[FFML] [Ranma/OMG] [Revised] NaRT4 II - Vile Fables For Progressive Children Ch. 6-9

[David Andersson]

NaRT4 - Part II: Vile Fables For Progressive Children
 
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Ranma ½ © Rumiko Takahashi, Oh! My Goddess! © Kosuke Fujishima, as well as any local licensee affiliates. However everything of my own creation connected to this story is © to myself, and may not be used without permission. Any similarity to existing people or organisations is entirely coincidental, beyond archetypal significance. No animals were harmed through the writing of this narrative. Constructive comments & criticism are very appreciated.
 
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Warning: 
The story will contain a great deal of potentially offensive, politically incorrect, unfamiliar, or emotionally challenging material, including disturbing characters and philosophies, swearing, layers of irony, and occasional graphic violence. Much of the text incorporates sweeping, tongue-in-cheek, over-the-top satire. Please use personal discretion, and do not enter without a sense of humour. If you can stand watching South Park or even the Simpsons, this likely shouldn’t present too much of a problem.
 
It’s also using a loose timeframe between scenes, much like the manga itself. Jumps may imply anything from a few hours to several days. The portrayals are almost exclusively matter-of-fact referenced in the source material, rather than any derivatives. 
 
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Short schmucks - Faith in m… mistaken happiness?
 
 
Another day. Another sect. This one wasn’t genocidal, but even more annoying. Ryuu was on an infiltration mission with Hitomi. An infiltration mission, him? Give him a good monster or giant mecha to take down any day, but being forced to sit down and endure a diatribe from these lunatics? She said that the psi-ops had forecasted a roughly 75% probability for large quantities of illegal Jusenkyo water, and mind-altering substances. Somehow he was also the “best suited to help her with the case” whatever that was supposed to mean, especially given that he could come up with several first-rate substitutes. Couldn’t they have found him a conflagration to vacuum-bomb or something instead? At least it was rather easy to fit in; all they had to do was to avoid washing that morning, and dress like they were colour-blind.
 
Two figures stood on a podium in front of the listeners, one man and one woman, in plain and unfashionable but virtually identical loose clothing, with uncombed hair and dilated eyes. Rather unattractive but alike enough to be brother and sister, a stack of loose pages placed before them, and fervently preaching in unison with the greatly over-emphasised, stirring tones of consummate demagogues. “Yea! For it was reveeealed unto us a great truth! Humanity is shackled and it must be liberated!”
“It must be liberated!” A reiterating chorus from the audience, reading from identical leaflets
“And hooww shall they be saved ye chosen apostles?”
“Through rape and degradation!”
“Aye, our brothers and sisters! For the scripture tells us that the prooud and the reepressed shall thus reach the light! They shall embraace their passions through this act of mercy!”
“Mercy be the raper!” The listeners habitually droned on.
“Yea! For we must spread the luuuv through the wisdom and privilege we have been given!”
“We must spread the love!” Another unified mantra
“And force them to face the truth!”
“They must see the truth!”
“We shall spread these hoolly gifts which make man aalike unto a woman, and a woman aalike unto a man!” They pointed at two sizeable transparent water-containers placed at the side of the podium. 
“We must spread the gifts!”
“For even these exxxaalted beacons were lost as ye! We were once one, and commuune as one every night still!”
“Hail the enlightened one!”
Ryuu had never heard of masturbation taken to this level before.
“For the llaambs shall inhale the spiice of passion and be freed by the downpour!”
“They must be freed!”
“Yea! For it has been written that a sacred orgy shall consume them!”
“They shall fornicate in reverse!”
“We shall erraase institutionalised delusions!”
“Thus is the path to glory!”
“They shall be raped and raped again until they are broken and grasp revelation!”
“The world will be a paradise!”
“This is justice!”
“This is the word!”
“They will feel goood and get stronger!”
“We shall become a better people!”
“No matter what post-traumatic or ‘scientific’ research says!”
“Lies and propaganda!”
“For ‘tis the work of bigoted illuminati!”
“Down with bigotry!”
“For we value gender studies! ‘Science’ has nothing to do with it!”
“Hail radical feminism!”
“All hail the whip, the strap-on and the holy gimp!” 
“All hail! All hail! Amen!”
 
One of the spectators eagerly raised a hand. “How about enforced boundaries of age? I envision an era where we will walk between cybernetic shells, and narrow-minded hate-words like ‘obnoxious amoral bondage-violation fetishist paedophile’ will be a thing of the past. Couldn’t we do something about that?”
“It is a most gripping point our valued brother. We took this very same cartoon to heart, and shall henceforth meditate upon the ramifications. Go in faith and slake your thirst until the time of rapture.”
 
Ryuu looked sideways toward Hitomi with a very worn-down expression. This was the most weird-assed crackpot mixture of opposing extremes that he had ever encountered. Almost exclusively male visitors, apparently attempting to lessen personal shame for, or socially justify, publicly hidden, dirty little rape-orgy fantasies through fashioning a… peculiar variant of zealous ‘feminism’… whatever. “Can I just trash these guys?”
“No. Arrest the leaders with minimal commotion. Identify the members. Dispose of the equipment before usage.” Even the toughened unconventional psychic looked slightly exasperated.
“Please? Just that guy holding a “Furries for the people! Defile a shaggy cow-hybrid today! Moo!” sign?
“Sorry, and I do mean that.”
Ryuu wanted off this case, bad. It simultaneously bored and irritated the heck out of him. He had heard that there was a high likelihood that the local Yakuza had hired an unusual foreign enforcer. That might bring some solid entertainment.
Hitomi noticed his discomfort. “You can go. This is strictly for temperance training. They should fall unconscious in half an hour. Low-level contact poison at the sheets.”
 
“Oy never got why we go after the rapists? Maybe the ones who go really out of hand, and make society flow less smoothly, but who really cares right? It’s just a matter of attitude to shrug it off or wallow in self-pity. Oy mean, loads of bullies serial-mind-rape people far worse than just a quickie. Should we go after them too? The ‘victims’ could have opted to fight back or died in the attempt, so if they don’t actually do something and give up they deserve it. Ooyy don’t care! It’s their choice so take the consequences you know? Oy’d like to sodomise and cut up all the little emos myself until they stop whining. We can’t stop people dead-set to commit suicide, and don’t have the right to interfere in how they run their lives, so it’s the same thing here. ‘Kill them, kill them all’ is just so untrendy outdated twentieth century conservative, and everyone should be given a freedom of choice to do what they want or it’s a
 tyranny. Am Oy right, or am Oy right?”
“You’re a seriously twisted bastard, Hayato.”
 
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A casually dressed overweight man was lying facedown on a mahogany desk. He was squirming, but was firmly held in place, arms behind his back, and a gag over his mouth. Taro broke one of the man’s fingers. “This little piggy went to the market.”
The latter made an attempt to scream.
Taro broke another. “This little piggy started a business.”
Further muzzled wailing.
And another “This little piggy developed a corporation, buying, shipping and selling raw materials all over the world.”
The man was crying.
Another “This little piggy turned conceited.”
Another “This little piggy tried to buy out his competition.”
Another “This little piggy overextended himself.”
Another “This little piggy went into debt.”
Another “This little piggy loaned some money.”
Another “This little piggy found out about his sponsors.”
Another “This little piggy couldn’t pay the rate.”
“Well, what do you know? We’re all out of fingers.” Taro crushed one of the target’s hands. “This little piggy didn’t accept the Oyabun’s generous offer.”
He repeated the act. “This little piggy said that he wouldn’t hand over his lifework to a criminal, much less for 10 Yen.”
Taro broke one of the tycoon’s lower arms. “This little piggy correctly assumed that it would turn into a dirty business.”
Yet another display of synchronised violence. “This little piggy didn’t want his name to be darkened for generations, or his employees to be implicated and jeopardised.”
An upper arm “This little piggy found out that all of his security measures mean nothing.”
The other. “This little piggy was assaulted in his office at the top of a 200-metre high building.”
 A foot. “This little piggy has a family.”
Another. “This little piggy loves them very much.”
A lower leg “This little piggy might see them raped and tortured before his eyes.”
Another “This little piggy might be force-fed their innards, and have to lick the Oyabun’s balls. Then go en flambe scorched crispy bacon, and spend the rest of his life in a hospital ward.”
A thigh “The little piggy has a chance.”
The remaining one “If the little piggy signs it all over tomorrow, through his lawyers, since the piggy will be in a full body-cast.”
 
