against the wall...
     And found it quite solid.
     "Whaaaa...." she muttered.  Why wouldn't it give way? 
Obviously _something_ was happening!  Returning to her computer,
she looked over the text she had written.  It wasn't exactly high
literature, but she doubted that really mattered.  It took several
rereads for it to hit her.  Michael Noakes.  The vortex would offer
passage to _Michael_ Noakes.  But, she realised, looking down at
herself, she most certainly did _not_ look like a 'Michael' right
now.  Ranma had been right... she was a 'Michelle' now; at least,
she was as long as she remained in female form.  She corrected her
name, and, on a whim, added a few more lines, saved it, then
returned to the wall.
     This time, her hand passed through with ease, sending a
slightly numbing tingling up her entire arm.  There was a moment's
fear, a gut-wrenching terror that quickly passed.
     With a sigh, she looked back at her room, wondering if she was
doing the right thing.  "C'mon, man..." she mumbled under her
breath.  "This is it... no time to chicken out now..."  She turned
her back on the real world.
     Steeling herself, she stepped into the vortex.
     She was on her way to Nerima...

     *** To be Continued... ***

	I can't believe this thing's gonna have a part two...
	Oh well.
	BTW, the little rabbi/rabbit thing came, originaly, from the old 
text-adventure game, Leather Goddesses of Phobos (you had to use a 
de-'T'ing device on a rabbit, or something...)  Kinda appropriate, in a 
way...
	Later!
	-Mike