And it -did- update on our webspace (www.bladeandepsilon.com) before 
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  			     C&A Productions Presents

                          A Work of Blatant Self-Insertion


                                   Hybrid Theory


                                 Chapter 3: Foreword


	Ukyou lay back on the bed, pillowing her head with her hands. Her long
hair flowed out behind her, dangling from the lip of the mattress to brush 
along
the edge of the floor. She was naked, able to breathe much more comfortably
without the bandages binding her breasts to her chest. Aaron preferred not 
to
think about such things, but couldn't help it as Ukyou felt the simple 
pleasure
of relief from her restriction.
	Their eyelids were heavy with weariness, and the lulling melody of the
rain outside did little to aid them in staying awake. Still, they resisted
sleep. Sleep had become an enemy. Aaron had been an insomniac for so long he 
had
forgotten what true deep sleep felt like, and had once enthusiastically
proclaimed that he would pay a thousand dollars for one full night's sleep. 
Now
he dreaded it for much the same reason Ukyou did. Sleep was a surrender, one
neither of them could afford to accept. So they stayed awake, meditated, and
used methods both had developed to avoid slipping into darkness. But it was
inescapable.
	Slowly the room lost focus, began to swim in and out. Then it was
dimmer, and sound seemed... duller. Distant. Her eyes closed despite the 
best
wishes of Ukyou and Aaron, and their breathing began to settle into an 
ancient
and peaceful rhythm. For an infinite instant they dangled on the lip of 
oblivion
and then...

*

	In the dream-memory everything was both more and less real at the same
time. Colors were sharper, more vibrant, but shapes less clearly defined.
Objects of attention leapt out in every detail. Here, a man walking by was
etched in their mind down to the tiniest follicle of hair in his beard, 
there
the pop machine was tall and covered in beads of moisture and flecks of rust
that numbered in the thousands and yet were easily countable. Yet things 
beyond
their immediate focus faded away, dimming, becoming less in some way. The
crowd walking about outside was nothing more than a blur of vaguely people-
colored motion, and the sounds of the airport had cycled back into an 
indistinct
bass rumble with explosions of garbled speech mixed in.
	They were standing just inside the doorway, positioned so they were out
of the main path of the passing people, but so that they could see with no
problem outside. Except it wasn't they, it was him. Aaron Peori, male, age
twenty-five, resident of Halifax, Nova Scotia Canada. Social outcast, by 
choice
and by nature, here to meet up with one of the few other social outcasts who
accepted him. Here to enjoy the company of a large collection of social 
outcasts
of all types. Except Aaron wouldn't really enjoy it, but it pleased his 
friend
to affect that he did, so he went through the motions.
	It was at this point in the dream-memory that they felt the strange
split, a surreal second as if they were viewing this scene from two detached
perspectives at once. Then it went away. They were who they were, and this 
was
the past and thus immutable to their attempts to change the course of 
events.
	"Yo, Aaron."
	They looked to the side and noted the approach of Aaron's/their longest
and only friend. Chris was a dark-eyed man wearing amber rimmed glasses that
reflected the spring sunlight in an unsettling way. He was grinning - no, 
more
properly he was smirking - as he walked forward. He walked with a slight 
limp, a
reminder of the accident he had survived years ago. His arms were at his 
side,
hands stuck into the pockets of his jeans. He was dark-haired, with a 
ponytail
that reached past the middle of his back and a string necklace of 
pseudo-Indian
beads around his neck. He wore a leather jacket and black t-shirt. In the
memory, they could count the hairs in his moustache and see the wrinkles of 
his
jeans fold and ripple in the slight breeze.
	Behind him were the others. Chris had his girlfriend, whose identity
eluded them for a moment, and his other friend with him as well. Jenn and 
Rob:
the names leapt from the back of their mind suddenly. But they were 
indistinct,
less -there- than Chris was in some fundamental way. They focused their
attention on the man in front of them, and spoke.
	"You're late, again."
	"Traffic was bad.  And the ride's free, so I'm not complaining."
	Chris shrugged, and in the dream-memory the movement was full of complex
and subtle motions. There were greetings from the other two, but they were 
there
and gone like mist. One of them (Rob?) offered to carry their baggage but 
they
waved him off. Despite Aaron's unexceptional build, they always surprised 
people
with how strong they actually were. They offered mechanical greetings to the
others present, satisfying the requirements of politeness in both cases, 
then
basically dismissed them from their mind.
	"Let's go. I hate airports."
	Chris deferred to Rob to lead them outside to the car. The weight of the
suitcase was heavy at first, but then it lessened and seemed to vanish into 
the
same phantom substance that most things in the dream-memory had. They walked 
in
relative silence the rest of the way. The three others made small talk, 
which
Chris tried to get Aaron to participate in. They only grunted and nodded as
appropriate to participate in a minimum of conversation. After a time Chris
noted their reluctance to talk for the moment, and allowed himself to get 
into
discussions with the others.
	For the duration of the walk the only real thing was Chris. They thought
about the boy, and for some reason in this dream-memory they recalled much 
more
of the man than they usually ever thought of. They recalled that first 
meeting
in the library of the Cape Breton high school, then how Chris has always 
managed
to barge into his life, uninvited, until they'd grown used to him and 
finally
grew to enjoy the stories they made up, talking outside in the crisp air of
Aaron's mother's yard.  Until the day when Chris defied his father and fled 
with
them to Aaron's house by the river for sanctuary. After that it was just the
long years of separation... even now, it had been over a year since they had
last seen each other face to face. Why did they consider this man friend? 
This
man whom they barely ever saw? But beyond a doubt they did. They would trust
Chris as much as they would trust anyone.
	"As you can see, Rob got a new car.  Not that you'd probably have
noticed, but he got in a nasty accident a bit back."
	They looked up as Chris pointed out they had arrived. The car was also
quite real. It was white, medium-sized and four-doored but for some reason 
they
exact make and model eluded them. Tha paint still had the smooth texture and
shine of either the new or the recently refurbished. Rob mentioned something
about the accident of his old car and they responded with polite interest to 
his
story.
	"He hasn't named his new car yet.  I keep suggesting 'Kalia-chan', but
for some reason he's reluctant."
	"I can't imagine why."
	Chris chuckled as the back was popped to deposit their suitcases. For
some reason the interior of the trunk was less real than the rest of the 
car,
nothing more than an indistinct black pit into which the luggage vanished 
from
view, and their world, forever. Inside the car itself was another story. Rob 
and
Jenn occupied the front seats, leaving Chris and Aaron to the back so they 
could
sit together and talk. Chris had not lost his happy smirk the entire walk, 
and
he sprawled comfortably in the foam seats. They looked about the interior of 
the
car only briefly, but noted every detail instantly and permanently, from the
stylish upholstering to the functional and advanced controls for the stereo 
and
CD player (controls only, oddly...there was no actual CD player they could 
see).
	Rob started up the car as Chris turned in liquid slow motion to address
Aaron.
	"So, how was the trip?"
	"Expensive."
	Chris laughed politely. He took his glasses off and cleaned them on his
shirt. Jenn and Rob might have laughed, too, it was hard to tell.
	"Isn't it always.  That's why I get YOU to come HERE.  Well, that and
the fact that Ottawa's more interesting than Halifax.  And I've got all the 
cool
stuff."
	"Indeed."
	They glanced out the side-window. The world was flowing past, an
nauseatingly formless blur. They felt a niggling sense that they should be
contributing more to the conversation, but failed to do so.
	"So, you remembered to bring the Brigadoon DVDs back, right?  And the
games?"
	"Yes, yes. I even rememebered this for once."
	Between their feet rested a red back-pack, its bottom caked with salt
stains from the long Halifax winter. With what their hands felt was a 
practiced
and familiar motion, they reached in and retrieved a green binder whose 
covers
were worn and peeling from constant use. They handed the binder to Chris, 
who
took it after he had finished cleaning his glasses. He opened it and flipped
through, his eyes widening a bit and his smirk growing, in that impossible 
way,
more pleased with itself.
	"Wow. It's about time.  And even slightly before the third actual Star
Wars prequel comes out, amazingly."
	They shrugged a bit sheepishly...an affectation, but it helped smooth
things over.
	"Law of averages says I have to remember it sometime."
	"This is true.  Unless it's the Altima Cycle...but we won't go there."
	Chris closed the binder and placed it in his lap, his hands clutching it
a bit protectively.
	"I'll read it later.  And then type it.  Or rather, get Jenn to type it,
since she so capably fills in for me in that role."
	Chris grinned in his girlfriend's direction. Jenn interjected with an
amusing comment at this point and they both laughed.
	"So what's the plan for the day?"
	Up ahead the traffic was thinning. A large tanker truck, its metal
finish gleaming and reflecting the world around it, was pulling up to the
intersection. The light in front of them turned green, they distinctly saw 
that.
	Chris gnawed at his nail for a moment, thinking, then noticed what he
was doing and frowned. He retrieved a nail file from his pocket and set 
about
repairing the damage.  Rob pulled into the intersection, he was saying 
something
to Jenn, not looking at the truck. The truck wasn't moving. It was at a 
complete
stop.
	"Well, once we get you settled in, I figure I'll show you some new music
vids and stuff.  Then maybe we can do some games or something."
	Chris' smirk transformed into an amused grin. He was looking in the
wrong direction to see the truck. He might have not have seen anything at 
all.
Maybe he was lucky and that was just what happened. Maybe he didn't feel
anything, either.
	"Maybe I can teach you to play Here Comes The Pain.  A wrestling game
is, after all, just another sort of fighting game.  Some variety."
	The truck was moving. Not just the slow rolling start of a lumbering
behemoth combating its inertia for every inch of ground. This was the 
barreling,
high-speed blast of the highway. It had to be going over a hundred 
kilometers
an hour! That wasn't possible. They rolled their eyes. Somehow, despite the
clarity of the truck, it never entered their mind that they were in any 
danger.
It was impossible.
	"Problem not..."
	Their voice trailed off. Rob's car had gotten just far enough into the
intersection that the front half was beyond the point of the truck when it 
hit.
The huge "Mack" logo was at window height when the collision occurred. Their
mouth opened in a strange O as the doorway behind Chris crumbled inward in
disturbing slow motion. Then Chris was gone, the pinwheeling wreckage 
slashing
his body apart without even slowing. The shrapnel had slowed enough by the 
time
it reached them that it merely stuck into their body in a dozen places, none 
of
them immediately fatal.
	The car was flipped by the impact, bouncing end over end to rest on its
side several meters away. The gyrations sprayed the interior with blood and
served to drive the shrapnel even further into their body. The pain was
omnipresent. It was everything. It was so there that it ceased to matter.
	"Oh, God! They're dead!"
	The voice called out from the front seat. Jenn was looking back at
them,her eyes wide and fearful. She was so real. So that was why Chris 
thought
she was beautiful, she really was in her own way. Her face was flecked with
blood, but none of it was her own. In some bizarre miracle, she didn't 
appear to
be harmed at all beyond a bruise on the ball of her thumb. Rob was next to 
her,
admonishing her to get out of the car, but she wasn't listening.
	They coughed, and the pain erupted into new heights. So this was what it
felt like to die. There was no encroaching darkness, no phantom light, just 
pain
slowly consuming everything. He would have to remember to get a refund from 
all
those corny writers some day...

*

	The dreams of sleep were bad, but waking up was far worse. Ukyou
	(Aaron)
	emerged from sleep like a bat out of hell, screaming and thrashing. He
tried to move his right hand but she was also moving it in the other 
direction,
causing the hand to twitch and spasm. Eyes fluttered open and closed, 
turning
the dim light into brutal flashes of color and motion. She wanted to scream, 
but
his voice wouldn't work. Their throat pulsed as they tried to swallow and 
expel
at the same time, cutting off precious air. Legs flopped and rolled back and
forth, trying to simultaneously walk and stand and kick.
	As bad as the physical reactions were, the mental feedback was far
worse. Aaron was lost in memories and emotions. She was a little girl, 
standing
in the bright sunroom with her mother who had died two years ago while his
brother ratted him out about destroying her GI Joes. In the background her
father was preparing another okonomiyaki in his business suit that was 
slightly
rumpled from a long day of office work and he did not look pleased. Brad, 
who
was not his brother because he had none, was really playing up how much he 
had
lost so Aaron pulled out his battle spatula and taught him a lesson. She 
didn't
like being taunted because she had lost the
	(fiancee)
	toys in the backyard sandbox. Then the memory shifted and he was
training furiously against the sea, contemplating his parents divorce and 
trying
to figure out a way to conceal the fact that he was really a girl when he 
went
off to boarding school in Prince Edward Island for the year and-
	"Make it stop!"
	The scream broke out of his/her throat in unison. But of course, it
wouldn't stop, it couldn't stop. Not until they had made the sacrifice. The
memories kept coming, but they kept contradicting and shattering one each 
other,
like bombs going off in their head. They couldn't think, they couldn't do
anything but remember as their overworked brain tried to resolve the 
conflict.
But so long as Aaron refused to accept Ukyou's memories as his own, and she 
did
the same to him, they kept coming again and again.
	It had taken them almost a day of non-stop disjunction, and the brink of
insanity, before they stumbled upon the secret of releasing the pressure. It 
was
like two balloons, expanding inside a confined space. The secret was to let 
out
the pressure a little bit, until they could think again. Aaron and Ukyou 
seized
upon memories and concentrated on them, forcing their minds not to waver. As 
the
impossibilities began to emerge they refused to let them distract, instead
focusing all their attention at maintaining the single image. Slowly the 
images
merged, blended, and finally there were no contradictions.
	As the pressure slowly died down Aaron found himself able to think
again, awareness of his surroundings returning. Tears were leaking from 
Ukyou's
eyes, and a froth flecked her lips. It took them almost fifteen minutes to
master themselves, release the pressure to the level where they could
distinguish him from her and regain their feet. Ukyou staggered her body 
into
the bathroom and began to scrub her face in the sink.
	She hated this. Every time they woke up, another memory slipped away
from them both. This time it was back during childhood, when she was 
training.
Except in her memories she wasn't a she, she was a he. Her name kept 
waffling
between Aaron and Ukyou in the memory now, and she remembered a mother she 
had
never had calling her to dinner while her father had developed the traits of 
two
separate men. She couldn't even recall the original memory anymore. It had
become hopelessly mixed between the two of them. It even made sense, in some
bizarre way. There was no discontinuity between it and the rest of her life. 
Any
more than the growing list of other blended memories were.
	Aaron sighed and finished up the cleansing. It was the price they had to
pay, to be able to move and think at all. But every time they slept and 
their
defenses slipped like that, they had to create a new one. Every time they 
slept,
a piece of their life was gone forever. A piece of them.
	Just a few more months. A few more months and The Sword could end all
this. But Ukyou was beginning to have serious doubts they would even last 
that
long. Would anything at all be left of her or Aaron by the time they had the
sword?
	Best not the think about such things. That way lay madness.
	Besides it was time to deal with their other problem. Ukyou moved
quickly, snatching up a clean outfit with one hand while Aaron set about re-
binding her breasts with the other. Today they would find a few Sailor 
Senshi,
and clear up whatever beef Setsuna had with them.