Gilgamesh Taro fastened his IPod, activated his choice catchy personal theme music to put himself in the mood, walked to the windowsill, put his feet against it and launched himself into the air; his arms stretched to the sides. Tokyo’s baddest up-and-coming enforcer enjoyed a few seconds of glorious freefall, took out a hip flash from a pocket and poured the contents over his head. Any passer-by would be treated to the unusual sight of an over 4-metres tall 2-ton misshapen behemoth with trendy earpieces, gutturally humming along as it took flight to notify its boss about a task well done. (Damn, but I have a sweet-ass job.)
 
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Nabiki was in school…
Slept over…
Called around from a booth-like ‘office’…
Took a glorious morning flight… 
Broke some dishes…
Went shopping…
Studied at home…
Read at the library…
Wrote a paper at another…
Browsed through travel and entertainment agencies…
Prepared Ranma’s tutoring…
Scrutinised a recording of his female form… 
Watched a movie at a theatre…
Gorged herself on junk food…
Read fresh magazines about current or emerging local trends…
Hung around a high-class club, and flirted with the clientele…
Hung around a high-class club, and flirted with the clientele…
Hung around a high-class club, and flirted with the clientele…
Hung around a high-class club, and flirted with the clientele…
Hung around a high-class club, and flirted with the clientele…
Hung around a high-class club, and flirted with the clientele…
Studied English…
Studied French…
Studied German…
Studied Chinese…
Studied Spanish…
Studied Korean…
 
The teacher droned on…
The schedule pad buzzed…
Still nobody interested in hiring models…
She plunged down towards the open sea…
Vacuumed the floor. Prepared dinner…
She browsed through the assortments… 
Math, the non-practical kind…
Droning research…
Some chemistry…
Checked for interesting destinations and activities…
Skimmed through his various assignments…
Noted down its manner of speech, movement, characteristics…
Some parody of d-level zombie splatter action…
Gorged herself on deserts…
Read fresh popular science magazines about progressing research…
Attaining considerable interest…
Attaining considerable interest…
Attaining considerable interest…
Attaining considerable interest…
Attaining considerable interest…
Attaining considerable interest…
Listened to audio lessons and reiterated vocabulary…
Listened to audio lessons and reiterated vocabulary…
Listened to audio lessons and reiterated vocabulary…
Listened to audio lessons and reiterated vocabulary…
Listened to audio lessons and reiterated vocabulary…
Listened to audio lessons and reiterated vocabulary…
 
Dull, incompetent, petty tyrant was more like it…
She wanted to sleep another hour…
She mailed various agents with an assortment of photographs…
Slowed down the descent, and dove in…
She couldn’t stand this monotony. How did Kasumi avoid going bonkers…
Only the brand names, finest cloth, style, and jewellery for every occasion…
Or at least not directly useful for the moment…
Mostly checking databases from her laptop. Tokyo had a great mobile Internet network…
Kind of diverting in practice…
Considered which Ranma might enjoy, and how to reach them in minimal time…
Repeated the related sections in last year’s prescribed books, and took notes…
Mentally listed tactics to avoid hot water and awkward questions or encounters…
Hilarious if you knew the genre…
Gorged herself on sweets…
Read fresh magazines about investments and development…
Along with her exotic ‘friends’ ‘Chouko’, ‘Hanako’, ‘Miyako’, ‘Natsuko’ and ‘Yoshiko’…
Along with her exotic ‘friends’ ‘Aiko’, ‘Hanako’, ‘Miyako’, ‘Natsuko’ and ‘Yoshiko’…
Along with her exotic ‘friends’ ‘Aiko’, ‘Chouko’, ‘Miyako’, ‘Natsuko’ and ‘Yoshiko’…
Along with her exotic ‘friends’ ‘Aiko’, ‘Chouko’, ‘Hanako’, ‘Natsuko’ and ‘Yoshiko’…
Along with her exotic ‘friends’ ‘Aiko’, ‘Chouko’, ‘Hanako’, ‘Miyako’ and ‘Yoshiko’…
Along with her exotic ‘friends’ ‘Aiko’, ‘Chouko’, ‘Hanako’, ‘Miyako’ and ‘Natsuko’…
Read books, and wrote nonsensical essays…
Read books, and wrote nonsensical essays…
Read books, and wrote nonsensical essays…
Read books, and wrote nonsensical essays…
Read books, and wrote nonsensical essays…
Read books, and wrote nonsensical essays…
 
But she had to endure to keep up appearances…
She shut down the alarm and dozed off again… 
Just a matter of time now, especially with other hooks out…
A dolphin excitedly swam and leapt over the waves, in utter bliss both below and above the surface…
She allowed some marginal respect, blended with acute contempt, for unconditionally unburdening herself for so long…
Memorising them all to replicate for free at first opportunity… 
But the Japanese school-system usually saw to provide thorough illustrations in that regard…
But she occasionally used the books, and it was suspect with too many ‘friends’ within the house…
Scrutinising afterwards? Not so much…
Coordinated with his schedule to fully exploit the available intervals…
Considered strategies and ‘incitements’ to make him interested…
Preparing for necessary fill-ins during excursions. She could always use a displacement to catch up…
Just gross or absurd otherwise…
She really loved to never worry about getting fat again…
Read fresh magazines about global social shifts…
It was easier to avoid questions during idol try-outs, if your contacts wanted to score…
It was easier to avoid questions during idol try-outs, if your contacts wanted to score…
It was easier to avoid questions during idol try-outs, if your contacts wanted to score…
It was easier to avoid questions during idol try-outs, if your contacts wanted to score…
It was easier to avoid questions during idol try-outs, if your contacts wanted to score…
It was easier to avoid questions during idol try-outs, if your contacts wanted to score…
It didn’t hurt to be prepared…
It didn’t hurt to be prepared…
It didn’t hurt to be prepared…
It didn’t hurt to be prepared…
It didn’t hurt to be prepared…
It didn’t hurt to be prepared…
 
Ranma observed Nabiki walking home her usual route from school. He triple-checked that nobody else was around from various concealing wall and rooftop positions, without giving off a hint of presence, and soundlessly dropped down in front of her. The Umisen-ken was very handy when it came to stealth. “So how was your day?” He tried to sound flippant, but couldn’t quite succeed.
Nabiki imparted a congenial smile of pokerfaced indifference. “Oh, you know, the usual.” 
 
Jusenkyo was supposedly either cursed or blessed by ancient Chinese deities, depending on what they actually had in mind, but she was pretty sure that it wasn’t something remotely like this.
 
“Actually I just got a few of them smashed during an office party, and mentioned that it might be a fun gag. It’s not my fault that they took it seriously.” Urd had just returned from a few weeks of vacation with her sisters and their bright and likeable, if rather hapless, housemate. She’d have to skim the records to catch up on anything juicy she may have missed out on.
 
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Konatsu stood on the roof of the Ucchan’s with his currently rather grumpy boss seeing him off. He put a hand to his chest, with the other strikingly pointed towards the sky. “I boldly go to keep surveillance!”
Ukyo made a dismissive wave of her hand. “Oh, be quiet.” 
Konatsu leapt off. He had switched his recent kendo uniforms for a very… unusual ‘ninja’ garb. It was a gift from Kuno-sama right before he left after the training yesterday.
Ukyo shook her head. (What has that silly lunatic done to you?) That pilgrimage might be worth the lost revenues after all. Natsu-chan was far too impressionable for his own good. It was almost touching that he tried so hard to ‘be a man’ for her, but he was turning downright insufferable.
 
“Faithful Konatsu. The pursuer of excellence is bound for a cleansing voyage, and shalt soon depart on for shrines and contemplation beneath wintry cascades. The virtuous benefactor is regretful that he hath not further lent his services to a most trustworthy and respectful vassal.”
Kuno picked out a colourful set of clothes from his sport bag. “He shalt impart a final bequest unto his most attentive disciple. Thou art henceforth graduated and shalt be knighted in befitting garb.”
 
Konatsu was dressed in a cobalt gi with bare arms, opened chest, the sign “shi” for “death” covering his back, a crimson scarf around his neck, a white bandanna with a red sun-crest forehead-shield, displaying a black lightning-bolt in the centre. Cat-claw iron knuckles, a necklace threaded with hefty auburn iron-spheres, spiked shoulder-pads, two ebony katana strapped to his back, and a thin ‘surgical’ mask displaying a drawing of fearsome shark teeth, and a t-shirt with the words “Muy Macho” underneath it all. Konatsu felt very awkward in the get-up, but somehow managed to avoid looking particularly intimidating.
 
Kuno rubbed his chin, and indicated approval. “Aye, ‘tis the proper fashion for yon manly über-ninja.” 
He pointed towards a building outside of the estate. “Revelations were glimpsed within eposes from yonder fine institution corner-cinema that hath well served the Kuno forefathers.”
He solemnly grasped Konatsu’s shoulders, taking care to avoid the pointy areas. “Thou art now daunting refinement only second to the sword of glory himself. Henceforth thine intended shalt surely swoon before thy feet. The pursuer of cleansing is most surely soothed before his departure.”
Konatsu kow-towed in appreciation. The outfit wasn’t particularly suited for stealth, but he had managed fine while carrying far worse impediments, so it wouldn’t be a big problem.
Kuno followed Konatsu to the gate. “Thy liege bids thee farewell. Be certain at all times to proclaim thy glorious intents of action, and heroism shalt surely follow.”
The former kunoichi nodded. He had some experience with that sort of thing.
 
Konatsu was making minor progress with investigating those odd kirilian formations that turned up every now and then. He had by now learned to recognise them by sight, and since they qualified as out of the ordinary, had informed Ukyo-sama. She told him to briefly shift his focus if he encountered them again. They made very odd ‘chakra tracks’, for lack of a better term, which he had noticed seemed vaguely reminiscent of his own when looking towards a duplicate on the roof across the street. He was instructed to follow these to see if he found a pattern, then bring along and show Ukyo-sama when he was done. She kept improving through her access to a very suitable… Konatsu was not at all comfortable using the term in relation to Ukyo-sama… instructor, and she always had strong awareness of hostile intent. He thought that she had developed her perceptions enough if she actively focused. Given enough time she might even develop jutsu of her own.
 
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What appeared to be an immaculately dressed businessman of Asian and vaguely Western features addressed his audience from the scene of an auditorium, while seated at the right end of a lavish couch by a chic petite brunch table, gracefully decked with herbal tea and an assortment of biscuits. One of his legs was comfortably crossed over the other, and each fingertip patiently rested against the corresponding number. His face, posture, and entire mannerism radiated a flawlessly gauged balance of debonair charm, paternal benevolence, self-effacing candour, and inoffensive blamelessness. 
 
His listeners all wore similar brand-level expensive dark suits. Given the mannerisms Ryuu made a guess of a classic Hong Kong upper class, predominantly with cultured but modern British imperialist pedigree. Very odd, although largely irrelevant, Ryuu was a steaming surge of pressure, compiled and compressed by all of these crap assignments.
 
“…For the world is born of chaos, and shall return to chaos as entropy consumes it. We will simply hasten and usher in the final end stages of the Kali Yuga… but in a civilised fashion. We are modern people after all, not Thugee barbarians.” A murmur of disapproving resentment rose from the audience.
“Gentlemen, please! We must be able to speak openly about the poor misguided and fear-shackled factions that oppose us. Now, we have invited the eminent, and quite brilliant, mad evil scientist Otto Schneider to join us here today. He is a true connoisseur of related ventures. No longer shall we be limited to emptying bottles of nicotine sulphate and hydrocyanic acid into water reservoirs, or to infiltrating nuclear silos!” A smattering of polite applause followed.
An outwardly congenial and harmless little man, with balding brown hair and white sideburns, entered the stage, and sat down at the unoccupied left side of the sofa reserved for invited guests. “I prefer the term eccentric amoral scientist.” Otto remarked.
“Quite right, quite right, my apologies, please continue.” The fashionable presenter smoothed over the gaffe.
“No, no. Don’t worry. It’s an easy enough oversight, and as you’ve graciously apologised… Now, I’ve understood that I couldn’t quite attract you to the subspace-expansion, continental plate-rupturing package? It’s a limited time 50%-off retail value…”
The host wistfully shook his head. “I’m afraid no, a bit too strong crass Hollywood disaster-blockbuster undertones, but I sincerely hope this won’t risk souring such a mutually beneficial partnership?”
“Absolutely not, just an old entrepreneur trying to promote himself where he can.“
Otto rose from his seat, and went to a previously prepared laptop, whereupon a projector showed an overhead. “Now dear sirs, here are the schematics for, if I may be bold enough to say so myself, a highly efficient quantum bomb, empowered through two variants of self-generating nanobots. One type programmed to gradually discreetly build copies of the invention in question at various suitable locations after our preference, supplemented by another category reproducing regulated amounts of themselves and the others from available raw materials. It has quite the potential with proper backing.” More applause.
“Ah, now this truly does sound interesting. Am I to understand then that it would randomly mix and match buildings, locations and creatures from all over the planet?” The former speaker respectfully enquired.
Otto thoughtfully grasped his chin. “Not in the current design no. It would more likely turn the infected areas to primordial gaseous state, but there is certainly a very striking elegance to your suggestion. I believe the design could be modified to incorporate tesseract qualities.”
The smarmy announcer charismatically beamed his teeth towards the listeners. There certainly is... Dear friends, if you will, envisage the Eiffel Tower, the Great pyramids, and the Statue of Liberty suddenly fused with the Tokyo Dome while entertaining a full audience. Truly a work of art.” An appreciative murmur emanated from the clique.
Otto nodded. “True, true. As always, one must make an impression on the world where one can.“ 
“You are truly a high-minded philosopher to adapt new visions so fluently.”
“Ach! You are making an old man blush. Flexibility has always been part of my niche. Now, perhaps you’d like to receive the Swiss bank account number for a modest little Isle of Man shell-company, or select another location of principled confidentiality? One cannot make doomsday on an empty stomach as I always say, ha-ha…”
“Raaaaaah!” Ryuu went ballistic. He ripped his suit in two, and promptly unleashed a low-yield pressure-barrage at everyone present, immediately rendering the entire assembly unconscious. He gasped for air. That felt good. 
 
? “Everybody was down like tenpins… ? Du-de-du-du-de-du-du-du-du… ? Hmm-hmm-hmm, fast like liiightning…” ?
“How do you spot a boring lecture? The audience is having a slumber party! … Hyu-hn-hff, that Kraut looks like he’s eating the microphone… Classic. Oy totally have to build some Crouching Tiger, disco-ball slow-motion-style video sync on that sequence. Pure beauty, maybe some Swan Lake ballet music, and we should have a viral winner.”
“Shut up Hayato, and never ever sing again. What was the deal with a bunch of urbane snobs taking up the age of degeneration anyway?”
“Make chocolate milk, but leave the cow, Oy suppose. Oy kind of dig ‘em. Always make sure to be the victim, put the fun back in ‘fundamentalist’, and all that shit. Gotta love marketers who could vend suicide-vests to pacifists.”
 
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Gilgamesh Taro sipped a drink, resting on his stomach in a sun chair by the Oyabun’s exclusive personal swimming pool, placed at one of the latter’s private residences on the top of a high office building. A bikini-clad beauty massaged his back, while another fed him fresh grapes. This was the life. Charitable of the boss to let his more valuable employees use it when he was situated elsewhere. 
A slim but sinewy man was seated to the left of him. He had dark, slicked, and parted hair, acute darting eyes, a remarkably eerie ‘smile’, and a multitude of scars, upon closer inspection vaguely outlining peculiar patterns. The masseuses had avoided approaching him. “There exists a very specific, very generous order for my services.” It was a probing statement of fact, not an actual question.
“Depends.” Japan’s coolest, baddest, kick-ass motherfucker effortlessly maintained his pokerfaced composure. It wouldn’t do to give a merchant leverage for haggling. 
The man miserably failed to look trustworthy and amiable. “Discretion and confidentiality have of course always been tenets for the sustained existence of my enterprise.”
This was true. The man may be a cockroach of sordid habits, but given his clientele he would have been long dead if even rumoured to do otherwise, and his kind generally held the prudence of survival in the highest regard. Taro allowed an affirmative nod. “Any rough teasers?”
“Let’s say that my instruments have augured a very potent, rather specific flash in the neighbourhood of interest.”
Taro’s pupils dilated the slightest extent. “Do tell?”
The man briefly wriggled his hands in eagerness, but noticed and assumed his regular skittish mannerism. “Quite a lot of nuggets. Yes quite a lot indeed.”
 