*


	Once again Chris was hiding in a pipe, though not the same pipe, and he
had not bothered to remove and hide his clothes this time.  He held the gun
above him, had seen it dimly above the rush of the water for most of the 
day.
It was tedious, but otherwise not really a problem.  He didn't get tired.
	The arm was steady, but the softer, fleshy parts of it wobbled in the
flow of the water in an unpleasant fashion.  The colour of the flesh was 
also
going from the normal - or, at least, understandable - pallor to something
darker and less pleasant.  It wasn't very noticible yet...but he'd had 
little
else to do that day except look for the signs.
	A wave of revulsion overcame him.  He had to get out of this body soon.
Inhabiting a corpse was strain enough.  But once it began to rot, to decay, 
the
inevitable breaking down of the flesh...it threatened his grasp on sanity.  
Such
as it was.
	He remembered awaking, or so it had felt like.  A homeless, nameless
drunk in the central United States.   It didn't take that long to figure out 
his
condition...when you didn't breathe, or eat, and everything felt so distant, 
so
removed...no, it was easy.  But it hadn't even occurred to him what the
consequences of this were until a few days later.  He could gain access to a
shower, but the stench the body was emitting by then wasn't from dirt or 
sweat.
And the horrible feeling that spread through him, that sickening softness...
	By the third day, he was afraid to stay still, to sit anywhere, for fear
that insects and rats would begin devouring him.  He was going insane, could
feel despair, rage, frustration eating away at his mind.  Would he die, 
again,
when the body finally decayed past the point of supporting him?  Or would he
remain there perpetually, eventually nothing but a skeleton, fleshless, 
blinded,
unable to move, lying there waiting to become dust?
	Yes, he had come very close to insanity.  And he kept moving, always
moving, the bum's ragged shoes wearing out underneath him, and then his 
equally
ragged feet as well.  Late the third night, he had come upon a group of 
women,
standing on a corner, assumed they were prostitutes, later would find out he 
was
right.  At first, he barely noticed them.  But one called out to him.
	He didn't, even now, know what she had said to him.  A proposition, a
taunt, a greeting?  He didn't want to know.  But at the time, he had seen 
red,
despising her, despising her useless WASTE of life that she held up to him,
taunting him, and he had screamed and gripped her by the throat with his 
dead
hands and...
	He closed his eyes, willing away the memory.  Her companions had tried
to stop him, beating him and kicking at him.  But he felt no pain, then or 
now.
Or rather, he felt it, but it was just as distant as everything else.  Like 
a
dull sound from far away, it could be noticed, but could just as easily be
dismissed.  In his rage, he ignored it, and they disappeared from his view.
Probably ran away to call the police.  But he wasn't paying attention to 
them.
	As he stood, looking down at her body, he felt he should be overcome by
the enormity of what he had done.  A part of him actually was shocked and
horrified.  But the rest...empty.  He was just empty.  And then he became 
aware
that the emptiness was not only inside, but outside.  Outside, in the 
woman's
body, was an emptiness that awaited him, beckoned for him to fill it.  And
without knowing quite what he was doing or how he was doing it, he did so.
	He opened his eyes, awaking for the second time, and saw the rotting
corpse that he recognised as himself...or, rather, what he had looked
like...tumbling to the street.  He didn't look down at himself (herself)?  
He
didn't have to.  Male and female bodies didn't feel at all similar, even to 
him.
He screamed, and the voice he screamed with was her voice.  And then he 
fled,
not knowing why, just feeling a driving NEED to be away from that street 
corner,
to be away from that body that once was his, the body that had killed the 
body
that was now his body that now was dead dead dead like him.
	He stopped running...some time later.  Hours, probably.  He had escaped
from the whole city.  He stopped, not because of a tiredness that he could 
no
longer feel, but because finally the emotions had died down.  It was the sun
that had done it, he thought.  It was just starting to rise, bathing the 
world
in crimson, distracting him, grabbing his attention and forcing him to 
think.
He had to find shelter. Someplace cool.  Someplace where this new body would 
not
be exposed to the heat of the day, which would cause it to rot faster.
	And, once he had started thinking, he continued.  He sheltered in the
overhang of a highway bridge for most of that day, and thought long and 
hard.
Alright, so he was an undead possessing spirit.  Or something.  That was 
better
than being trapped in a single rotting body, but only marginally.  There was 
no
way he'd be able to, on a regular basis, find "replacement" bodies that were
themselves undecayed enough to be useful.  Sure, there were morgues, but
nonwithstanding that he had no idea how he'd break into one undetected, it
probably wouldn't take too many bodies getting up and walking away before
there'd be some serious interest in the matter.
	That left the option he'd unwittingly discovered the night before:
creating his own fresh replacement bodies.  That was not an avenue he wanted 
to
walk down.  He wasn't a murderer.  Except, of course, that now he was.  But 
the
thought of stretching out months, years, decades (centuries?  eons?) of
constantly killing to keep himself going...no.  He didn't put that kind of 
stock
on his own worth.  Besides, practicality stepped in.  Eventually he'd get 
caught
and exposed for what he was.  That would be unpleasant in any case, but not
nearly as unpleasant as it'd be if he had left a trail of hundreds of 
murders
behind him.
	So, what to do, then?  He couldn't decide.  Obviously, he'd have to turn
himself in to some authority to which he could prove what he was, and see if
they could help them.  But who?  He was in the United States.  Maybe it was 
just
his left-leaning paranoia...but he'd rather not put himself at the disposal 
of a
government that might decide that he had useful military applications 
(which, of
course, he undoubtedly did, in a whole number of areas).  Of course, any
government might decide that...but the US was a lot more able to implement 
such
an idea, and would have more use for him.  He wanted to be helped, not used 
and
certainly not replicated.  But he was also a long, long way away from 
Canada.
Hell, he was closer to Mexico.  If he wanted to make the trip north on foot,
even running all day and night, he'd have to replace his body along the way. 
And
that would mean killing someone.  He didn't feel right doing that just 
because
the US government bugged him.
	Eventually, he decided he'd hitchhike north.  It wasn't the best of
options...but it was possible.  With luck, he could get to the border before
this body started seriously failing him.  It helped he wouldn't have to 
rest, or
sleep.  And, of course, he was hardly worried about being accosted, 
kidnapped,
or molested...if anyone had antisocial ideas and was too big to handle, he 
could
just play dead, something he could do extremely well.  Then he figured he 
could
just continue after his body got dumped by the roadway.  It wasn't a perfect
plan, but it was the best thing he could think of.  He could always change 
his
mind and get in contact with the US government if he was stalled along the 
way.
	But, before he could do that, he had to go back to the city, because
this look wouldn't do at all.  The skimpy clothes would be attracting the 
wrong
type of ride, and his frantic run had snapped both the spike heels of the 
shoes.
It was a wonder he hadn't broken an ankle or something, so little had he 
been
paying attention to the state of his new body.
	When dusk had fallen, he headed out.  Still considering plans for what
to do in the future and how to do it, he found himself in the city limits 
almost
before he knew it.  He idly wondered where he might find a store that sold 
shoes
and was open in the evening.  A department store, probably.  But where could 
he
find one...?
	That was when he realised he KNEW where to find such a store.
	How?  He racked his memory.  Had he passed by this store in the body of
the homeless man, wandering in his attempts to avoid decomposition?  No, 
that
wasn't it, he was sure.  Even if he had, he wouldn't have remembered where 
to go
to find it; he knew his poor sense of direction well.  And yet, he DID know.
And he had know precisely how to get back into the city, as well, recalled 
it so
quickly and easily that he had barely needed to think about it as he 
returned,
his mind occupied with other matters.
	Trying to picture where he'd seen the store, he remembered purchasing
the same shoes there that he'd broken in his run...and then he knew the 
truth.
It wasn't his memory at all.  It was HERS.  Her memories had led him back to 
the
city, and told him where to find the store.  Just like, he only now 
realised,
the memories of the homeless man had before.  His wanderings had skirted the
areas where he was likely to be questioned or picked up by the police for
loitering; he had just felt safer in the places he decided to go, wandered 
on
instinct.  But it wasn't instinct, it had been learned.
	He couldn't find the old man's memories anymore.  They were gone with
his body.  But hers were another story.  He thought, and remembered, and 
shared
the experiences, the knowledge that he needed.  He knew where her run-down
apartment was.  She had some money there, carefully hidden away.  But it 
would
be too dangerous to go, he quickly realised.  Her pimp checked up on her 
every
night.  He would have heard about what had happened the night before.  He 
would
be looking for her.  In fact, it would be best if he got out of town right 
away.
	Luckily, he also remembered that she had some money in her pockets,
earned earlier that same evening.  He shook his head, making a wry mental 
vow to
search the pockets of any subsequent bodies he found himself in right away.
	First, he needed shoes.  Skanky clothes were one thing, but no shoes
would just make her stand out, and he wanted to stand out as little as 
possible.
Besides, less wear and tear on the body was good.
	At the store he - or she - had remembered, he found a pair; cheap,
knock-off brand sneakers.  People gave him mingled looks of pity and 
contempt,
and some hastily moved away as he he walked by...well, he couldn't blame 
them,
given what he must look like.  The lady at the cash was heavy-set and looked 
at
the young woman she thought he was with undisguised motherly compassion.
	"Rough night for you, huh, Sheila?" she asked.
	His name was Sheila.  Wait, no...HER name was.  Well, she'd shopped here
often.  He paused for a moment before responding, trying to glean from her
memory how the dead woman had talked.  But that wasn't something she THOUGHT
about much...damn.  But then an idea struck him.  He kept his voice steady, 
low.
Serious, maybe a hint of anger.  "Yeah, but it's gonna be the last one."
	"Why's that?" the woman asked, looking at him strangely.  A pang of fear
touched her eyes.  "You're...all right, aren't you, dear?"
	He resisted a sudden urge to laugh.  About as all right as she'd ever
be, unfortunately.  But he spoke, still	in that low, focused tone.  "Yeah, 
I'm
all right.  But I'm thinkin'...well, I'm getting out of here."  He gestured
vaguely.
	"Out of here?  To where, hon?"
	"North.  Way up north, I think."  He paused, as if lost in thought.
"Always wanted to go there.  I like the snow, you know?  And the cold don't
bother me."
	"Well, bless your heart, Sheila.  I hope it all works out for you."  The
woman paused, obviously considering something, and when she spoke again, her
eyes were kind.  "You'll be needing some warmer clothes than that, though, 
if
you're going on the road."
	He knew where this was going, but played his part anyway.  "I'd like to,
but y'know..." he shrugged helplessly.  "I'm a little short, so new shoes'll
have to do."
	"Well..." the heavy-set woman paused, looking around shiftily.  Nobody
else was nearby.  She smiled, with a bit of a conspiratorial air.  "I'll 
tell
you what.  You just go pick yourself out a set of warm clothes.  It's a 
special
sale, just for you."
	He was tempted, but gave protesting a shot.  "Oh...no, I really
couldn't.  It's not fair, and I could probably never repay you..."
	"Don't you worry about a thing, dear.  If you go and make the most of
your life, that's repayment enough for me and the Lord."
	He kept his expression the same, although anger flared through him. Then
he forced himself to relax, and felt more angry at himself.  He'd killed 
this
body, lied about his identity and intentions to this kindly old woman, 
received
a generous bit of charity for it, and was offended because she'd invoked her
mystical cloud-man at him?  Asshole.  He graciously thanked her, and quickly
moved on to the women's clothing section.
	Besides, the US was full of religious nuts.  60% born-again Christians,
or something like that?  Lucky the old woman hadn't given her a rosary or
something to start her healing journey to make the 'most of her life'.  Ha.
Maybe if some loving supreme being had been watching over Sheila, she 
wouldn't
be dead.  Maybe if some loving supreme being existed, he wouldn't be...what 
he
was.
	But getting angry about it was pointless and petty.  Shrugging off the
feelings, he browsed the clothing racks.  He didn't even buy clothes much 
for
himself, much less for a woman, but luckily, this body knew what it was 
doing
more than he did.  And jeans were unisexual anyway.  With a few pairs of 
them
and some relatively warm - and unrevealing - long-sleeved shirts in his
grip, he retired to a dressing room, making sure he went into the correct 
one
for his apparent gender.
	Inside, looking at the mirror, he winced involuntarily.  No wonder
people were giving him such a wide berth.  The eyes were puffy, and a dark 
ring
of bruises enclosed his - her - neck like a choker.
	He was coming for her.  He was insane, his eyes wide and black and
devoid of anything of rage and oh my god they were DEAD dead eyes his 
fingers
were around her throat and she was pushing at them but they wouldn't move
couldn't scream couldn't breathe and her vision was fading couldn't feel
anything couldn't see anything but those eyes, those eyes, they were staring 
at
her through her into her-
	He snapped back to reality with a jerk, and cursed once, loudly, before
remembering where he was and shutting up.  Damn.  That was one memory he 
didn't
want to view.  He shuddered, and mentally apologised to Sheila.  For all the
good it did.  Damn it.  He hoped nothing like that would ever happen again.  
But
if he started rotting again...
	He firmly put those thoughts to the side.  Not productive.  Had to plan.
He could get through this.  Somehow.
	One pair of jeans and a shirt proved to be adequate fits.  They'd do.
He exited the dressing room, handed off the remaining clothes to the 
attendant.
For reasons not entirely clear to him, before returning to the cash, he
detoured, heading off the electronics department.
	Well, the electronics department had been his favourite part of these
stores ever since he'd (mostly) outgrown the toy section.  He grinned to
himself, the dark feelings receding a bit.  Attempting to wrangle a Game Boy
Advance and some RPG out of the heavy-set woman would probably be 
ungracious.
But no harm in looking.
	Except there was no Game Boy Advance.  No PS2, X-Box, Gamecube...hell,
no PS1 either.  There was a display set up with a Game Boy.  The original 
Game
Boy, green screen and all.  Playing Tetris.  It was immediately both 
extremely
nostalgic and disturbing.
	As for consoles...there were Super Nintendos there.  And they were new.
More than that, they were new and hyped like the latest of technology.  
Small
game selection, and the prices...those were new game prices.
	What the hell?
	He peered around the rest of the section.  No DVDs.  No DVD players.  He
didn't even see a portable CD player, although it was a small section, 
so...no,
that made no damn sense.  No sense at ALL.  The smallest, crappiest 
electronics
section in the shoddiest mall in the most hillbilly US town wouldn't have 
this.
This wasn't just where he'd lived...this wasn't WHEN he'd lived, either.
	His mind worked furiously.  Of course, he hadn't stopped much to read
newspapers in the last body...no money for them, although he guessed he 
could've
gotten them from a garbage can or something.  But why would he?  He'd had 
other
concerns, and there was no reason to look.
	Except now there was.  Now there sure as HELL was.  He glanced around,
eye latched onto a display of television sets.  They were showing some talk
show.  He moved closer, wondered if he'd get in trouble for changing the
channel.  Well, who gave a damn about that?  He didn't even know what year 
this
was.  Super Nintendo new...early 90s?  Not his area of trivia.  He was 
reaching
for the controls of the nearest television when the words "Sailor V" came 
from
the speaker and arrested his attention.
	He peered at the screen again.  Talk show, yeah...some guests there in
odd costumes.  One was definitely done up as Sailor V.  He thought it was a
girl.  Not a great-looking one, though.  He almost smirked at the fangirl
humiliating herself on national television.  Probably going to decry the 
editing
practices of those awful, horrible, censoring American companies.
	Except...wait.  If this was the early 90s, anime wasn't a "thing" in the
US then.  It wasn't even a blip on the radar.  And...well, he -thought- 
Sailor
Moon was around, then.  Maybe.  But not in English.  Why would it even make 
it
onto a talk show?
	And then, the show itself answered his questions.  "...our next guest,
who, as you can see, is a big fan of that mysterious British urban legend - 
or
is that superheroine? - Sailor V, let's have a big hand for..."
	Urban legend.  Superheroine.  British.  Distinctly not 'Japanese cartoon
character'.  He stared, and as the following comments only confirmed his
suspicions, he began to think furiously.
	It appeared the plan would require some tweaking...
	A loud splash, echoing through the water, startled Chris from his
reminiscing.  He looked over, but didn't see anything.  He didn't need to
breathe, but nothing had made him better able to see underwater.  Well, no 
need
to panic.  Probably someone throwing a rock against the pipe, or into the 
canal
or something.  He stayed still, anxiously scanning the entrance, but nothing
darkened it, and he relaxed.
	The setting sun was staining the water a brilliant orange, slowly fading
to red.  It wouldn't be long, now.  Once night fell, he'd move onto his next
target.  He went over again, in his mind - or Officer Takashita's - police
procedures, schedules, patrolling.  He'd be able to evade them, he thought.  
If
not, he could escape into the canals again, though that would ruin them as a
future hiding place.  After that...well, there were other places.
	The arm holding the gun was steady.  Good.  It wouldn't do for that to
get wet.  After all, being dead only got you so far in SOME fights...
	He settled back, waiting for the sun to set.  It would be time soon.
Soon.  Soon, he mentally promised the being that called itself Ukyou.  Soon,
we'll have our next meeting, a lot sooner than you expect.  And then he'd 
see if
he couldn't have a more productive talk about exactly what she was, and what 
she
knew about him.
	Soon.


*

	"Minato Ward?"
	Ranma looked up from his plate as Ukyou flipped another Okonomiyaki off
her portable grill and onto his plate. Akane was still working on her first
serving, but she looked to be enjoying herself.
	"That's right, I have some business to take care of there," Ukyou
explained cheerfully. Ranma was beginning to notice that Ukyou had two 
moods. In
one mood she was quiet and serious, her voice and face betraying little 
emotion.
The other Ukyou was energetic and cheerful, seeming to smile in secret 
amusement
at everything and with an easy laugh on her lips. He hadn't figured out what
triggered her sudden mood changes, but he was trying to put two and two
together.
	"How long will you be gone?" Akane asked. Ranma frowned at the girl
sitting across from him. She was smiling at Ukyou in an over-eager manner. 
Ever
since last night the girl hadn't been able to shut up about Ukyou for one
minute. She was gushing to her family, to her friends and to anyone who 
would
listen how Ukyou had saved her from a rogue cop with a gun. Ranma had 
managed to
hear the entire story himself more than once, the details getting more
impressive each time it got told. Ranma really wanted to know how Ukyou had
known what was going on.
	"The rest of today, most certainly," Ukyou said with a shrug as she
began to clean up her grill. Ranma sighed as he looked down at his own half-
finished portion and realized there woud be no more free food today. She 
really
had gotten much better at cooking over the years. "I doubt I'll be there
overnight, but you never know. Sometimes it takes a while to tie up these 
kinds
of problems."
	"Right," Ranma grunted as he swallowed his remaining food in a single
gulp, or tried to. The combination of too much food and trying to talk 
caused
the morsel to lodge itself in the wrong pipe. Ranma choked and smacked 
himself
in the chest as he tried to force the food out... then he realized that 
spitting
it up would ruin this fabulous meal. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he was
faced with a terrible choice: breathe, or finish Ukyou's okonomiyaki? He was
probably turning blue by the time he managed to send the meal down the right
pipe. He expelled a massive burp in a cloud of steam. Ukyou giggled a bit at 
his
antics. Akane rolled her eyes and crossed her arms while trying her best to 
look
down her nose at him. "So, when do we leave?"
	"We leave?" Ukyou looked at Ranma with a puzzled frown.
	"You're not leaving me behind this time," Ranma pointed out with a flip
of his finger. "Last night I spent three hours talking to the police while 
you
ran over town saving people from insane cops. You owe me."
	"Uh," Ukyou ran her hands through her bangs and sighed. "Ranma, you
don't know how much I would like to have a second pair of hands around for 
this,
but I don't think its the best idea..."
	"Well, why not?" Ranma crossed his arms and tried to put on an air of
wounded pride, which wasn't as hard as he thought it would be. Ukyou gave 
him a
blank-eyed stare for a few moments than put her face in her hands with 
another
sigh.
	"Ranma, just trust me." Then Ukyou's head snapped up suddenly and she
smiled, a pleased-with-herself grin. "Besides, I need you here, to look 
after
Akane."
	"Hey!" He and Akane screamed out at the same time. They both looked at
each other and glared.
	"Akane was targeted by something dangerous last night," Ukyou pointed
out with a flip of her damp washcloth. "And it definately wasn't human. I 
think
we won't have to worry about it again, but I'd rather not gamble Akane's 
life on
it." She reached over and patted him on his shoulder. "Frankly, I think 
you'd be
an even better bodyguard than I would. You're certainly the better martial
artist."
	Well, Ranma couldn't really argue with that. But he'd rather try to tame
a pit of poisonous vipers then willingly spend time with the pervert girl 
and
her equally perverted family.
	"Well, there's a simple solution to that," Akane pointed out as she
handed her plate to Ukyou. "I'll just have to come with you both."
	Ranma and Ukyou stared at her for a long second as they both tried to
process that statement.
	"Ohh boy," Ukyou said as she rocked back and braced herself with her
arms. She looked up at the noon-day sun overhead, partially concealed by the
tree they were sitting under. "I knew I should have just went off on my own
without telling either of you." She continued to stare up at the sky for a 
few
seconds, the breeze catching in her hair as it hung down between her arms 
and
teasing it in gentle waves. How had he ever thought that this was a guy?
	"Don't think you can get rid of me this time around," Akane pointed out,
snapping Ukyou out of her reverie. Ranma glared at Akane, but wasn't sure 
why.
"Last time you ran off without me, I was almost shot by some inhuman police
officer."
	"Well..." Ukyou frowned as she looked back at the two of them. "Can I
appeal to your desire not to skip school, then? You both still have a 
half-day
of classes left, and I have to leave now if I'm going to get there in time."
	This seemed to give Akane pause, but Ranma didn't even hesitate. "I'm
not really that attached to school, Ucchan."
	"I figured as much," Ukyou grumbled half to herself. "Fine, Ranma, you
can come." She slide to her feet in a single elegant motion. "Akane, you 
have to
decide if you want to skip school or not."
	"But that isn't fair!" Akane complained. "We have a test this
afternoon!" Ranma stood up as well and stuck his tongue out at her. "Don't 
think
I'm covering for you, jerk! You can get an F for all I care."
	"I'm shaking," Ranma began but Ukyou cut him off by rapping him lightly
on the back of the head.
	"Be nice," she admonished with her amused grin.
	"This is just no fair," Akane grumbled as she settled her chin into her
hands.

*

	The bus moved leisurely through the mid-day traffic. They had entered
the Minato Ward almost a half-hour ago, making the entire cross-town trip 
almost
an hour and a half total. An hour and a half alone with Ranma. It had been
surprisingly simple to get him to go along with her. Just string him along, 
make
him think it was his idea, play reluctant and stroke his ego at the same 
time
and he would all but force himself to come along. That was the advice Aaron 
had
given to Ukyou, and it had worked like a charm. Ukyou had even managed to 
get
him to agree to take the bus with much the same tactic, despite them being 
able
to run the distance in half the time.
	Ukyou was staring out the window, or trying to. Her eyes and head kept
swivelling to look at him. He was sitting there, calm and cool. There was
no nervous energy in his posture, but instead an almost unsettling readiness
about him. He was like a lounging cat, ready to pounce at the slightest sign 
of
danger. With him, she wouldn't have to worry about protecting herself. He 
would
always be ready to fight for her. He would always be ready to react to her 
every
need-
	Aaron jerked her eyes away from him before her thoughts could go much
further. She felt her stomach roil as he reminded her of his limiting factor 
on
her "little girl fantasies." Were they? Aaron reminded her again and again 
that
what she felt for Ranma could not posisbly be love. She didn't even know 
him.
Her image of Ranma was gathered from idealized childhood memories and...
	And.
	Memories of childhood and of the man he would be over the next year or
so. Ukyou knew Ranma, perhaps even better than he did himself. She had seen 
his
heart, displayed on pages in black and white. She could remember him during 
the
moments when he was down and when he was on top of the world. He was an
arrogant, compassionate, stubborn, protective, possessive, imaginative,
determined, juvenile... he was a person. He was much more than what Ukyou 
had
thought he would be. He was much more than that "other" Ukyou had ever seen 
in
him. He was all sorts of bad things and all sorts of good things.
	Ranma Saotome was a real jerk. And she didn't care. She wanted to be
with him, regardless. She wanted the fairy tale ending, even if the fairy 
tale
ending was impossible. And she was looking at him again, despite Aaron's
protests and the mild nausea. Ranma was looking back at her this time.
	"Ukyou, you shouldn't always have that serious face," he pointed out as
he wrapped his arms behind his head.
	"Huh?"
	"You should smile more, you look a lot better when you smile." Ukyou's
heart skipped a beat and she felt heat rushing to her cheeks. Slowly she 
pushed
past Aaron's numbing facial expression and smiled at him. He smiled back and
nodded. "There, that's much better. "Now you don't look so...I dunno, 
serious."
His voice was cheerful and oblivious as he spoke. He turned his head back 
away
from her and resumed people watching, since there wasn't much else he could 
do
on the bus.
	Ukyou ran her fingers through her bangs and released a breath she hadn't
realized she'd been holding in a long sigh. She wanted to be with him, there 
was
no doubt in her mind now. She loved him, for whatever he was. And she could 
have
him, too. Aaron might not like it, but he knew Ranma. Aaron knew all his
triggers and traits well. And therefore so did she. It would take time, but 
it
would be inevitable. The trick was patience, and Ukyou knew she could be
patient. Just demonstrate a bit of sympathy, a bit of rivalry, a bit of
compassion and a bit of sexual allure and Ranma would fall into her hands.
	She could play him like a ten cent flute. Aaron's words, not hers. Aaron
pointed out ruthlessly how much she would be manipulating him. He knew how 
to
trick Ranma into loving her, oh yes. And Ukyou would be happy with that, but
would Ranma? Ranma was nothing if not a free spirit. He lived to choose his 
own
destiny. Trapping him in a love built on so many false pretenses, would it 
be
any different than trapping a wild bird in a cage? How could Ukyou say she 
loved
him, when she was willing to go to any lengths to make him love her, and be
damned what Ranma wanted out of life.
	But that didn't matter! She wanted him to be with her. Was it so wrong
how she did it? He would be happy...
	Except she knew he might not be. Aaron was relentless. She might be able
to lie to Ranma, she even might be able to lie to herself. But Aaron knew
everything she thought and felt. She couldn't conceal her motives from him. 
The
fact was that she didn't care how Ranma felt about it.
	Now she felt like crap.
	She was really tempted to smack herself and punish Aaron for the slight
feeling of smugness he was projecting through her mind at the moment.
	"Uh, Ukyou," Ranma pointed out and snapped her out of her internal
bickering. "Wasn't that our stop?"
	"Eep!" Ukyou began to ring the bell furiously as the bus began to pull
away from the curb.