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“Do you want get rich? Exiled prince need transfer funds to flee country. Please send account information and we give 20 Million US$ for trouble!!!!! Check.”
“Hardcore teenage lolitas!!!!! Only 4.99 a minute!!!! Check.”
“Raw animal fuck!!!! Hot cumming horny woman anal-raped by horse!!!!! Only… Definitely Check.”
“Free Harvard Exam in one week!!!! Get any job!!!! Impossible to see difference from real!!!! Check.”
“Get 12-inches!!!! Check.”
“Verify your PayPal order. Just submit your login identity and password at this completely reliable address… Check.”
“Hello dear friend H-ManRulesAll you specifically selected for personal merits… Check.”
“You have won a free yacht, just… Check.”
“Professional Doctor Esmer Clawford from university in Uzbekistan confirms… Check.”
“You are our 1-millionth customer!!!! Check.”
“You are our 999999th customer!!!! Check.”
 “New revolutionary treatment!!!!! Check.”
“Single mom make 10 Million dollar work from home!!!!! You too can do!!!!! Check.”
“Your computer is not safe. Install this program to fix every problem in existence. It’s not going to steal all you’re personal information. Honest. Trust us. Check.”
“New Super-Viagra++++ will make you love-stallion!!!! Women begging until dawn!!!! Hmm, Oy’ll give that one a 2-minute read-through.”
“!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!GIMEU’REMONYORELS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Check… Oy should probably have seen that one coming.”
 
Hayato cracked his knuckles, and made an evil smile. “Well, well, boys and girls. This must be your very unlucky day. The H-Man doesn’t take prisoners, and never signed a Geneva Convention. He is digital ruler of a state of one. Dig it.” He used a command prompt to upload the new entries, plus the greater batch of almost unintelligibly misspelled messages, to his custom-made, self-evolving, far beyond state-of-the-art, virtual-hosted self-transferring/replicating A.I. tracking program. Then skimmed the GPS-coordinated results from a previous batch, initiated “The Final Countdown” as background music, and executed on another prompt. “3…2…1…Takeoff!” A NASA space shuttle animation filled the screen. “Last call satellite-referring and direct surveillance… Guilty: Further suspects found. Tracking; Guilty: Entire Cell Likely Catalogued; Guilty: Single Source; Guilty: F.S.F.T; Guilty; Not Guilty: Alternate Subjects found: Verifying; Not
 Guilty; Guilty; Guilty; Guilty… Damn, I had hoped for a better success-rate…” He hummed along to the song, and tapped “execute” another time, with a feverish exaltation mirrored in every feature of his face. “DIE! Die for daddy. Who hates ya baby?” He leaned against the back of his chair, and switched track, savouring a few minutes of Mozart’s Funeral Sonata. “Jjjuuusssttt making the world a better place. Ryuu, of da mighty school of giant-robo shiny metal ass-kick, doesn’t give the H-Man nearly enough credit.”
 
“What are you doing Hayato?” Hitomi rolled his chair away from the screen before he had a chance to close any windows, and curiously checked them over, drawing the inherent logical conclusions.”
Hayato was surprised. “How did you notice?”
“You talk, read, and scream out loud for yourself.” She calmly carried on pouring over the contents. “I heard most of your monologue, and this puts it in context. Will you give me a further explanation now, or after some ‘questioning’?”
Hayato gulped. “All right. Remember that r-c taze-bot hover-cam I scrambled together from the Chinese black market? Well, nobody likes a scammer, so a few of tech-savvier guys in the workshop next door wanted in, and reverse-engineered, miniaturised, improved the surveillance capabilities, remote A.I.-system interaction, and amped the range and energy-efficiency to a ridiculous level, waaayy ahead of the market. A few of your guys also gave a hand with that, and crafted a really nasty, but non-contagious, payload strand of the Ebola Virus.”
Hitomi sighed. “I think this place would be 10 times more efficient if you all applied this kind of enthusiasm and creativity to our regular work. Why Ebola virus?”
“Ahihn-hah-hihf-hf-hf, poetic justice. “Nigeria letters” obviously.”
“…”
“Oh, come on! It’s funny! Don’t be such a prude. You’re a sensitive, Oy’m an insensitive, get it?”
“You’re a sick, sick, sick ball of sick Hayato. There is no emoticon that accurately conveys the way I feel about you.”
“Yeah, but Oy’m richer than you, so Oy can live with that.”
The esper frowned. “How can you know?”
“Oy just emptied your bank account.”
Hitomi stared.
“Hyih-hf-hf, gotcha!”
“Do you realise that I could turn you into a vegetable by an accidental stray thought? And into a literal vegetable if I truly devoted some resources?”
Hayato shivered. He popped open another can of the auburn holy brew and took a chug for confidence. “Seriously though, we’re supposed to ‘uphold justice’ right? Whatever that means. And if this isn’t justice Oy don’t know what is.”
The psychic, slash chemist-mystic, detective pondered the issue for a few moments. It did rather appeal to her sensibilities. “And there is no possibility that you could commit great wrongs upon innocents?”
Hayato gave her a disbelieving. ‘Oh, please… Ye of little faith’ stare.
Hitomi sloped in exasperation. “No of course not. What was I thinking? Carry on then. Maybe there is some hope for you after all?”
Hayato waited until she had left the room and checked the monitors to ascertain that she was no longer in the building. (Aduh, as if! And now for my expansion hobby-project…) He devoted some effort to keep quiet this time, to avoid further unwanted snoopers, considered a few slogans and typed down “Has your identity been stolen? Have your accounts been hijacked on the black market? Did someone chat up your children, rape them, and put it on YouTube? Has a creepy stalker sent a hundred death threats, and with a kindergarten spelling grade on top? Did he page Cartman and post you corned beef made of mumsy? No problemo! The digital cowboy and his faithful Indian tracker are in the building. “Justice shall be served” is our motto. 100% effectiveness or money-back guarantee.” (Yeah, that’ll do for now.) “Hifhf.” (Unless Oy was the one who took your money of course.)
 
Hitomi’s voice suddenly blinked to life on his personal transmitter. “Oh, and see if you can expand the operation to the administration, lobbyists, and legal departments of that money-, life-, and sanity-fleecing science-fiction sect that always gets away on technicalities or political pressure.”
“Oy suppose. How much would you appreciate it?”
“I’ll consider not busting you the next few times I catch you in the act.”
“Good enough for me.”
“There’s one more thing…”
“Anything for you sweets. Want some candy from the sugar daddy? Oy’m lean, mean, obscene, and ready to rumble. Let's par-tay! Let moi write poemzz ov le grande pazzionnzz inn le chique fazzion-blogue ov dizz week. Me love you looong time. What’cha say?”
“No thank you. Just put some clothes on. In theory, this is supposed to be a workplace. Not a nudist camp.”
 
Hayato closed down the connection, and made a quick diversion to write a few new posts in an ongoing online ‘war’ between a few overstated cutesy-sweet dimwits, and frothing, stunted, one-track hate-addict lunatics, all of his own devising. He checked if he had managed to push any more buttons, to make another hoard of patsies pick a side, and bring their friends to the party. The certain-hit topic was: “The Stupid Are Breeding! Why hardboiled eugenics is a good idea, and the ways we should implement it.” Heh… and nobody got the ironies. (Hail to the Chief, and March to my memes misfits! Da Commandah has spoken!) With any luck the never-ending 10,000+ posts thread would turn into a self-sustaining living thing of its own. Like creating parasitic artificial life without any code involved. There was a certain appeal to the concept. Just add complexity and stir… (Better watch out. Oy’m beginning to sound like Ayumu.)
After quickly growing bored with the usual antics, he backtracked and fast-forwarded the previously ignored video-feed checking up on the whereabouts of his old pal ‘r u k mon?’ Now to wait for an appropriate moment to unnerve him… Some punk was about to unload an Uzi at his back. Boooring! The spoilsport would obviously notice, and avoid it easily left on his own, which was way too dull. (Let’s turn the stakes a teeny bit interesting.) “Don’t think of flying pink elephants having an airline union strike!”
 
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Coming up:
"It's Nabiki-pwning season!" "Ukyo pwning-season!" "Nabiki pwning-season!" "Nabiki-pwning season!" "Ukyo-pwning season! ...Darnit."
 
 
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Is that an Okonomiyaki in your pocket, and will you use it to beat me? 
 
 
Nabiki made her way home through the crowded streets. Ranma had left some 30 minutes ago, accompanied by a copy, but she had some additional small errands, or more precisely shopping, that she’d like to get done, and had let her ‘main’ aspect stay behind without his knowledge. She currently wore the guise of another quite tall, stylish businesswoman, this one somehow incorporating an odd mixture of Asian eyes and Caucasian complexion while managing to keep a natural blue hair dye. Stand out and blend in at the same time, to walk smoothly but ‘unassumingly’ signify your superiority to the rabble. It was a principle that tended to serve her well. 
 