*

	Ranma followed Ukyou up the steps leading towards the temple. There
certainly were a lot of people here for a shrine, especially girls. Lots and
lots of school girls in the traditional sailor suit themed uniforms. Many of
them were giving him sly glances out of the corners of their eyes when they
thought he wasn't looking. Ranma coldn't help but beam a little at that. Of
course, this was nothing compared to the way they were reacting to Ukyou. At
least a third of the girls were staring at the masculine girl, many with 
their
mouths open, strong blushes on their cheeks or affecting dizziness. Ranma
frowned a bit at this, but then just had to chuckle about it. If only they 
knew.
	Ukyou, for her part wasn't paying much if any attention to them at all.
Nor was she paying much attention to anything else. Ever since they had 
gotten
off the bus Ukyou had been brooding, her face bent down so her long bangs 
fell
over her eyes as she stared at her feet. Her hands were hooked into her 
pants,
and Ranma noticed for the first time today that she wasn't wearing her usual
school uniform, having adopted a more casual slacks and button-up shirt 
combo.
She still sported her harness with the huge combat spatula on her back,
however. Maybe that was why Ukyou was attracting more attention than Ranma 
was?
	The top of the steps came up pretty quickly, with the steady long-legged
pace Ukyou was setting. Ranma scanned the words set on the traditional 
archway.
Hikawa Shrine, it stated in elegant simplicity. Ranma shrugged and looked 
down
again. The name of the place didn't really matter to him. He'd seen hundreds 
of
shrines and temples and holy places of all kinds over his life. Usually he'd
been sneaking into them, so walking in like a regular guest was a bit of a
novelty.
	Ukyou stopped at the top of the shrine steps, looking left and right for
something. Ranma sidled up next to her, rubbing the back of his neck as he
craned to see over the heads of the crowded schoolgirls for any details. The
place looked pretty typical. A booth had been set up nearby, selling little
trinkets to the girls. They were gobbling up the tiny charms in droves, many 
of
them cooing and gushing over them. More than half were holding them tightly 
and
talking in hushed whispers to their friends while pointing at Ranma and 
Ukyou. A
little old monk with a bald head and a tanned complexion was floating among 
the
crowd, accosting the girls cheerfully. Further on he could see a 
black-haired
shrine maiden stalking through the crowd towards the old monk. A blonde guy 
was
in the booth selling the little trinkets, and he seemed to be drawing as 
much
atention as Ranma and his friend.
	"What are you looking for?" Ranma asked evenly after a half-minute or
so.
	"I'm looking for a girl..." Ukyou trailed off. Ranma raised an eyebrow
but failed to comment. "Aha, that's her there." She inclined her chin 
slightly
as the raven-haired shrine girl passed in front of them. From the barely
restrained growl on her lips Ranma guessed that she was angry with someone,
probably that old monk making a fool of himself in front of a trio of young
girls. "But this seems terribly familiar for some reason." Ukyou pulled one 
hand
from her pocket and tapped her chin thoughtfully. "This place isn't this
crowded, usually..."
	"They seem to be having some sort of sale or festival or something,"
Ranma replied with a shrug. He laced his arms behind the back of his head 
and
nodded towards the booth set up nearby. Ukyou was shorter than him, so she 
must
be having more trouble seeing over the heads of all the girls. She frowned a 
bit
and pulled her hand from her chin.
	"Let's get closer to that, I want to hear what's going on."
	Ukyou didn't wait for Ranma to respond, instead stepping through the
crowd with the same ground-eating strides she usually favored. Ranma let his
arms fall and followed wordlessly. So far this was turning out to be very
boring. Not to mention he could do without all the girls talking behind his
back, it gave him the willies. Ukyou stepped through the crowd just as the
shrine-maiden finished scolding the old man about something. They were 
standing
next to a trio of girls, probably a few years younger than Ranma from the 
looks
of them. One had her hair up in a duet of giant ponytails that stood out in 
the
crowd, but Ranma had seen weirder hair in his day.
	"I sense evil energy!" the shrine maiden shouted suddenly. Moving with
exceptional swiftness she reached into her top and withdrew a long paper 
ward.
Chanting quickly the girl seemed to fill it with some sort of energy, at 
least
the thing snapped rigid in her grip. Ranma cocked his head to the side as he
watched. He had felt -something- happen when the girl chanted, but wasn't 
sure
what. "Demon be gone!" she cried out, spun on one heel and firmly applied 
the
ward to the forehead of the ponytailed blonde. This seemed to be received 
badly
by the girl, whose eyes rolled into the back of her head as she fainted to 
the
crowd to the shocked alarm of her friend. That seemed like a pretty overdone
attack for such a little bit of effect, Ranma mused.
	"Ranma, we're leaving," Ukyou said evenly.
	"Huh? Leaving?"
	"Yes, right now," Ukyou grabbed his sleeve and began to tug him back
into the crowd. Ranma looked down at her out of the corner of his eye. The
shrine girl and the two anonymous friends were bending over to help the one 
that
had fainted. Ranma's first instinct was to stay and see what he could do to
help, but Ukyou had the same no-nonsense expression on her face she had worn 
the
day that Akane had been attacked.
	"Okay," Ranma murmured softly as he allowed himself to be led away.
"But why?"
	"I..." Ukyou trailed off. "I just realized I'm early. I need to come
back another day." Ukyou kept looking back over her shoulder at the goings 
on as
she led Ranma away. Ranma cast a few glances in that direction as well, but
aside from the usual commotion over carrying an unconscious girl into a 
temple,
there was nothing to see.
	"Ukyou, are you sure we should be leaving?"
	"Very sure," Ukyou replied calmly. "Hurry."
	Now Ranma was sure something was up. There was no way that Ukyou would
be in such a rush to get out of here if she was just early for a meeting. 
This
was beginning to remind him a lot of last night, when Ukyou had sent him 
away
while she got to have all the real action. Ranma looked back over his 
shoulders
and tried to look at everything anew, with fresher eyes than he had used
earlier. Ukyou had seen something that made her want to leave, but what?
	Then Ranma noticed the man staring at them. He was standing just outside
the booth now, apparently drawn out by the girl's fainting spell. He was 
tall,
slender and blond, even if his build was mostly concealed by the enveloping
garments he wore for his service at the shrine. He was staring at them with 
a
dangerous frown on his pretty-boy face. Then for a moment Ranma's eyes met 
his
and Ranma felt -something-, a lot like what he had felt with the shrine girl 
but
much stronger, flash between them.
	"Wait up, Ukyou," Ranma pulled his arm from her grip with relative ease.
Ukyou took several more steps down the stairway before noticing this. Ranma 
was
already walking back towards the gateway by that time. "Hey, buddy, you want 
me
for some reason?"
	"Oh, was I staring?" the man said softly as Ranma approached. He didn't
seem intimidated, but he wasn't hostile either. There was still something 
about
him. Now that Ranma was closer, he could taste some nasty quality to the 
air. It
was the same kind of feeling he got just before he was about to be ambushed 
or
attacked, like a build-up of negative chi. "I'm sorry, I just couldn't help 
but
notice how... energetic you seem to be."
	"Right," Ranma settled himself just within the man's comfort zone and
crossed his arms across his chest. "Don't try and fool me pal, you haven't 
taken
your eyes off us since we got here."
	"Ranma!" Ukyou hissed as she stepped up beside him and grabbed his
shoulder. "We should leave. This doesn't concern us."
	"What doesn't concern us?" Ranma asked, awfully curious. Ukyou opened
her mouth to respond but then suddenly closed it again. She looked out of 
the
corner of her eyes at Blondie and seemed to shake her head subtly.
	"Its not important," Ukyou pointed out in a clear and calm voice.
"Besides, you're holding up this fine young man. I'm certain that R- er, the
shrine maiden could use your help treating the girl who fainted." The last 
part
was addressed to Blondie, who seemed slightly amused by the response.
	He bowed slightly to Ukyou. "You're right, of course," Blondie said in
an overwhelmingly polite tone. "I should attend to my duty to the shrine 
before
satisfying my own curiosity." Ranma narrowed his eyes at the man. He was 
hiding
something. The air around them had only grown more dangerous, not less. From 
the
looks of Ukyou's face, she could feel it too.
	"But since I seem to have offended you, why don't I make it up." The man
held out his hand to Ranma, offering two tiny trinkets. "They aren't much, 
just
little love charms, but I offer them as an apology for my rude behaviour." 
Ranma
plucked one of them and let it settle into his palm. What use did he have 
for
love charms? With his luck they might make those crazy Tendo chicks even 
more
attracted to his girl side.
	"No!"
	Ukyou slapped Ranma's hand, displacing the charm and causing it to
tumble to the ground. Ranma and Blondie stared at her, eyes wide as Ukyou 
took a
deep, calming breath. That had been close to real panic in her voice a 
second
ago.
	"I mean, we don't really believe in those kinds of things, so no thank
you," Ukyou offered slightly lamely but in a much calmer voice. Ranma 
noticed
Ukyou subtly, but deliberately, grind the charm under her heel as she moved 
in
closer to Ranma. "Let's get out of here, Ranma." she said in a very serious, 
no-
arguments-wanted tone. Ranma considered being stubborn, but decided that 
he'd
get the full story out of her once they were away from the strange man.
	"Let's go then."
	Ukyou turned without so much as a nod to Blondie, and Ranma didn't feel
much like saying goodbye either. The blonde pretty-boy waved at them anyway,
calling out that he hoped to see them both again soon. Ranma relaxed a 
little as
he felt himself stepping out of the man's aura. It was like walking out of a
room filled with noxious fumes into a bright spring day. Ukyou was half-way 
down
the stairs, taking them in short hopping steps that ate up three at a time,
before she spoke again.
	"Ranma, I want you to be on alert," she said without turning her head to
see him. "I don't think that we're in immediate danger. But I think we just
acquired the wrong kind of attention."
	"Wrong kind?" Ranma grumbled. He was beginning to wonder if there was a
right kind. Every time his father had managed to 'get attention' they had 
been
chased out of town by a band of people wielding improvised weapons. Now that
they had settled down he was receiving all kinds of the wrong attention from
Akane, her sisters, their fathers and all the kids at school. "You owe me an
explanation for all this," he pointed out as they came to the bottom of the
stairs.
	"Indeed," Ukyou murmured as she looked around. A bus stop was nearby,
and she led Ranma over to it with fast determined paces. "But later, once 
we're
back in Nerima ward."
	"We could just run the rooftops," Ranma pointed out as they settled in
with the crowd of school girls to wait for the bus. He glanced at the 
schedule
posted on the stop and frowned. "The bus doesn't come by for another half 
hour."
	"No, we've done enough to draw attention to ourselves," Ukyou said as
she rolled her eyes. "Let's just try to act normal, for once." She was 
looking
across the street and frowning. Ranma followed her line of sight. A newsvan 
was
parked there, with a snappily dressed woman standing in front of it talking 
to a
man behind a camera. Guess this was a pretty popular sale, to get the TV 
people
interested in it.
	"Look, see, the bus is here already," Ukyou pointed out a second later.
Ranma looked over her head and saw that she was right, the bus was here. 
Huh.
Well, guess it must be running more often because of the festival. He looked
around at all the girls crowded alongside them waiting for the bus. They
certainly looked like they'd been waiting long enough for it to come. Half 
of
them looked dead on their feet, and the other half just looked plain dead. 
He
shivered.
	The bus that pulled up was perfectly normal, but Ranma felt that same
negative feeling creeping through the air as he approached the doors. It 
wasn't
hard for him and Ukyou to get to the front of the line, nobody put up much 
of a
fight for it. Ukyou was busy looking back at the shrine as she got in and 
handed
the fare to the driver. The woman looked up from under the bill of her cap 
at
them and sneered unpleasantly.
	"Take your seat, please," she said, still sneering. Ranma gave her a
wide berth as Ukyou lead them down the aisle. Behind them the girls from the
shrine began to pour into the conveyance.
	"There's something I'm not remembering," Ukyou murmured mostly to
herself as she sat down. Ranma shrugged and sat down next to her.
	"Don't ask me," Ranma grumbled a bit. "I have no idea what is going on."
He yawned. Man, all this sitting around doing nothing was making him tired. 
No
wonder all the girls on the bus seemed to be out of it, if this was what 
lack of
proper exercise did to you. In fact, most of the girls were catching quick 
cat-
er, a little shuteye. Not really a bad idea, now that he thought about it. 
He
was certainly tired.
	Ukyou yawned next to him, then her eyes snapped open. "Oh shit!" she
gasped and tried to stand up in the seat without much success, her spatula
getting in the way. "Ranma, don't fall asleep!"
	"Huh?" Ranma blinked his eyes open. He had been halfway to dreamland,
but now came suddenly awake at the insistence in her voice. He still felt 
tired
however, fatigue was weighing down his limbs. "What's going on?"
	"I just remembered the plot!" Ukyou grabbed his collar. "We can't be in
this bus..." her voice was beginning to acquire a serious drawl as she 
slumped
visibly.
	"Sit down!" the driver called from up front. "No one can stand while the
bus is in motion!" For some reason the driver found this extremely funny. 
Her
laughter was mocking and malicious. Ranma didn't like her tone, and didn't 
like
even more being ordered around.
	"Stop the bus!" he barked as he propelled himself to his feet. Still, he
was swaying as he tried to stand, and his arms felt like lead weights as he
lifted them up to a basic boxing position. "Don't make me tell you again!"
	"Pitiful human," the woman said as she turned her head to stare at him,
a deep red glow flashed from her eyes. "You can't fight our power. Even 
without
the charms, this bus has been enchanted to relieve you of all your energy!"
	"Take my energy?" Ranma mumbled. Ranma hadn't felt this weak in years.
It was like the strength, the very chi, was fleeing his body. "No! Ukyou, 
c'mon
let's..." he couldn't finish the words, his mouth felt numb and his tongue 
too
big. The air around him swirled with a grey fog, some of it was seeping out 
of
his skin! He wouldn't go down without a fight...
	Not without a fig-

*

	Ukyou watched as Ranma toppled like a marionette with its strings cut.
There went her big hope for not being drawn into this. She was slumped 
against
the seat in front of her as well, barely able to find the energy to keep her
eyes open. In her credit, she had only yelled at Aaron a few million times 
in
their mental manner. It had taken her less than a second to do it, thanks to
that whole speed of thought thing.
	Aaron tried to level them back into a sitting position, trying to gain
enough time to think by wasting as little precious energy as possible. 
Whatever
this magic was, it drained their chi as quickly as Ukyou could produce it. 
By
all rights they should have already collapsed. Aaron really doubted that 
Ukyou
had more chi at her disposal than Ranma did. Really there was no real point 
in
fighting this. Sooner or later Usagi would get her act together and save 
them
from the evil Youma-of-the-week. Then they could go on with their lives as 
if
none of this had ever happened.
	Except Ukyou didn't think it would be so simple. She had seen the look
in Jadeite's eyes. He had taken a personal interest in Ukyou and Ranma. With
their exceptional strength, they might make perfect living batteries for the
Dark Kingdom. Maybe waiting for Usagi to save them would be too late...
	Aaron closed his eyes and considered that as Ukyou continued to let
worry gnaw at them. Like it or not, she was right. They couldn't take that 
risk,
they had to find some way of getting out of this without the help of Sailor
Moon. Besides, in the long run, Sailor Moon would still come to the rescue,
right?
	The only question was how, they were still losing energy... or were
they? Ukyou opened her eyes and noted that the grey fog that had been 
drifting
from their body had stopped. The entire cabin was now free of the residual
energy. The bus itself was beginning to arch into the air, from the sudden 
shift
in her center of gravity. A huge vortex of black light was forming in front 
of
the travelling bus. If they went into that vortex, there would be no escape.
	We have to move, now! Ukyou was desperate, searching for some spark of
chi or strength within her, but she was drained. How was she even awake 
still?
With an external growl she mentally browbeat Aaron into helping her search 
for
some inner well of untapped power, and both were surprised when he 
immediately
discovered it at his fingertips.
	Of course! Aaron's chi had not been drained along with the Ukyou's. Up
until this point, even when Aaron was in charge, they had been using Ukyou's
skills to tap into her reserves of fighting spirit. They had never even
considered that there might be another pool of power available. Still, the
energy was strange to Ukyou's sense. Not quite like the chi she was used to
subconsciously channeling through her body.
	Figuring out how to use it to fuel their motions was trial and error.
The first few times they tried to rise they collapsed back onto the seat 
again
with a wuff. The thing driving the bus didn't seem to notice or care. Then 
Aaron
stumbled on how to get the energy to flow correctly. It was all about the 
proper
focus. Moving jerkily they staggered out of the seat and stood in the aisle. 
The
fatigue they had felt up until now was beginning to vanish, and with each 
moment
they were gaining better and better control.
	They didn't have any time to practice more, from the relative speed of
this bus, they would be in that vortex in only a few more seconds.
	"Stop this bus!" Ukyou cried out with far more confidence than she was
feeling. She was already reaching for a few throwing spatulas on her 
bandolier
while Aaron used her free hand to search through her hidden pockets.
	"You're still awake?" the thing in human guise said with obvious
surprise. It stepped away form the wheel and smiled at them, a cruel and 
vicious
smile that nearly split her angular face in two. "Well, that makes this more 
fun
than I had thought it would be."
	"Here, catch!" Ukyou roared as she flung her projectiles quickly. The
spatulas wizzed through the air almost too fast for her to follow, but 
evidently
not too fast for the youma. It reached up and plucked the cluster of weapons
from the air with both hands.
	"Heh, you asked me to," the thing pointed out as it laughed.
	"Of course I did," Aaron said coolly. "Otherwise you wouldn't have
grabbed onto the explosive."
	"Explosive?" the youma looked down into her hands and blinked. The blast
erupted across the front of the bus, throwing a cloud of dust between the 
two of
them. Ukyou braced herself as the cabin funneled the shockwave into her. She
lowered the hand she had used as a shield to see the smoke clearing and the
entire front of the bus in tatters. The windshield, side door and windows 
down
for three seats had been blown out in the explosion. There was no sign of 
the
youma, but Aaron knew better than to believe that was the end.  They 
grinned, a
little goofily.  But nothing could survive that much dust, right?
	Aaron took over, propelling them forward in two quick steps. His chi
seemed to be serving equally well as Ukyou's here. They were just as fast as
before as they reached the steering column in under a second. Already the 
front
of the bus was beginning to be swallowed by the dark energy portal. Not sure 
if
it would do any good, but having no better options, he grabbed the wheel and
began to spin it as hard as he could.
	The bus lurched, and Ukyou had to brace them to keep from falling. For a
moment Aaron felt them being pulled into that void, like having a giant 
vacuum
cleaner pressed against their side. Then the sensation was gone and he 
breathed
a sigh of relief. Until he realized they were falling, from almost twenty 
meters
up.
	They both stood there, unable to respond until the impact. The force of
the crash threw them from their feet and shattered any windows that had 
survived
his explosive attack earlier. Metal shrieked and twisted into new and 
dangerous
shapes around them and many of the girls in the seats were flung bodily into 
the
aisles. Still, nobody appeared to have died, althought many of them might 
have
to worry about broken bones later.
	"You little bitch!"
	Ukyou snapped her head up as the metal door of the bus was ripped away
with a shrill squeal of protest. The youma had returned, but had shed its 
human
shape now. It was tall and ugly, a grotesque parody of a female figure. 
Stringy
red hair framed a triangular face adorned with a mouth full of nice pointy
teeth. Her skin was some sort of putrid green shade and was pulled taut over 
an
excessively thin body. Either a coarse black coat of fur or some sort of 
garment
preserved her modesty, thankfully for their sanity.
	"I'll rip your head off!"
	"I think we got it mad," Ukyou pointed out aloud. The creature hissed
and leaped at them. This surprised Aaron, who had expected a typical youma
ranged attack of some kind. Still they weren't about to look a gift horse in 
the
mouth.
	Ukyou rolled backward, projecting her legs up. She caught the thing in
the stomach with both feet. A woof of rancid breath erupted from the thing's
mouth, and its clawed hands stopped only centimeters from Ukyou's face. But
Ukyou was smiling as she continued her momentum and flipped the thing easily
over her head and out the shattered window behind them. Aaron pointed out 
they
needed room to fight properly, and Ukyou agreed.
	Completing the backward roll Ukyou landed in a crouch and paused not at
all as she launched herself out of the bus. The crisp air outside the cabin 
felt
refreshing on their face. Aaron turned them in mid-leap. They landed in a
crouch, facing back towards the battered bus. Ukyou's hand reached up and
loosed the spatula from her back. With a loud crack of displaced air and 
dust
she swung it out from her body in one hand. The other raised in front of 
her,
gripping a half-dozen throwing spatulas Aaron had retrieved.
	They didn't wait long. The youma leapt over the bus, easily clearing it.
It came down at them claws-first. Aaron projected its landing spot and Ukyou
backed them away. She was already swinging her spatula back in a deceptively
gentle arc by the time she was getting to her feet. The monster only had a
chance to widen its eyes in wonder as Ukyou's attack struck it like a 
badminton
shuttle. It screamed in pain as its head cracked against the tempered metal
spatula and then there was a shriek of twisting metal again as its body was
launched hard into the side of the bus. More glass rained down on top of the
thing's body as it slumped down.
	Where was Sailor Moon?
	No time for that now.
	Ukyou sprinted forward. Her grip shifted to two-hands, choking up on the
spatula like a bat. The thing was just standing up when she struck again. 
This
time it parried. Claws and metal clashed in a flare of sparks. It came back
fast, launching a strike with its free hand. Aaron backpeddled, inching just 
out
of range as Ukyou recovered her balance.
	The thing recovered faster. With a roar it sprung up, pushing off the
bus with one leg and swinging its other out in a kick so fast it snapped the 
air
like a rifle shot. Ukyou barely got her spatula in the way, absorbing the 
blow
along the shaft between her hands. Even so, the strike was powerful enough 
to
send them skidding back on the tips of their feet almost five meters, a 
contrail
of dust forming in their wake.
	This wasn't like fighting Kunou. This thing was dangerous, and out to
kill them. Aaron began to pull back, running through their options in the 
back
of their mind while Ukyou automatically took control of the main physical 
part
of the fight. The thing was crouched in front of them, its claws cutting 
little
lines into the pavement. Already they could feel bruises forming along their
arms. Did that thing really strike that hard?
	"You can't possibly be a normal human," the youma grinned, a dangerous
expression for a thing with so many sharp teeth. "My master will be most 
pleased
with the energy you provide us with, boy."
	"Hah! I fear not your stock dialogue!" Aaron sneered as Ukyou shifted
stances slightly.
	"You dare mock me?" The thing roared as it galloped towards them,
propelling itself with all four limbs like some wild beast. Aaron 
recommended a
course of action, and Ukyou agreed. With a short hop they leaped into the 
air,
twisting upside down and arcing over the thing's head. It rose up to slash 
at
them but Aaron had already seen that move. With a brutal poke Ukyou thrust 
her
weapon downward and clipped the thing's legs. Suddenly it had no more 
traction
and fell face-first into the pavement, skidding along with enough force to
dig a shallow trench in he street. Ukyou completed their flip easily, 
landing in
a crouch with her spatula held to her side.
	They charged. Two strides at full strength carried them to the beast. It
flipped to its feet but was too late. "Do me a favor." The thing rocked back 
as
Ukyou drilled a right cross into its cheek. Ouch. Thing had skin like rock. 
"And
this time..." Ukyou followed through quickly, her spatula coming up and 
catching
the thing's legs again, flipping it off its feet. It roared as it went 
airborne.
"Stay down." Ukyou continued past it, drilling her extended arm downward in 
an
elbow strike that caught it right where the solar plexus would have been on 
a
human. From the scream, youma must have had a similar anatomy. The thing 
landed
in the ground again.
	Ukyou didn't pause, running past it and coming quickly to the wall along
the road. She took two steps up the wall and flipped backwards, landing on 
her
feet facing the thing as it crawled out of the dent Ukyou had drilled it 
into.
	"You aren't being very nice," she pointed out as she eased up her grip
on her spatula and shifted positions again. Inwardly Aaron was running 
through
scenarios as quickly as possible. Really, fighting was a lot like chess. It 
was
all about how many moves ahead you were.
	"I'll devour your brains!" the thing hissed as it rubbed its chin with
one arm. It was standing, looking not-much-worse for wear.
	"I thought we already pointed out your dialogue problems," Ukyou drawled
smugly. Now that they had settled down she could feel her muscles screaming 
in
protest. It was like she had been fighting all day, not for under a minute. 
This
was definitely getting annoying.
	"Halt right there!" a voice cried from the wall across the street.
	"It's about time," Ukyou sighed. She looked up and saw Sailor Moon
posing atop the wall. Aaron had always wondered if those poses would look as
silly in person as they did animated. Apparently they did.
	"You monster who seeks to abuse the trust of our city's public
transportation- hey! I'm not finished!"
	Aaron immediatly noted the youma's attention drifting to Sailor Moon and
reacted. Dipping forward Ukyou ran at the beast, one hand unleashing a dozen
throwing spatulas at once. The thing screamed as the razor-sharp weapons 
lodged
in its unprotected flank. Green blood began to seep from the shallow wounds.
	"At least you bleed," Ukyou grumbled as she dashed in low. The thing
growled and swung at her, but as Aaron had foreseen it favored its undamaged
arm. With deceptive ease Ukyou reversed her spatula and brought the ring up,
allowing the things punch to piston through the hole. Ukyou spun past it,
locking the spatula behind her back with both arms and skidding her feet in 
the
dust to stop on the proverbial dime. The thing roared as it was pulled back 
and
to the side by its captured arm. Then Aaron made them grin. This was the fun
part. With a kick into the things back and a quick lever of the spatula the
thing found itself being pulled in two directions at once. There was a
resounding crack as the monster's arm broke. "Don't wait for me to get away,
Sailor Moon," Aaron called out over Ukyou's shoulder. "Finish this thing off
before it recovers!"
	"Uh, right..." Sailor Moon leapt from the wall and landed somewhat
inelegantly on the ground. Her school girl fetish costume looked even more
ridiculous in real life, and Aaron suppressed a surprise case of the 
giggles.
"Can I just ask..."
	"Now, Sailor Moon," Ukyou sighed as she spun away from the beast and
brought her spatula up in another whistling arc. This time she struck with 
the
edge, ripping a deep gouge in the chest of the monster as it tried to regain 
its
feet.
	"Right!" The magical girl calmed down and reached up to her tiara. Ukyou
could follow all her actions, but only because she was used to seeing people
moving at slightly faster than human speed. It appeared stock footage 
attacks
took a lot less time in the world than they did on sceen. "Moon Tiara 
ACTION!"
Sailor Moon screamed as she unleashed her finishing move. The already 
weakened
monster could only scream as the golden discus of light impacted with its
sternum. In a flash of magical energy the thing screamed and disintegrated 
to
dust. The swirling discus returned to Usagi's waiting hand and reverted to 
its
simple tiara form. "Hah! Moon dusted!"
	"You actually say that!?" Ukyou blurted out before Aaron could stop her.
	"What's wrong with it?" Usagi frowned.
	"Nothing, nothing just..." Aaron's eyes widened as a sudden fact occured
to him. "Oh no, the portal!"
	"What portal?" Usagi blinked.
	"That portal!" Aaron grabbed her shoulder and spun her to face the black
vortex in the sky. The rapidly shrinking black vortex. "Without the Youma to
sustain it, the portal is collapsing."
	"Well good riddance," Usagi said with a sigh.
	"No, there are still people trapped on the other side!"
	"Oh, well that's bad. How do we help them out?"
	"We?" Aaron blinked and looked at the girl for a long second. Oh man, he
was going to regret this. He was going to regret this a great deal. But he 
had
no choice. Not if he wanted to keep those peoples lives off his conscience. 
"Oh
no, not we. You're the one with the magic powers, you keep it open."
	"But I don't know how!" Usagi whined. Ukyou resisted the impulse to
cover her ears. That girl had a powerful set of lungs.
	"Well, I'm very sorry about this," Aaron leaned in forward and placed
his hands on her shoulders. Sailor Moon's eyes widened as she stared at her, 
and
Ukyou realized with a bit of chagrin  that Usagi didn't know she was a girl.
"But you're going to have to figure out how the hard way."
	"WhhhaaaaAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"
	Usagi screamed as Ukyou hefted her and propelled her into impromptu
flight, easily sending her up and through the portal. She sighed in
relief. Usagi had figured a way out of the dark portal in the anime, she was
sure to do so this time around as well. Almost definitely. Very possibly.
Hopefully.
	But the fact was, the crisis was averted. Now she could begin to address
the muscle fatigue that was creeping through her body. She reached up and 
rubbed
her hand across her mouth, coming away with something wet and slick. She 
looked
down in puzzlement. Blood? The thing hadn't tagged her in the face. In fact, 
it
hadn't laid a finger on her the whole fight. Why was she bleeding?
	"So, you finally show your true colors. I knew it was only a matter of
time."
	Aaron snapped them around in a tight circle. Standing only a few meters
away was a tall, green-haired beauty who looked much better in her fetish 
sailor
suit than Usagi did. That long key-shaped polearm in her right hand helped 
with
the image.
	"Pluto!"
	Aaron cursed as the word slipped from his mouth before he could stop it.
The woman in front of them frowned and raised her staff to point it at them. 
It
was then Aaron remembered he had just tossed Sailor Moon through a portal 
into
the Dark Kingdom. Way to look heroic and noble.
	"Wait, I can explain! This isn't my fault!"