The drawback being that looking even vaguely western in Tokyo forced her to fend off a stream of panting, sweaty, sleazy prostitution offers and attempted mashing from unsightly, self-conscious nerds or middle-aged men, who had worked up enough courage to go real life from their usual custom-made love-dolls, hardcore subjugation, degradation, and torture of ‘uppity females’ hentai, used teenage panties stores, and underage website networks visits. Alternately trying to spice up a lacklustre relationship by spending a surplus of money from a boring or stressful business work, which she technically could almost respect. That surveys among her peers declared their widespread willingness to accept said payment for services rendered made the worms bolder in crawling out of the woodwork. Hook five unconnected girls in one walk, and at least one of them should work, with the following scenario planned out, in control, and not necessarily compensated, as the
 word of a youth or a woman, much less both, didn’t pull much hierarchical legal weight. And if the lecher brought some ‘friends’, who took care to clean up, it was several words against one, or impossible to ascertain who in the assembly that committed the act, letting all go scot-free on a technicality. Group-rape generally almost seemed legal per definition in most nations, while reckoning for closure and dignity was a much nastier moral no-no.
 
“Bi-chan! I love your makeover!”
Nabiki suddenly found herself in a forceful embrace. No extraneous pressure applied to hurt her in the slightest, but the grip was literally like solid steel. She couldn’t budge it an inch.  (Ukyo?! What is she doing here?)
“The hair, the eyes, the chest… You must so give me the numbers to your stylist and personal trainer!”
(Laying it on a bit thick are we?)
“And that whirly aura! It’s to die for! All ebony and scarlet with little sparkly strands going every which way! Why, they even lead to matching sets in a collection! Got to catch them all!” Ukyo used her right thumb, index- and middle fingers to light-heartedly delineate and play with what appeared to be thin air.
Nabiki’s body convulsed, briefly shifting in multiple colours and textures before she recovered. Her head was pounding. That was not fun. 
Ukyo innocently beamed at her.
Thankfully Tokyoites were very good at putting anything not their business out of mind. (Well, that answers that. So what do I do now?)
Ukyo took the lead by letting her captive go, instantly hooking her arm, and briskly guiding her towards a nearby diner.
They sat down at a table. The ninja-cook complacently ordered two prepared bento, along with some cold water, seemingly oblivious to her companion’s suspicious stares.
Nabiki didn’t touch her food. 
Ukyo chewed down several bites, unmindfully making her companion wait for an initiative. “It seems like you have the right idea. The chef could really do with a few pointers.” She raised her eyebrows at Nabiki’s anticipant demeanour. “Right, right, my old friend… Bikain, was it? ‘Be Cain’, I always thought that name seemed fitting somehow.” 
(Ho-ho, how witty.) “You so crazy girlfriend.”
“No you da girl… Lots of them in fact… You could probably stand to lose a few, hmm?” Ukyo provided a telling wink.
“Yes, go ahead, scare me.” Nabiki overstated her intrinsic sardonic intonation.
Ukyo calmly rose from her chair. “Thank you, but I already have.”
Nabiki noticed that her head felt cold (My hair! I never even saw her move!)
Ukyo gave her cheerful smile, while putting some bills on the table. “Oh… and don’t forget to get a new shirt… and dress. They look a little worse for the wear.” Nabiki looked down. Shredded cloth lay neatly stacked in a pile under the table. (I’m only wearing underwear! In public! …No calm down. It doesn’t matter. This isn’t really me remember?)
Ukyo handed her a familiar looking wallet. “And thanks for treating me by the way. Just be sure to pick a better place next time. See you around sugar!” She casually opened the doors, went outside, and quickly disappeared into the crowd. The wallet, hair and clothing simultaneously burst into fire, as if to signify a point.
 
(Worthless zeroes, losers, refuse, sheep, lemmings, followers, nobodies, vermin, look for your kennels and scat!) Nabiki wandered away seething with rage, having conjured up some dark formal business clothes, and brusquely pushed her way through throngs of people in her way on the streets. 
(How dare she? That contemptuous little delusional, manic-compulsive, street-vendor simpleton! Nobody gets the better of me! Nobody!)  The sheer indignity drowned out any subconscious pleas for restraint. 
She visualised Ukyo’s countenance in her head, and observed her surroundings for surveillance cameras. (Jackpot! Let’s see that comedian Kansai hick laugh at this!) She marched towards an elegant jewellery store, holding a sharpened giant spatula in each hand.
“All right! This is a stick-…!” An involuntary spasm shook her body. Nabiki felt cold again, and her centre of balance seemed back to normal. (Shit!) She ran away, frantically attempting to hide within other guises than her own. Wildly hoping that her talent would kick in again, that any store clerks would have seen it as nothing more than a botched student prank, and that nobody familiar would catch a glimpse of her running half-clothed through the street. 
 
Urd snorted up some sake. “I swear, this is the most fun since I discovered YouTube.”
 
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It was late afternoon. Nabiki was lying in her bed, attempting to ponder, assess and strategize from her various experiences during the day, not necessarily in that order. She intensely disliked severe uncertainties. One should always have at least a reasonable understanding of the terrain before going to war. She had been furious and conceited enough to get sloppy, and had already made two great tactical blunders, the first within the jewellery store, and the second by indulging the delusion that she could prevail through brute force alone. 
 
Oh, she had done her utmost to try. Still fuming with outrage she had promptly marched to the outside of Ukyo’s combined restaurant and residence. Nabiki intensely focused on making as dense and large golems as she possibly could, with force and flexibility in perfect balance, and razor-whips instead of fingers, accompanied by sentient streams of acid. She was rather fond of the notion of leaving Ukyo to stew in one of them, slowly feeling it invade and dissolve her body, and it would efficiently help to remove any genetic traces from the remains. Schadenfreude would always be the truest joy, and she was going to feel very satisfied indeed. Regrettably, poison gas was apparently beyond her means, as any attempt immediately dispersed and destroyed the prototype, but excluding that minor setback it had been a perfect ambush… or so she had assumed.
 
Ukyo was working out in her backyard, going through a series of advanced aerial flips and strikes, to find herself surrounded by an all-front assault covering every direction and means of escape… Except that the target seemed wholly unflappable, even expectant, wouldn’t stand still, and leisurely avoided dozens of simultaneous strikes, slicing the behemoths in two with single swipes of her weapon, or scattering liquid through air-pressure alone, as clouds of explosives billowed about them. It had been over within seconds, with Nabiki’s simulacrums evaporating into thin air as they were destroyed. And as a final blow, Ukyo simply shook her head with closed eyes. “Really Bi-chan, what were you thinking?”
 
No, three humiliations in a row had been quite sufficient, thank you very much. She was dealing with people who could move swifter than sound, exert force measured in Mega-Newton, withstand kilometre-long falls into solid bedrock without damage, and in possession of expert combat skills, while Nabiki had consistently eschewed getting her hands dirty for anything further than light yoga and aerobics.
 
Nevertheless, regrets were for losers… and there were more than one way to skin a cat, preferably literally. Several premises had been accessible from the start. Ukyo had unwisely revealed her hand, by stating outright that she could sense and recognise Nabiki’s aura or even use it to track down any copies. Given the evidence, this had been taken at face value. The chef had been able to single her out, through the facade, in a crowd of thousands, and wasn’t surprised in the least during the ambush, although the last bit may just have been that basic ‘danger sense’ thing even Akane could use. The disguise also shut down at a very inconvenient moment, ostensibly related to using it in a ‘detrimental’ or ‘illegal’ manner. It was unlikely that she simply lost control due to an agitated state, given that she usually had to consciously will herself back, and no previous occurrences existed.
 
Following that track, ‘detrimental’ and ‘illegal’ could both imply lots of things… her favourite being ‘insular sycophant’. Also, didn’t she manage to assault Ukyo and the muggers, and create a nuisance at that restaurant? She figured that the latter sort of made sense since she ‘helped’ her family, and caused relatively minor harm, but the former? She had initiated a series of careful trial-and-error experiments… this time in non-fabricated garments, and maintained her primary appearance. While hiding through the relative anonymity within a crowd, she indifferently attempted to pierce the foot of some unfortunate pedestrian with a hastily modified stiletto heel, but it was reverted at the last moment. More ‘passive’ violence such as a strangling wire likewise proved inefficient, as did pickpocket attempts. Even endeavours to jaywalk, spreading fallacious rumours to indiscriminate sensationalist magazines, or offering multiple
 allegations to the police, initiated an immediate erosion of any guises before she got started. She was forced to conclude that her previous attacks would have been immediately retracted in case they were in danger of connecting. Reactive, last resort, no option, self-defence might be within her repertoire, given the technically fully legal nature, but she didn’t find the concept of going into a dark alley at night particularly attractive in case she was wrong. 
 