*

	"Wait, I can explain! This isn't my fault!"
	Sailor Pluto frowned but didn't answer, keeping her Time Key trained
firmly on the girl in front of her. Pluto had arrived only a few seconds 
ago,
drawn by the strange disturbance she had detected in the timeline. Sure 
enough,
here had been Ukyou. Ukyou throwing the reincarnated Princess into the 
clutches
of the Dark Kingdom. Ukyou, again. That face was burned into her brain, a 
face
she couldn't forget. A face she saw every night in her nightmares. Already 
she
could feel the same terrifying energy flowing through the young girl's body 
as
she backed up slightly in the face of the implacable Senshi's weapon.
	"Don't make me use this," Pluto warned coldly. "I have a feeling you
know what it does."
	"Damn it, Pluto," Ukyou lowered her arms and seemed to quickly compose
herself. "You must have made some kind of mistake. If we can just talk this 
over
like reasonable people..."
	The tip of her staff wavered slightly. This wasn't right, a voice in the
back of her mind cried out. This girl didn't look like a threat to all 
creation.
She looked like a scared teenager, a girl in over her head. Wasn't her 
mandate
to protect the people of this world? Maybe there was an explanation.
	Then she remembered the destruction. And the terrible energy she could
even now feel inside the girl in front of her. Her grip on her weapon firmed 
up.
	"I'm terribly sorry," Pluto aplogized, trying to put as much of the
remorse she felt in her voice as possible. "Your death is neccesary... You 
may
not know it now, but it's best you never find out why."
	"No..." Ukyou growled. "I don't care." Her hand tightened on her bizarre
weapon. "I'm not letting you kill me."
	"You don't have much hope of defeating me in your condition."
	"Right, well see if you can face my special attack!" Ukyou held up her
hand suddenly. Pluto shifted her staff up to follow the motion, then she
realized that Ukyou had thrown something at the ground with her other hand.
"FLOUR BOMB!"
	Suddenly the world went white. Pluto blinked, then cursed herself. "Dead
Scream," she whispered her attack name. The coruscating ball of purple light
shot through the thick cloud, carving a path of visibility through the 
flour.
Ukyou had already moved, and the attack did little more than blow an 
impressive
hole in the wall of one of the nearby homes. Pluto stepped forward, 
searching
blindly with her staff, but knew it was futile. By the time the flour 
settled
down Ukyou was long gone, no doubt leaping across the rooftops again.
	If only Pluto could track her movements! She could give chase on foot
herself, hoping to catch up. But then she saw the closing vortex behind her 
and
sighed. No, she had other business to take care of. Without Sailor Mercury 
here
to hold open the portal, it would collapse, trapping the Princess in the 
Dark
Kingdom alone and inexperienced. With a sigh she turned and pointed her 
staff at
the vortex, concentrating her energy into holding the small opening in the
dimensional fabric open.
	Behind her a woman in a flour-covered skirt-suit turned to a man
carrying a flour-covered camera.
	"Tell me you got that all on tape."
	The man only nodded mutely.
	Pluto growled and ignored them. Ukyou may have escaped this time, but
she couldn't do so forever. It went against everything she stood for. It was
against all the laws as Time Guardian. It was against her basic human 
decency.
But Sailor Pluto had seen the future. She knew what was coming.
	If Ukyou Kuonji did not die, she would destroy the entire universe.

*

	He emerged dripping from the canal in the evening, mentally going over
the details of the murder he planned to commit.  His mind flinched from the
term, but he refused to consider it a "step in a plan", or some other 
euphemism.
If he let himself do that, it would become easier.  He didn't want it to 
become
easier.  He didn't want to stop hating himself for it.  The moment he 
did...he
shivered, and not from the cold and damp he could barely feel.
	He had a certain degree of increased respect for all those angsty
fictional vampires and undead (fictional?  did that even apply anymore?).  
Oooh,
all that superhuman strength and cool powers and turning into bats and 
fangirls
hanging off to you, woe is you!  But you were DEAD.  Dead, and you could 
feel
it, couldn't escape it, couldn't ignore the feeling, the vast weariness in 
your
unliving bones.
	He smiled a little.  All that, and he didn't even get the turning-into-
a-bat or clinging fangirls benefits.  Terribly unfair, that's what it was.  
He
wondered, if he met a real vampire, if he could just take its body.  It was
dead already, right?
	That reminded him of the task at hand, and his momentary good humour
faded.  He had a murder to plan.  And this time it had to go right, because 
he
might not get a third chance if he screwed up against this target.  At the 
very
least, with Akane undoubtedly on guard now, it would be much harder.  And 
there
weren't many other suitable candidates he could locate just yet.
	Suitable candidates...his mouth twisted.  Suitable victims.  The idea
had occurred to him, the fevered rush of thought and planning and 
recalculation
in the wake of realising where he was, back in the United States.  He had, 
still
in the body of the woman, hitchhiked to another city, a little further north 
in
the state.  He wanted to do some research, but getting some distance between
himself and the problems Sheila had back "home" only made sense.
	And once there, he had visited a library, and discovered to his chagrin
that the Internet had not been invented yet...well, had been, but was not
exactly at the level he was used to accessing for information.  Still, there
were other ways to research.  He stayed all day in the library and 
discovered
what he could, poring over newspaper microfiches, history textbooks, and 
nearly
everything he could find about Japan.  He had smirked when he had confirmed 
the
existence of a Tendo Dojo.  Sure, there might be one in the "real world" he
wasn't in...but in Nerima Ward?  Doubtful.  Which meant that there was more 
here
than just Sailor Moon.  Which meant, if he could reach Japan, he might be 
able
to find people who could not only help him, but had experience with the 
walking
dead.
	And, he realised, that meant there were super martial artists in the
world.  People with bodies harder than steel, people who could shrug off 
tank
shells, strike faster than sound, move from the street to rooftops in a 
single
leap.  A body like that...a body like that HAD to be more durable than a 
normal
human body.  Instead of having a few days, maybe he could have weeks, 
months,
even years.  Long enough for him to stop worrying about the rotting, and be 
able
to seriously look for help.  And, learning those abilities from such a 
person,
to be able to go beyond the limits of normal people...that was a powerful
allure.  He couldn't deny it.  When younger, he'd been fascinated by
superheroes, by fantasy novels; when older, by super martial arts-related 
anime
and manga, and hell, he still read the occasional Americomic.  He LOVED the 
idea
of that kind of power, the personal power that created the situation that 
did
not exist in the real world, the individual who was truly individual, an 
island
unto themselves, unconstrained by the ocean of society.  He knew that sort 
of
thing would realistically lead to huge societal problems, but the 
possibilities
of it still fascinated him.
	And now the possibility of gaining that sort of strength was almost in
his hands.  Yes, it was a powerful allure.  But it wasn't the only reason.  
If
he was right, and such a body was more durable than an ordinary one, it 
would
not only make it easier for him to concentrate on finding help, but it would
save the lives of other people.  Every day that superhuman body wasn't 
rotting
was a day he wasn't desperately searching for someone else to steal the life 
of.
That was worth it.  Right?
	It was a justification, and he knew it, but it was a justification he
could live with.  But there was a cost.  He had to get to Japan, and he had 
to
find and kill a superhuman person.  And he couldn't get there with this 
body.
He had next to no money.  And while he didn't get tired, swimming across the
Pacific Ocean was just stupid.  He wasn't Ranma, and sharks wouldn't exactly 
be
repulsed by a dead body swimming around.  Besides, what if he froze solid?  
It
wasn't like he was generating body heat to prevent it.  It wasn't winter, 
but
still...
	No, he had to get to Japan a more conventional way.  Which would mean
killing again.  And as long as he was killing again, he might as well make 
it
purposeful.  No more waste.
	He was still thinking when they kicked him out of the library, but by
that point, he had the gist of his plan down.  And he put it into action,
knowing he had to act prior to this body starting to decay.
	Thank goodness for stereotypes.  A nearby bar indeed had several trucks
out back with shotgun racks.  He examined them all, carefully selected a 
target
according to a few criteria.  Mud-splattered wheels, check.  A messy 
interior of
the vehicle, check.  And most of all, the shotgun had to be in pristine 
shape,
better than the truck itself, check.  Memorising the license plate, he went
inside, made an audacious announcement.  Who owned that truck outside, 
because
that was a dang good-looking gun, and she was always looking for a man who 
had
one hell of a gun, if you know what she meant, wink wink.  It was corny, but
these were drunk, single men at a bar.  And in this body, he knew almost
instinctively the right things to do, the right words to say, the right way 
to
stand, to look attractive to a man.  Which was unsurprising, useful, and
repulsive all at the same time.  But this body also knew how to divorce real
feelings from outward emotions, and he clung to that, smiling and chatting 
and
worming her way even further into the man's surprised interest even as 
inside he
was recoiling both from what he was doing and what he planned to do.  It had 
to
be done.  That's what he told himself.  It had to be done.
	What made your life worth more than his?
	He couldn't answer that question, of course.  But he couldn't stand the
rotting.  He couldn't.  And he didn't want to try to kill himself and die 
again,
even if it was possible.  Not until he found out what - who - had done this 
to
him. And...he didn't want to end it now, anyway.  Not once he had found 
this.
The land of promise.  The land where he could be everything he'd ever wanted 
to
be.
	If only he could be alive again.
	The man - his name was Roger - took them back in the dirty truck.  As
Chris had hoped, he lived in a refurbished farmhouse outside of town.  He 
wasn't
exactly a militant nutcase, but he liked his privacy, and he had a shooting
range, and he undoubtedly thought that "bearing arms" Amendment to the US
Constitution (what one was that?  Second?  Whatever.) was the most 
important.
Which meant he was exactly what Chris had wanted.
	Now all he had to do was kill him.
	He was grateful for the unliving nature of his body, a bit.  No cold
sweat to worry about, and it was easy to keep his tone even.  In his 
bedroom, he
steeled himself as Roger drunkenly removed his shirt.  It had to be now.  If 
he
saw the bruises around  his...her neck, currently hidden by the shirt he'd
chosen, he might be worried and on his guard.  He wouldn't be expecting an
attack, of course, but...he needed an unguarded moment.  This man was 
certainly
a lot stronger than this body.
	The unguarded moment came easily, more easily than he'd imagined.  He
was drunkenly pawing her body, hands slipping to places that had no feeling 
any
more.  He turned his head a bit with one hand, drawing his full attention.  
And
then, with his other hand, he crushed the man's throat.  It was easy.
	Roger didn't even realise what had happened right away, but when Chris
shoved him back, the alcoholic fog - he was a drunk driver?  Chris hadn't 
even
thought about that - seemed to clear.  His face turned ugly, and he made 
some
indistinct gurgling noises.  That was good.  He couldn't talk.  His face was
purple with rage, but maybe the lack of breathing had something to do with 
that,
and sudden panic mingled with the anger in his eyes.
	He lurched back, and Chris cursed himself suddenly.  If he went for the
phone...he'd have to do something.  He couldn't afford the police coming to
check things out.  He braced himself, he'd have to grapple with him and hope 
he
could hold him off long enough for the lack of air to win the fight...and 
then
almost sighed in relief as the dying man pulled a large-caliber revolver 
from
the bed.  From under the pillow?  People really did that?  No wonder he was
desperate for a woman to sleep with him.
	The absurd thoughts dancing across his mind were driven from him as
there was a sharp crack and he staggered backwards as if someone had hit 
him.
Looking down, he looked at the hole in his chest dispassionately.  There was
pain, of course, but he didn't feel it strongly enough to care.  A bit of 
fluid
leaked from the bullet wound, dark and unpleasant, certainly not looking 
like
blood.
	He looked up and met the eyes of Roger.  The panic in the man's eyes had
grown.  Not surprising.  Chris straightened, and was shot again, this time 
in
the shoulder.  He didn't even bother looking at it.  His mind was already
working furiously: keep his attention, and he won't even think about the 
phone.
A third shot went wide; Roger's aim wasn't being helped by the lack of air.  
Or
maybe his hands were shaking.
	He walked toward the terrified man, slowly, deliberately, and had to
suppress a laugh.  He was sure acting like a real undead now, wasn't he?  He
then regarded his own thoughts with a bit of astonishment.  Was this normal?
Thinking absurd thoughts, trying not to laugh while killing someone?  Was 
that
his mind's coping mechanism?
	He felt another impact, realised with slight startlement that he had
bumped into the man, who had fallen backwards.  Another bullet struck him, 
this
time in the stomach.  He looked at the man; his face was beaded with sweat, 
and
was definitely an unhealthy colour.  His whole body laboured to breathe, he
could see the strain, the frantic contractions of his chest, but no noise
escaped.
	He smiled, a bit sadly, at the man.  "I'm sorry," he said.  Didn't
reassure him much.  The gun had fallen from his fingers.  He looked around, 
and
now his eyes locked on the phone.  Chris moved swiftly, pinning down his 
wrists
with his own hands.  Or rather, Sheila's hands.  They were slender and 
Roger's
much stronger, but most of his strength appeared to be gone...he struggled
weakly, but Chris had no trouble holding him. It wouldn't be long now.  His 
eyes
were rolling in his head, his mouth working soundlessly, his colour...
	Chris closed his eyes.  He'd wanted to watch, force himself to confront
what exactly he was doing.  But he couldn't.  "I'm sorry," he said again.  
If
the man had had any sort of reaction, he did not see it.  The struggles
continued, faintly, then ceased, the man passing out perhaps, or just 
devoting
all his remaining strength toward attempting to breathe.  It seemed like a 
long
time after that when he felt the familiar emptiness beckoning.  Without 
looking
at the face of the man he had just killed, Chris opened his eyes and sat on 
the
bed, leaning his body against the headboard.  Then he allowed himself to 
flee
it, entering and filling the emptiness next to him.
	He opened his eyes again as Roger.  He realised a flaw in his plan.  He
couldn't speak, obviously, with his throat crushed.  He'd have to deal with
that.  Raising himself from the bed, he wiped some flecks of spittle from 
his
lips as he looked towards the head of the bed.  The blank eyes of Sheila 
stared
back at him.  At least they weren't terror-filled this time.  He felt the
emptiness her body offered him, but ignored it.  Indeed, he sighed in 
relief.
In this new body, this fresh body, things felt...sturdier.  It was more
muscular, obviously, but...she must've been closer to rotting than he'd 
thought.
He shuddered a little and set about his work.
	He'd worked the rest of the night.  First stashing the body in the
cellar, where the chill would keep it from becoming too noticible until he
planned to be long gone.  He realised, doing this, that he was going to be
staining this man's reputation forever.  He put it out of his mind, for the
moment.  He'd KILLED him...kind of pointless to worry about how he'd made 
him
look bad in the aftermath.  What mattered was doing what he had to, quickly,
efficiently, so as few people had to die as possible.
	It took some unpleasant work, but he managed to eventually "fix" the
throat to the point where he could speak in a low, raspy tone.  Examining in 
the
mirror, he decided the throat just looked odd, not like he was actually 
dead.
At least to a casual glance.  He hoped.  Anyway, the raspy voice would help. 
  He
called into the man's work, his fingers automatically pushing the phone 
number
as if he'd known it all his life.  He was sick.  Might not be in for a few 
days.
	And then he practiced.  He knew this sort of trick wouldn't be able to
kill a superhuman martial artist, even a weaker one.  He needed a gun, and 
he
needed to be able to use one accurately, to kill or at least mortally wound 
on
the first shot.  So he learned how to do that.  Or rather, he REMEMBERED how 
to
do that, going through motions that felt practiced and engraving them on his
mind.  He knew he'd remember it later if he practiced, even in another body. 
  He
still remembered, after all, how to seduce a drunken man.
	A day later, he thought he was as good a marksman as he could reasonably
be, which was in fact pretty good.  So he washed, changed, took the truck - 
hmm,
he could learn to drive too, useful - and got all the money from Roger's
account...and the wad stashed under his mattress.  He had also, almost as an
afterthought, packed a small bag and taken a jacket, which would make him 
not
stand out.  And he had a gun, of course.  A pistol, silenced...no, 
-suppressed-,
his stolen memories told him.  He drove west, soaking up the knowledge of 
how to
do it like he had never bothered in real life.  But of course, this was much
easier than learning it the typical way.  He stopped only for gas along the 
way,
idly hoping the truck wouldn't break down, though he had enough cash to rent
another vehicle if he had to.
	Eventually, he reached Los Angeles.  He had never seen it, and neither
had Roger, but he didn't have time to take it in.  He felt the heat, 
faintly, a
lingering warning that he had to move as fast as possible.  Did Roger's body
feel a little soft already?  Or was he getting paranoid?  In the airport, he
bought a ticket, it didn't matter where, but he picked Vancouver anyways.  
He
wondered if he would ever see Canada again.  But he didn't have time for 
that.
He had to carry out his second - no, third - murder.
	There were several Japan-bound flights.  A whole JAL booth, in fact.
Not surprising.  He was nonplussed, however, by how many PEOPLE were at the
airport.  That wasn't good.  He needed to be alone with someone.  He 
swallowed
nervousness, the feeling of being watched by everybody, especially the 
security
guards.  He'd be fine.  It wasn't as if anybody could possibly predict his
actions.  He was just a normal-looking American traveller.  A tall, 
well-muscled
man, just finished checking in his bags near the JAL booth, drifted towards 
a
nearby bathroom, and he followed a moment afterwards.  This was it.
	There was another man in there as well, using the urinal.  He suppressed
a curse.  There was a lot of people there, it wasn't surprising.  But he
couldn't keep going into and out of the bathroom, now could he?  He went 
into a
stall to wait, two away from his target.  Nervousness overcame him.  Was the 
man
even going to Tokyo?  What if he left first?  What if someone came in as he
was...he swallowed those thoughts.  They'd just make him hesitant.  There, 
the
man from the urinal was washing his hands.  He had left.  It was time.
	He realised he couldn't open the bathroom stall door from the outside.
Of course he couldn't!  All that planning, and he'd forgotten THAT?  Stupid! 
  He
considered his options.  He could boost himself up from the stall next to
it...no, too risky, too easy to miss or even just hit him in the shoulder.  
If
he made a commotion, it was all over.  Better for him to miss this chance 
than
to blow all future ones.
	He waited impatiently, near the sink, listening almost desperately for
the sounds within the stall.  Someone walked by the door outside, but didn't
enter.  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the toilet flushed, 
there
was the rustle of fabric.  He walked forward swiftly, his hand reaching 
inside
his jacket for the concealed pistol.
	The man never had a chance.  He was looking down, adjusting his grip on
his bag, as he exited.  He looked up, and his eyes had enough time to widen
before the first bullet slammed into him, the suppressed barrel emitting 
only a
small 'phut' sound.  Then the second, and the third.  All in the chest, 
slightly
to the left of center.  Not hard, at close range with some practice 
beforehand.
	It seemed to have worked.  The man slumped, bag falling from his
fingers.  Chris caught him and shoved him backwards to sprawl on the toilet,
grabbing his bag and entering the stall himself, shutting the door behind 
them.
Nobody had entered.
	He couldn't feel the emptiness.  He almost panicked, reaching for the
gun again, then stopped, forcing himself to think reasonable.  It took some 
time
for someone to die like this.  He hadn't shot him in the head.  Give the 
brain
time.
	It took a few minutes, probably, but seemed like hours as he nervously
paid attention to both the door and the other man.  But finally, he felt it 
and
nearly leaped into the new body, then immediately rose again, fighting the
disorientation and steadying the old one.  The gun fell from Roger's 
nerveless
fingers, clattering, but luckily stayed within the stall.  Still, nobody had
entered.
	A few minutes later, he emerged, sliding under the stall and exiting
through the one next so he could leave the door closed.  Roger's body was in
there, with the gun.  Some blood had been splashed around, but nothing 
visible
from the outside.  It'd be awhile before what had happened was discovered.  
He
hoped.  As long as the plane had already taken off, that should be good 
enough.
	He had been lucky.  This man - Greg - had been here alone, as he hoped.
So nobody would notice that he was in fact wearing a somewhat loose new, 
dark
shirt (which he had luckily thought to pack), the old one tied underneath
soaking up the still-oozing blood from the wounds.  And he was actually 
going to
Tokyo, which was even better.  Chris had been lucky...for a certain meaning 
of
the word, he supposed.
	He had shaken his head.  There wasn't any point in berating himself.
Yes, what he had done was horrible.  And it was more horrible how EASY it 
had
been to kill this last one.  Maybe it was because he'd had a gun...maybe.  
He
hoped that was it.  But regardless, what was done was done.  He'd have time 
to
hate himself later.  He needed to prepare himself, learn what he could, get
ready to do what he had to.  Once he had the body of Akane, a body that 
wouldn't
be rotting to pieces underneath him, then he could relax.  Then he'd have 
some
time.  He hoped.
	And in the present, he stopped walking, cursed a little bit as he
realised he's passed his goal, and began to backtrack.  He had to stop doing
that.  He had to stay focused.  He was so close.  He couldn't screw up 
again.
He HAD to do this.  Especially now.  Whatever that Ukyou-lookalike was, he
needed to be able to fight it on equal terms to get some answers.
	He hadn't been able to kill Akane.  That frustrated him, but made him
obscurely happy at the same time.  He liked Akane.  She was a genuinely good
person.  Of course, that only meant his knowledge of her, or of what he had 
read
of her, had stopped him where it hadn't for the faceless, unknown people he 
had
killed up until now.  But still...he couldn't do it.  That meant he hadn't
totally lost himself yet?  Right?
	He shook his head.  He'd killed four people.  Three of them in cold
blood.  And now he was trying for his fifth.  But he couldn't help it.  
Couldn't
stop it.  Or could he?  Maybe he should have gone to Canada after all.  
Maybe he
should have turned himself in.  Roger, Greg, and Officer Takashita would 
still
be alive, then.  Had he chosen right in coming here instead?
	Of course he had.  He steeled himself.  This was unnatural.  And Japan
was where all - or most - of the unnatural things happened.  It was here he
could find answers.  Here he could find solutions.
	And the proof of that he had already seen.  That Ukyou-thing.  She KNEW
about him.  She had to be mixed up in what had happened to him.  Maybe she 
was a
servant of whatever had done this to him.  Maybe she WAS what had done this 
to
him.  He didn't know, but she obviously knew -something-.  And he had to 
know
that something.  It had to be able to save him. Had to.
	And all he had to do was murder one more person.