Nabiki shuddered. This was extremely distressing, even beyond the severe reins it put to her ambitions. Winners didn’t whine about ‘doing their best’, they shot the people in front. If she could apply neither direct force, nor efficient incursion, she was as good as dead already. As Ranma had declared, in his own base fashion, Ukyo’s pitiful self-image arguably made her significantly more ‘ethically’ hampered than either Kodachi or Shampoo, even if that simply meant that she stuck to trickery, intimidation or battering, rather than casual assassination attempts… Then again, she successfully managed to strictly intimidate those junkies, and the obstruction had to be tackled somehow… It wouldn’t do to disclose a position of weakness. Hiring some thugs to rape, break, and tape her may be out, but how about the second best thing?
 
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Ukyo performed her daily morning ritual of sweeping up the street in front of her restaurant. It helped to uphold the required clean and wholesome image, as well as purify her mind from distractions. 
She emptied the collected trash in a waste bin and stretched her arms backward to work out any remaining kinks. “Yet another day at the salt mines then.” 
It was an empty statement, which she didn’t really believe in. She enjoyed her work, even if it could be tiresome to balance in combination with school. She checked the mailbox, just in case. Not that she expected anything beyond the occasional bill, which made her surprised to find a thin brown parcel. “That’s strange. I haven’t ordered anything.”
 
She tore up the package. It contained a regular dark plastic home-burned DVD envelope, with a photograph as a cover. Ukyo looked at the image, blinked, and scrutinised it again. Yep, it was there all right. No mistake. A snapshot of herself in the buff, on her stomach, and languorously stretched over a white fur carpet, looking straight into the camera with a blissful expression on her face, dripping with oil as her shoulders were massaged by firm male hands. “Ran-chan!” Elegant, bold red, handwriting read: “Wish you were here. Or is that redundant?”
 
Ukyo tried to calm herself down and briskly paced into her room upstairs, placing the disc into her TV player. It didn’t get better. Initially the video shoved several brief, continuously interchanging sequences, featuring ‘herself’ enjoying more angles of interplay than she had dared to imagine… with her Ran-chan! 
It turned worse. Later scenes didn’t include Ranma, but depicted disgusting, depraved acts she didn’t even want to think about. She felt queasy, almost to the point of throwing up, despite being a woman who hadn’t batted an eyelash at a cave full of ghosts. 
 
Finally a closing still with ‘herself’ from the left angle, clothed in a white bow around her hair, nothing else save a cooking apron, holding a giant spatula in her right hand, doing a ‘victory’ sign with the other, winking with an unflappable smile, and possessing a markedly welted behind. 
A scrolling newsreel was shown at the foot of the screen: “A Kuonji Ukyo production. For that extra saucy flavour… She has a nasty habit of tearing up clothes, so she didn’t have any left to wear… In case she ever feels naughty in the future… Why, she might just expose this video publicly… digitally… for rental… to ‘specialised interests’ magazines… at school… to her closest friends… enemies… perhaps regular TV features labelled “Ucchan’s Okonomiyaki Orgy”? Why, customers might just get the wrong idea about her entire venue of commerce! Whee! Fun, fun, fun… Alternately, she could just learn to stay the hell out of the way from other people’s business. Cheers!”
Ukyo was literally squeezing her teeth together in outraged fury. “Bitch!”
 
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Coming up:
The notion of "romantic dinner" has never been more misunderstood. Nabiki gets the proverbial offer she can’t refuse. The bets are on for how long the pact will last without a single backstab.
 
 
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Beware the ones with an unfettered will - Monsters are people too… sort of
 
 
A cultured-looking, tall, dark-haired, and dimpled youngish man, smoothly filling up a well-balanced, elegant but leisurely unbuttoned dark tuxedo, and a white silk shirt, stood by a well-laid table. Silver candlesticks spreading a soft pleasant light over the posh, tastefully Feng Shui ordered dining room, including a modern mini-bar, ergonomic chairs, choice paintings from noteworthy up-and-coming artists, and a state of the art surround speaker system.
He softly stroked a sharp claw into the neck of a seated teenaged girl. She squirmed in pain and terror, but couldn’t move, transfixed in place by his gaze. A pale barren husk of the same age and clad in a twin brightly cheerful colourful dress, was seated next to her, unmoved from the position it died a few scant minutes earlier. Great chunks of meat were missing alongside its frame. If someone looked carefully he or she might notice that it had been gradually removed in delicate, almost caressing nibbles. Soft violin music was playing in the background.
“Now, now. One mustn’t hurry. A true delicacy must be relished. Let’s both keep still, and savour the perfection of the moment together.” The man placed a glass towards the gushing blood, let it fill to the brim, and put a compressor on the wound, expertly sealing it. He inhaled the aroma and took a sip. “Ahhh, type B, 1993, a most excellent year. Rare, nearly full-blooded Kyoto stock, slightly dry taste, glychemically balanced, almost no sweetness, but rich with minerals and vitamins, a superb choice for a patron of fine cuisine. I think I shall tap some for a later occasion.”
 
The girl defiantly stared back at him with a vehemence strongly belying her unassuming frame and sunny colouration. “Bastard. I swear that you will pay for this.”
The man didn’t let the comment distract him, and calmly continued to explore the nuances of his experience for several seconds before taking the time to reply. “Still able to speak through the trance? I am impressed. Morality is founded on the ability to accept the truth. I am a vampire. I feed on you the way you feed on livestock. Why the hypocrisy?”
The teenager remained hard as granite, seemingly completely unmindful of the wound in her neck. “Philosophical ‘truth’ is relative. Even empirical science can fluctuate. Morality can be founded on authentic instincts and insights, or nonsensical, systematically corrupt dogmas, including that balancing the scales through retribution is somehow considered worse than unwarranted extensive physical or psychological torture for no other reasons than personal joy and benefit, or that pleasure and ambition are sins in themselves. It is also a truly hollow concept without genuine conscience and compassion. I’m a vegetarian, livestock never talked back to you, and we usually don’t keep them alive while we eat them.”
The gentleman yuppie gave a faint smile of patronising interest. “Ah-ah, you mean to say that you don’t understand them. Perhaps cows in the field were in truth expunging great mathematical connections, forever lost to the world due to unconsidered rash actions of an ignorant farmhand?”
“I’ll stick with Occam’s Razor if it’s all the same to you. I’ve met vampires that make an honest living, register themselves as having a rare blood disease, and get provisions from a local supply without harming, much less extinguishing sentient creatures, and even without it you don’t really risk to perish, you simply get abstinence pains. You’re just a sick old bastard needing an excuse.”
He chuckled in soft amusement. “Ah the naiveté of youth. I am simply an honest sportsman and connoisseur, enjoying the hunt and kill of the most difficult game. Like a bullfighter I may have all the advantages in a pre-written drama of my own devising, but a poetic soul should savour every exhausted breath, every quickening heartbeat, every slightest smell of panic, every taste of sweat… The stark reality of the hunt truly experienced as the perfect seasonings and appetisers of an exquisite meal, outdoing the refined choreography of the most superb French restaurants. Culminating as the flavour of blood and innards write a symphony on my tongue and nostrils in a celebration of my established superiority. Even the very definition of your vaunted ‘civilisation’ and judicial system agrees with me. The premeditated joy, flair, and initiative of a true predator always has a far greater chance of success, acceptance, and concealment, than the reactive
 whipped dog perceptibly biting back at its tormentor in madness and desperation. Besides, there are more ghastly things than me around. Succubae drink of souls, not blood. I am quite the milksop compared to some of my acquaintances.”
“Not all of them find that option morally acceptable. As you well know, there are many non-sentient sources of raw ether, and systems of mystics set up to assist those in need. There are safeguards set in place, and you are wantonly choosing to violate them.”
“My child, you are clearly more than you appear, but that’s misguided tomahto-tomayto pish-posh. Where is the life in structured clinical procedure? Where are the joy, the zest, the experience, and the raw passion? Should free spirits not embrace it by the throat, and claim our place at the top of the food chain, rather than be hiding in a closet, and die of boredom to avoid unsettling the sheep?”
“Cut the façade activist pretences. If brutality-obsessed anachronisms such as yourself cared the least about your brethren they wouldn’t reinforce all the misconceptions giving ‘the sheep’ very good reasons to be unsettled.”
The man sighed and wiggled a disparaging finger. “Now, now, quite frankly, I think it’s very bigoted of you to condemn people who don’t try to enforce a compulsory system on anyone else. It’s just as bad as being a racist really. If they wanted to live they could have just armed themselves better. It was their choice to make, so who am I to infringe on it? ‘Justice’ and ‘karma’ are simply other terms for oppression.”
If possible, the girl’s voice turned even harder. Diamonds would have shattered in a strain test. “Smooth catch-all rationalisation. Cynically paint yourself as the inoffensive victim, while forcing your system on the unfortunates bleeding to death or suffering in your path because they didn’t carry machineguns, wear body-armour, sit in a bunker surrounded by state-of-the-art surveillance systems, and keep alert 24 hours a day. Any possible negative appellation for what you are would seem woefully deficient in the context. You are very nearly as truly vile and irredeemable in every respect as it is possible for any sentient to get. You are not content to simply commit atrocities; you ‘moralise’ about putting them into system. But to verify, you are seriously stating that if I were higher up your extremely simplified and convenient definition of the ‘food chain’, I would be free to do whatever I want with you?”
He frowned in a somewhat concerned evaluation of possibilities. Something was very, very wrong here. “Well, certainly, that would not be a problem if it were according to your dictates, but it is highly unlikely as I have ensured that the odds work in my favour through extensive training in various weaponry. As I said, I am perfectly comfortable with, and stand for what I am. One must be true to one’s nature after all.” His mouth reflexively sprouted the automated replies while his mind was occupied elsewhere.
“I’m really glad that you feel that way.” She turned her head to the side. “Mister Kumon, if you’d please.”
“Piece of cake.”
The vampire suddenly noticed that he sported five hand-sized gaping holes in his trunk, and then found himself disarmed, literally… and ‘dislegged’. The entire process had taken at most a tenth of a second, too swift for even a night-creature to counter. “Oh dear.”
 
Hitomi held the temporarily crippled creature by the hair of its neck. “However, you are right that we do like to tell ourselves our little delusions to get by in life. I would certainly prefer to think that I couldn’t have arrived in time to stop you from butchering those little girls before I go to sleep tonight. Instead I had to gain satisfaction from setting up this little drama to erase any potential doubts of your fully conscious culpability.” The broken body seated by the table seemingly turned transparent and dissolved with her disguise and wounds, as imaginings and the stuff of dreams. “Now, since you so graciously made the offer…”
Her captive apprehensively reassessed his now unveiled position. “Ah… well if it’s all the same to you, I think I’d rather that you refrained, and my ever so well-fed lawyers would have something to say about you infringing on my constitutional rights as an endangered species. After all, I had no choice due to being compelled by my thirst.”
Hitomi showed a very unpleasant smile, her pupils twin pale silver moons of ominous promise. “Yes, and we wouldn’t want that would we, so I have an alternative. You see I managed to sample the full experience from your last victim, right before she passed away. I have no doubts that a connoisseur like yourself could possibly want to miss out on all the nuances of such an elusive dish, in every graphic detail, and as you asserted, methodical and well-connected premeditation tends to succeed, while impulsive, crazed self-defence does not.”
“A most laudable intent, I’m sure, but I think you’ll find me quite trained and safeguarded against such assaults after centuries of conditioning.”
“You are not the only one older than you look, and given my own lack of wounds, what did you truly drink?”
The vampire shuddered as his mind was forcibly invaded with all the grace of a sledgehammer. 
“Replay.” Hitomi’s voice held no emotion, no sympathy, and no trace of humanity, just pitiless reckoning, force and counter-force, action and reaction, weighing of the scales.
The creature’s eyes bulged out in pain and terror.
“Replay.”
Drool was running from his mouth.
“Replay.”
“His eyes rolled backwards.”
“Replay.”
“His facial features turned fully unresponsive.
“Replay.”
Ryuu put a hand on her shoulder.
Hitomi ignored him, momentarily shutting off the cyclic loop to address the offender. “You fed on children for sport and sensual highs, and I have maligned you in poetic fashion. Your condition ensures that you can no longer sense personal bodily pain, but this will feed directly into your consciousness and never leave. You will never forget exactly what you have done. Sham cries for redemption will not matter. Your mind will betray and imprison you forever, and you will be too irrational to end it. Even death might not stop you in the long term. I’d rather feel content that your suffering will be as prolonged and excruciating as that of your countless victims, and that regardless what happens the effects will forever render you a hollow incoherent shell that can nevermore prey on the innocent.”
“Thrrrrr rrrrr nn inshnts…” The leech mechanically gurgled before once more loosing itself to the trance.
 
Ryuu frowned. “Tell me the difference between you two again? I’m beginning to think that you’re almost as bad as he is. What’s next? Weed out any petty crooks and junkies, since society shouldn’t have to take responsibility for supporting unwanted elements?”
Hitomi suddenly looked very old, and very tired, despite her relatively youthful appearance. “No, there are still worlds of distinction, but I’d much prefer that it was a universe again.”
 
30 minutes afterwards Hayato’s voice routinely pinged to life again. “Blu-ba-bo-bee-blo-bla-bla-blaaah! Daaayymn but that woman gets annoying with her little-miss-perfect, ‘look ma, Oy take myself seriously’, smug and pedantic holier-than-thou. She’s probably just into that ‘let’s feel superior through aggressive naiveté’ power trip. Paaa-the-tic. What’s her major malfunction anyway? An uncivilised man is more courteous than a civilised man, because he knows that he may lose his head with a false move. Everyone should just get a legal kill-quota of one nuisance a year, and the world would be much better off. Just shoot the brains out of any guys holding up lines at the coffee shop or supermarket, and the rest will learn to hurry up. You feel me?”
“Yeah, the Vikings were a charming bunch, and that’d work out great on your end, because you’re such a likeable and inoffensive guy. Ever heard of Sicily, or better yet, Rwanda, Yugoslavia, and Sudan? There’re some fine messes of clan vendettas to aspire to.”
“Yis. Yis. Bzzt! Captain Obvious speaking! We have incoming platitudes! Alert Uncyclopaedia! I repeat… Think outside of the box man. Stand for something instead of just nit-picking. A benevolent tyrant could keep it in check.”
“Benevolent to whom, and what makes you think that you’d get to cherry-pick? Besides, how would you avoid getting everyone bunkered in their cellars?”
“Cellars are underrated… Fuck! Why couldn’t this have been the real deal? Oy mean think: “Hot young tramp eaten alive by a dashing vampire! Is this too good to be true? Did hee swallow more than he can chew? Was she aasking for it? There is only one way to find out! See this lady-killer eat her heart out, and munch it into a thousand pieces… aheh… 7 PM… this Saturday… aaat… yourchoicefavouritechannelinserthere! …Doon’t you dare miss it!” in a bubbly slimy announcer voice. Forget the Net. That shit would have been so hot, primetime TV would eat out of my ass to get it before it vaporised.”
“There’s a nice picture.”
 
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Nabiki was sitting in her room by her desk, attempting to focus on her homework, but only succeeding in almost dozing off. All of it seemed so very small. She looked into the mirror and shifted into a plump, beady-eyed Caucasian lady, with a snooty scowl, hair in a bun, an upper class, garlanded 19th-century dress, a tiny pink umbrella, theatre-glasses, and a high-pitched voice. “How gauche! I feel unclean, despoiled… common! Heeeaadsman! By golly, serve your mistress you dirty-faced squinting ape, and do something about this ‘educator’ that so vexes me! ‘Oorf with his head, and drive on the proper side of the road you horrid excrement of colonial scum!” She switched back. Nah, no dice, her mind felt overworked from coping with too much information and stimuli after the daily de-spawn moment. She was bored, bored, bored, bored, bored. Too tired to do anything, but too worked-up to sleep.
In lack of alternatives she began to browse through Ranma’s crappy DVD collection like some regular couch potato. Bruce Lee, Bruce Lee, Bruce lee, Jackie Chan, Jackie Chan, Jackie Chan, Hong Kong action-crap, lots more of it, Crouching Tiger, Hero, Ong Bak, Zatoichi, Once Upon A Time In China I-III, Kurosawa, Kurosawa, Kurosawa… Well, those might do. Outdated and without computer animation, but she supposed it was an obligatory part of pop-culture education.
 