	One more.

	One.


*


	It was dark out when Ranma struggled awake. He groaned and sat up,
placing a hand against his forehead. Something had hit him real hard while 
he
was unconscious.  Weirdly, though, he felt totally refreshed, like he had 
just
slept for ten hours straight. Wait, what had happened? Where was he?
	He was on a rooftop, somewhere in the city. The roof was just like a
thousand others, with a small laundry line running from a nearby doorway to 
an
antenna set up near the raised lip of the building. He sat up, looking 
around
for landmarks, and almost immediately spotted Ukyou.
	She was sitting against the squat hut that housed the door into the
stairwell. Her legs spread before her and her spatula was lying a few
centimeters from her outstretched hand. Her hair had fallen down over her 
face
as her head nodded forward. She was still except for the occasional bob of 
her
head.
	"Ucchan?"
	"Ranma..." Ukyou's voice came out coarse. She raised her head slightly
and weakly lifted her hand to try and push the hair from her face, but then
gave up after a second. "Oh screw it. I know you're alright. With the youma
dead, your energy should have returned to you."
	"Youma?" Ranma sprung to his feet. Something worried him about how tired
Ukyou seemed. "What happened back at the bus? What was that crazy chick?"
	"I think I shouldn't have spent so much energy getting you out of the
bus when Pluto showed up," Ukyou coughed. Ranma blinked as a red spot 
appeared
on Ukyou's pants. Now that he was getting closer, he could see a number of 
such
red stains spread out across her clothes and the roof around her. "I think 
that
pushed me over the edge."
	"Ucchan!" Ranma raced forward, getting to her side in an instant. He
pushed back her hair and took a long look at her face. She was grimacing in
pain, lines of blood trickling from the corners of her lips. Similarly red
stains were emerging from her nose and her ears. Disturbing red tears were
falling down her cheeks from the edge of her eyes. "Holy...what happened to
you!?"
	"I wish I knew..." Ukyou coughed and a bit more blood emerged. "This
doesn't make any sense... all I did was tap into my reserves..." Ukyou 
sighed
out the last few words as her eyes closed and she went still. For a moment 
Ranma
panicked, then he saw her chest rising and falling and released a sigh.
	"Ucchan?" Ranma frowned down at her. She didn't look good.
Understatement. "Crap, I wish I knew what happened..." Ranma was scanning 
her
body for some sign of injury, but aside from the obvious there was, well,
nothing obvious. He couldn't do anything for her here. He looked up, and 
with a
nod picked her up in his arms. If Ranma couldn't help her, he would just 
have to
find someone who could.

*

	"Jadeite, before me!"
	Jadeite materialized in Queen Beryl's throne room. The chamber was truly
massive, shadows obscured the walls in all directions and a small army of
featureless youma stood behind him, mindlessly chanting litanies of worship 
to
Empress Metallia's name. He appeared on bent knee, head bowed and thus
couldn't see her expression at first. He could imagine it, however. In his
mind's eye, he could see her pale skin pulled back in a vicious snarl of
annoyance so that her fangs were exposed. Her long red hair would be waving 
in
the air behind her, and her hands gesturing impatiently over her glowing 
crystal
orb.
	"Well Jadeite, it appears you failed again, and this time yet another of
those Sailor Senshi has appeared to oppose us."
	"Yes, my queen, and this is even worse than it appears. The new Senshi
is Pluto, the Guardian of the Time Gates," Jadeite admitted ruefully. He was
annoyed with himself for fleeing at the first sign of the green-haired 
Senshi.
But he knew he was no match for her power in one on one combat. Apparently 
the
annoyance leaked into his tone, since Queen Beryl laughed in her vaguely
disturbing manner.
	"So, the famous Sailor Pluto finally sets foot outside her precious
Gates of Time," Beryl hissed. "It is of no matter, she knew better than to
meddle in our affairs when the Moon Kingdom fell. If she tries to stand in 
our
way this time, Empress Metallia will crush her under heel like the rest of 
these
pathetic humans." There was a pregnant pause that Jadeite knew better than 
to
interrupt. "But that still does not excuse your failure."
	"Actually, my Queen, I think my failure today has given me insight into
how to further our plans even faster than before," Jadeite called out as he
raised his head to look at her. Beryl looked intrigued, but from the way she 
was
snapping her hands over her crystal ball, he knew her patience was thin.
	"Very well, Jadeite. Explain your plan to me, but this had better be
good," the Queen ordered haughtily.
	"It wasn't Sailor Pluto who was responsible for my loss," Jadeite
explained quickly. "There were humans there, humans with a great deal of 
energy.
Two of them alone had more energy in their bodies then four dozen of the 
ones I
had been targeting up until then. One was even so strong that after I 
drained
him of most of his power, he still destroyed my servant Kigan in hand to 
hand
combat."
	"What? This can not be! No mere human could have such strength," the
Queen cried in annoyance. A murmur of assent emerged from the horde of 
nameless
monsters behind Jadeite.
	"I know it's hard to believe, my queen," Jadeite agreed. "But I saw it
with my own eyes. If I manage to drain the life force from even a few of 
these
humans, we will have a surplus of energy to revive the Empress." Jadeite 
smiled.
He knew exactly which humans he would start with, as well. Nobody said he
couldn't combine work with pleasure. And revenge was the best pleasure of 
all.
	"Very well," Queen Beryl sat back in her throne and frowned down at him.
"I will allow you to carry out this new plan. You had best hope it pays off
well, Jadeite."
	Jadeite nodded and stood up so he could bow properly. "You have no need
to worry, my queen. I will enjoy this duty," he pointed out. As he raised
himself up he teleported away. Already thoughts of how best to capitalise on 
his
new insight into humanity were running through his brain.

*

	Kodachi Kunou strode briskly through the hallways of her home. In times
when other, lesser, people could see her she deigned to affect a more sedate 
and
ladylike stride, but rarely bothered with such empty frivolities when she 
was
alone. Her time was precious and best not wasted on meandering from location 
to
location. The sky outside had darkened and what few servants that her family
kept had already retired for the night, so Kodachi was unconcerned with any 
of
them seeing her. Not that they would have spoken of her nocturnal habits if 
they
did see. She laughed softly into her hand in gleeful rememberance of the
vengeance she had exacted on the last fool who had spoken out of turn about 
her.
	Kodachi made it to her room with little incident. Her errand tonight had
been rather simple, only a few drops of a new and exotic narcotic dripped 
into
her brother's ear as he lay sleeping. She looked forward to seeing the 
results
the next day. Maybe for once he would shut up about that Tendo girl and that
Kuonji boy. It would certainly make breakfast interesting, a thing it had 
failed
to be in far too long a time.
	The room she entered was both elegantly extravagant and disappointingly
incomplete. Kodachi had spared no expense in decoration. She had an 
extravagant
four-poster bed, surrounded by diaphanous curtains. Her vanity was carved of 
the
finiest teak by expert artisans commissioned especially for the project (and
Kodachi had thoughtfully broken their fingers to ensure its uniqueness once 
it
was completed). Wall hangings adorned the walls in just the perfect places, 
all
depicting western-themed betrayals and romances. It was the perfect boudoir 
for
the perfect romantic tryst. It was truly unfortunate that Kodachi lacked a
suitable paramour to engage in it with.
	She sighed elaborately and made her way to her bed. Sixteen years old,
and still untried in the courts of love. What hell it was to be doomed to 
stay
within the confines of a virtual nunnery! How was she expected to attract 
her
Prince Charming if she could only practice her arts of deception on the 
members
of the fairer sex? It was a tragedy of epic proportions.
	She was half-way undressed when the noise attracted her attention. She
frowned. That was no normal nighttime sound. It was sharp and loud, 
resounding
with a dreadful echo. She stepped towards her doorway, dropping her outer 
layer
of clothing so she could move unhindered in her leotard. This was a 
curiosity.
She checked her person for her hidden weapons and stepped out into the 
hallway
again.
	The sound had come from the back yard and Kodachi made great haste in
that direction. She resisted to urge to laugh to herself as she moved. It 
was
only a short minute after she had first heard it that she emerged into the 
back
yard. The garden was quiet, except for the lapping of waves in Midorigame's
pool. The noise might have awakened her pet crocodile, so Kodachi made her 
way
in that direction first. The only light was the gibbous moon overhead, and 
thus
the entire area was cloaked in shadows.
	Kodachi alighted on the short stone bridge over her pet's home. She
could see her crocodile floating in the water beneath her, a darker shade 
amid
the shadows. She called to it, but there was no response. She frowned again.
Kodachi was not pleased with her beast's lack of response. She had raised 
that
monster from a hatchling to obey and revere her. With a soft sigh she 
unfurled
her gymnastics robbon and snatched the reptile with it. A sharp tug and the
beast floated in her direction.
	Something was wrong. Even if the creature was asleep, it should have
reacted to that, but it remained as stiff as a log. Now that it was closer 
she
could see a spray of fluid across her animal's head. It was surrounding a 
small
hole...
	Kodachi leaned in closer to investigate when the figure burst from the
water at her. She only had a moment to not that it was clad in blue and
definitely male before he was upon her. She let out a short cry and lashed 
out,
snapping her ribbon in a defensive arc. The slash caught the man across the 
neck
and sent him spiraling into the water. He landed atop the all-too-still body 
of
her pet and lay motionless.
	Kodachi paused to catch her breath. Well, that had been most vexing, but
it appeared to be over now. She looked over the man in the pond. He was 
wearing
a police uniform, complete with pistol. His back was to her, so she could do
little to see his features. She couldn't be sure if he was unconscious or 
dead,
for he was far too still to be injured. It was as she examined him that she
remembered the sound from earlier. A gunshot? Yes, now that she was able to 
look
at her leisure, she saw one of the man's legs had been ravaged by 
Midorigame's
teeth.
	A quick scenario sketched itself out in her mind. The man had snuck in,
but not counted on her faithful pet. Then it had caught him by surprise. 
With
his leg being chewed on, he had used his pistol to dispatch her crocodile. 
Then
she had arrived and the man, still in the pond, had hidden beneath the 
surface
planning to surprise her. She allowed her head to dip backward and laughed 
long
and hard. The pitiful fool had not counted on encountering a maiden worthy 
of
battle, instead of a girl barely able to defend herself.
	As she finished her laughter she hopped down to the side of the pond.
She allowed herself to smile, cruelly and arrogantly. The man had best hope 
she
had finished what Midorigame had started, or she would not allow him to 
escape
so easily from her vengeance. The fool had dared harm one of HER 
possessions...
he deserved whatever he received in payment. So, she would have to check 
first,
to see what had happened to him.
	Moving gingerly she stepped up to her waist into the pond. She had
exchanged her ribbon for a baton, one of her specially prepared ones. She
reached forward and jostled the man with her free hand, but he didn't move. 
He
wasn't, she noted after a moment, even breathing, and his neck was twisted 
at an
unnatural angle. Kodachi sighed. She wasn't sure how to feel about that. She 
had
never killed anyone before, but she didn't feel any guilt or remorse over 
it,
either.  It was simply...unsatisfying. She looked more closely at the man,
searching for the expression on his face.  Perhaps it would show something?  
His
body was sprawled across the mass of her dead pet, with one hand clasping 
firmly
onto Midorigame's collar...
	Wait.
	That hand had not been on the collar when he had first landed. She
was quite sure of that. She leaned in, and then the seemingly lifeless hand
jerked suddenly, pulling on the collar. Her eyes widened, and she had a 
split
second to remember the boobytrap she had implanted into the collar before

*

	So that was what it felt like to be electrocuted.  It wasn't pleasant,
as far as he could tell in the one-step-removed way he perceived such 
things.
Not entirely unlike being shot, actually.  A hard jolt.  Heh, how 
appropriate.
	Chris swung himself off the body of the crocodile, the smell of roasting
meat - not just crocodile - rising faintly to his nostrils.  Must've....yes, 
his
"good" leg had been dangling in the water.  Well, better than his whole 
being in
the water, as he had planned.  He'd have been pretty toasty, if so.  
Kodachi, it
seemed, did not play around when it came to normal humans.  As if the late,
lamented Midorigame itself wasn't deterrent enough.
	There was no movement from the darkened house.  Kodachi had screamed,
briefly, as the massive electric shock from the collar had coursed through 
her.
But it wasn't that loud...he hoped.  No lights turning on, though, no 
answering
shouts...it looked like he was safe.  Kunou must be a sound sleeper.  Or 
maybe
he just ignored his sister.  Speaking of...
	Kodachi was floating, face up, in the waters of the pond.  Her baton had
floated away, out of her reach.  She was twitching a bit.  Still alive, but
definitely unconscious.  He expected nothing less from a trap strong enough 
to
knock out Ranma at full charge.  Thank goodness for his encyclopediac 
knowledge
of the manga.  It would come in handy.  In fact, he really ought to make a
journal and stash it somewhere, writing down every detail he could remember, 
so
he could reference it.  That way, hopefully, he wouldn't forget anything
important, though the faux-Ukyou's presence had already ensured things were
going to alter significantly as time went on.  Not to mention what he was 
about
to do.
	What he was about to do.  Steeling himself, he moved away from the body
of the crocodile and towards Kodachi.  He stumbled a bit...Midorigame had 
really
mangled Officer Takashita's leg.  But the leg was necessary bait to get the 
head
of the crocodile at close range.  Japanese police officer sidearms were
insultingly poor, so that was the only sure way to do the job, albeit a 
somewhat
risky one.  He hadn't really wanted to chance being devoured.
	But Kodachi's superhuman body would significantly reduce the chances of
that, wouldn't it?  And here she was, unconscious and helpless, floating in 
a
pond.  Exactly as he'd planned.
	So why was he hesitating?
	Because he KNEW Kodachi.  Just like Akane.  And no matter how little
sense it made, it was a lot harder to kill someone you knew - or felt like 
you
knew - than some faceless victim who was in the wrong place at the wrong 
time.
And there was no stress, no pressure of time...there was nothing stopping 
him
from just leaving, leaving her here, letting her live.
	Except he couldn't.  His gun was empty and abandoned in the dark water.
His body was mauled.  He couldn't even hope to pass for a living person by 
this
point.  If he didn't kill her, he'd not get another chance...he'd have to 
settle
for a normal body.  And that meant he wouldn't be able to confront the faux-
Ukyou.  And he had to do that.  He had to get the answers.
	So Kodachi had to die.  He stood over her, and with a motion that
surprised him with its suddenness, he grabbed her by the shoulders and 
pushed
her under the water.  She might wake up.  If she did, he was probably 
doomed.
Maybe not.  Who knew how Kodachi might react to an undead?  Maybe she'd take 
a
fancy to him, want him as a servant.  That'd be better then being ripped to
pieces by her.  It wasn't if he'd be too put out if he whipped or stabbed 
him or
whatever she did to servants.  And she'd probably be happy to provide
opportunities for fresh bodies.  Or would she?  Kodachi wasn't the most 
fully-
fleshed-out of the Ranma characters.  He knew she was insane, insane enough 
that
Ranma and his friends usually reacted with fear to her appearances.  But was 
she
actually a potential killer?  Hard to say, Takahashi wouldn't cover ground 
like
that...
	The matter, he felt by the void he felt yawning beneath him, had been
rendered moot.  Already?  How long had he been thinking, his brain - his?  
no,
not his, but his thoughts nonetheless - compensating, dwelling on anything 
other
than what he was doing?  He felt slightly ashamed.  You'd think he'd be used 
to
killing by about the half-dozenth victim, wouldn't you?
	Looking down, he saw her dimly in the water.  She looked peaceful.  Not
that he could really make out the details of her expression.  She felt 
peaceful.
Her posture was.  Or maybe that was wishful thinking.  But the deed was 
done.
He couldn't turn back time and undo it.  He could only go on.  If he was 
right,
this would be the last one.  If he was right, he'd be able to save himself 
and
others before this body wore out.  If he was right.
	But he'd have to move as soon as possible.  There'd be a lot of training
and memories to experience by the morning.  Knowing this, he cast his doubts
aside.  There was work to do.
	He sent his spirit out, falling towards his goal.




				To Be Continued...


Author's Notes:


Epsilon: At this point, we'd like to thank our prereaders.

Blade: Yes, Jenn and Rob, thank you for prereading!  We'd thank Talen too, 
but
he never actually made it to chapter 3.  Anyway, in sign of our gratitude, 
they
get cameos in this chapter!  Whee!

Epsilon: Please ignore the fact that the plotline more or less dictated that
they make cameos no matter what.

Blade: Well, okay, then that means they made cameos and we didn't KILL THEM.
Happy?

Epsilon: Not particularly, but then again, I'm me.

Blade: Which was a major theme in this chapter!  See, these things are 
relevent!

Epsilon: And maybe now people will stop asking "what's going on", since if 
it
isn't crystal clear what's going on by now, we've utterly failed.

Blade: Not that that will stop us from forging on ahead, because goddamnit,
we're going to finish SOMETHING in our lifetimes.

Epsilon: Other than that, that's pretty much it, I guess...there's no new
special moves for me to explain or translate, anyway.

Blade: Well, it's been said by some acronym-for-name people that our banter 
here
is too pretentiously self-absorbed.  But that makes perfect sense for this
chapter, where pretentious self-absorption was the theme!

Epsilon: That's not exactly going to win over the readers, Blade.

Blade: Well, try this: after this chapter, you will never again get a 
chapter
50% composed of flashbacks to our semi-real lives.

Epsilon: This would be a good place to make fun of Evangelion.

Blade: Yes.  It would, wouldn't it?

Epsilon: Because if there's one popular series that's all about pretentious
self-absorption...

Blade: It's Saint Seiya!

Epsilon: No, no, I'm talking about the one that all the fanboys insist is 
deep
and meaningful, when really it's just...

Blade: Earth Girl Arjuna!

Epsilon: No, no, the one with all that absurd "symbolism" that...

Blade: Lain?

Epsilon: Fine.  Lain.  Whatever.

Blade: But I -like- Lain!

Epsilon: And that just says a great deal about you, doesn't it?

Blade: Uh...no, not really.

Epsilon: Quiet, you, I'm trying to sound wise.

Blade: Wow, this time it really was pretentiously self-absorbed.  Uh, we'll 
try
to do better next time!  And never again will a chapter be focused so much 
on
Chris and Aaron, without all the cool anime characters you actually care 
about
being involved!

Epsilon: Unless it is.

Blade: But anyway, you'll want to tune in to the next chapter for sure!  
Why?
BIG FIGHT SCENE!  What else?

***NUDITY!!!***

Epsilon: No nudity.

Blade: Well, okay, just a big fight, then. And c'mon, anyone who reads us 
must
have some appreciation for that, right?  Not to mention angst!

Epsilon: Angst and fight scenes!  They make fics good!

Blade: The only things that would make it better are explosions.

Epsilon: And Kero-chan.

Blade: And flashing clips of gore.  But now we're devoling into pretentious
self-absorption (or at least in-jokes) again, so why don't we just leave you
with your SNEAK PREVIEW from the next chapter?




	Nabiki had never regained consciousness after being knocked out before,
and she noted with some annoyance that she didn't like it much. Her head 
hurt,
for one thing. Her mouth was also filled with some terrible aftertaste. It 
was
probably the result of whatever drug she had been slipped. There really was 
no
other explanation, unless everyone in her family had come down with a sudden
case of fainting sickness.
	She resisted the urge to swear as she opened her eyes. She was in some
anonymous room, not really traditional Japanese style. There were no 
windows,
and instead of a paper screen there was a solid-looking wooden door. She 
arched
her aching head around, trying to get a good view of things. Where the hell 
was
she? She tried to stand up, but found herself instead toppling over onto her
side.
	She blinked and looked down, noticing that her legs were tied with some
sort of cloth around the ankles. A quick tug with her arms confirmed that 
those
were tied behind her back at the wrist. A few seconds of futile struggle
followed before Nabiki was forced to conclude that she was quite securely 
bound.
She beat back her panic with a few choice curses, not bothering to try and 
cover
them up now. As she did she twisted and bounced her body back into a sitting
position.
	Oh, whoever did this was going to pay. Nabiki didn't know how yet, but
she was sure of that.


		Hybrid Theory Chapter 4: Lying From You


--------------------
Epsilon

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