A sudden gush of wind ruffled her hair. A menacing figure stood to the left by her, now, open window, arms crossed and leisurely leaning his back against the wall. “Yo.”
Nabiki outwardly didn’t pay him much notice and continued looking over the homework, indifferently playing with a pencil in her right hand. “What do you want Taro?” As standoffishly complacent as usual, but she had to admit that he looked considerably more masculine than she remembered. No vain mirror-watching makeup, just pure rough confidence clothed in a Tiger Armani, slightly unbuttoned in the chest area, showcasing the heads of two ornate reptiles baring their teeth. She didn’t overlook the various implications. It was quite the replacement for oversized earrings.
“What everyone wants naturally.”
Nabiki dismissively wagged her left hand in his direction. “Yes, yes, survival, health, success, sex, stimulation, variety, renown, reverence, control, purpose, advancement, vengeance and power.”
He chuckled. “See, you do know me. We’re very much alike.”
Nabiki used her intertwined hands as support for her head. “You wish. Get to the point.”
“Let’s just say that there are people who make it their business to monitor comings and goings regarding ‘out-of-the-ordinary’ major transactions, and that I’ve kept a certain major flare under wraps.”
Did everyone around here suffer from some major compulsion to butt in? “Oh? I suppose there might have been an ‘accident’ involved regarding the report, and that you’ve envisioned some type of catch?”
Taro’s lips curved in slight amusement. “That haughty ironic accent is really hot. You must have spent months perfecting it. I could easily get you loaded phone-sex clients.”
Nabiki opted to dryly ignore the bait. “I’ll pass, thanks.”
“To put it simply, I’m a climber, and your talents could prove very useful.”
“I think you’ll find yourself disappointed. I’m not a very accomplished assassin.”
Taro smirked. “So you’ve already discovered that? Running into some snags?”
Nabiki habitually didn’t let show any surprise. “I’m very happy for your not-at-all creepy new hobby to spy on women’s medical statistics or equivalent substitutes, but what do you want from me, and how could you possibly make it worth the risk and effort?”
Taro replied in a measured, intense and conniving rhythm of voice. It was almost hypnotic. “Let’s suppose that you have a certain knack for collecting information… or whispering suggestions… You could apply this to many… very appreciative… very powerful, men.” There was some unfamiliar terrifying quality in his deep eyes and predatory smile. Bottomless pits, and the true joy of slaughter unified in perfect harmony.
Nabiki shivered. This was not the delusional amateur she knew. This was a young dragon. “I’m not your damn hooker!” she spluttered, but quickly re-gathered her composure. He made her loose her cool. Curse him for this indignity! She wanted to rip that leer straight off his face!
 
Given her apparent discomfort Taro assumed his usual tranquil smile, complemented by nearly closed eyelids.  He familiarly put his right hand on her corresponding shoulder. “Now, let’s not be like that. I believe we can have a very agreeable relationship. We seamlessly complement each other.” He moved forward and placed his mouth beside her left ear. 
Nabiki could feel his calm, steady breaths.
“I can kill for you.” Taro whispered.
A chill went down her spine.
“Anyone… anywhere… anytime.”
Her heart was racing.
“You’re a tigress… You hate to be restrained... to be cornered... I can cover every angle… every loophole… I know everything.”
She was captivated.
“You can get it all… I can be the face and you can be the shadow.”
Every word went straight past her defences.
“You will be the formal consort... A true dragon-lady… feared and worshipped… the ruler of an empire.”
Her mind raced. Time slowed to a crawl.
“You can keep your boyfriend… your life… your plans... You can be everywhere… Nobody would ever know.”
Anything she could ever want…
“Pure power… Pure chi… Pure life… What so very few can reach… No matter the training… You must have wanted it… Badly… You didn’t attain it… Couldn’t have been born with the capacity… Only the youngest… Only a naive spastic… She had immense potential… You had none… It won’t matter… They will bow to you all the same.”
 
Taro pulled back, returning to normal tone of voice. “I hope that I’ve caught your ear.”
Nabiki mutely nodded, for once simultaneously looking exposed and feeling like it, embracing her chest, while longing and adrenaline covered her body with perspiration.
Taro winked at her. “You’d make a very huggable evil overlord.”
Nabiki loosened up, smiling a little. She switched to a petite emerald cheongsam, with a crimson oriental dragon emblem, keeping a cigarette holder between her right index and middle fingers, and took a puff. “It’s part of my charm,” she drawled.
“Haw! You’re a card, you really are. I do like you.” 
She winked. “Of course you do. I’m a very likeable sort.” This was better. She had a flow going.
“Don’t overdo it.” Taro climbed up through the windowsill, and went out, unaffectedly balancing on the branch of a tree, facing her sideways. “Glad to see you, seriously.”
“Yeah… me too.” In a way it was relieving to communicate at a core level, without limiting pretensions obstructing the way. 
 
Taro paused and turned around. “Now, I’d really prefer not to say this, but I assume that you know how these things work?” He held her gaze, staring deep into her eyes.
Nabiki earnestly nodded again. 
He gravely inspected her for a few seconds. “All right… If you ever even think of betraying, playing, backstabbing or double-crossing me, I will know. It will not succeed. I can find you, and will hunt down and destroy every hidden piece of you, no matter how tiny. I know your limitations, you will not be able to stop me, and it will all be over swifter than you ever thought possible.” Taro meaningfully tapped the space between his eyes “Chi, better than a multi-tool. Never leave home without it.” then refocused on the entranced Nabiki.
“You cannot take shelter behind the faggot. He is a playground combatant who fights for fun or obligation. I’m a mercenary. I’ve concealed myself at rooftops, in apartments, and behind undergrowth, to shoot targets through the eyes with sniper rifles from a 500-metre distance right when they least expect it. He doesn’t like to kill. I get kicks from setting up landmine traps around refugee camps, and spraying civilians with poison gas. He expects a fair fight but will cheat if he’s outmatched. I play for keeps from the start. If you so much as hint at any of this, very distressing things will befall him out of necessity. Have I made myself clear?”
 
Nabiki was slightly surprised to find herself composed, even peaceful in the face of the harangue. Possibly since she for once had no intentions, delusions or incentives for double-dealing. Taro had thought this through. He truly was far more useful alive as a loosely connected business-partner, supervising another element of the organisation without getting in each other’s way, and she knew that he needed her just as much. “I’ll have to think it over.” 
“Do that, but don’t wait too long or I will find other routes. Ciao!” He instantly disappeared quicker than she was able to follow. The evening had turned quite interesting after all. (It’s wrong! It’s wrong! It’s wrong! …Hush now… it definitely feels right.)
 
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Coming up:
A rivalry ends, as another begins. The mixture inevitably builds towards critical mass.
 
 
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Passion Players – Air, Earth and Burning Tygers
 
 
Akane was sitting in her room, holding a receiver and patiently listening to the beeps on the other end of the line, waiting for somebody to pick up the phone. 
 
A male voice responded. “Hello? This is the Unryuu dojo.”
A familiar spasm switched her back. Clear-cut impostor stints seemed to be a bigger problem than pure fabrications. (Well, whatever. It was worth a test run to get information. It’s not like I intended to use it. Too risky.) “Hi, this is Nabiki, Akane’s sister.” (Familiarity is good.)
“…”
“Yes, I visited some time back. If you’re not too busy, could you be a dear and reserve an hour or so for me today?” (Predictable answer.)
“…”
“You’re such a sweet boy. Akari sure is a lucky gal.” (Some people have no taste at all. He’d drive me crazy in no time.)
“…”
“I’ll come visit myself. There’s no need to worry.” (As if I’d ever wait for the Bubba the living delay.)
“…”
“No, no, she doesn’t have to prepare anything special.” (Oh yes, I really want someone remotely perceptive in the room.)
“…”
“This is very awkward for me. I’d rather talk to you alone.” (Come on. Work with me here.)
“…”
“I’m feeling desperate. I think you are the only one who can help.” (All right, hit the right strings. Put out the lure…)
“…”
“It’s a very sensitive matter, but I will explain in a few hours.” (And haul him in.)
“…”
“No, I’m just drained, not in so poor health that I can’t travel.” (Gotcha.)
“…”
“No, I need to keep this in private. You don’t have to send her over for a check-up, but I appreciate the thought.” (Dimwit. I just said alone. Aaaaalllloooouuunnnn, get it?)
“…”
“You take care too.” (Aaannd she strikes another homerun.)
 
Nabiki closed the connection. She had dreaded taking this step, but recent events had clearly demonstrated that it was just a matter of time, and she would prefer that it unfolded on her own terms. She had given the subject some thought, and if she had made the right deductions this should simultaneously render lover-boy more pliable to her intents, and provide a semi-‘acceptable’ spin. 
 
If not… well she would have preferred to achieve success in her own name, but if there was urgent need she could do multiple confidential transfers of funds, and if she completely wiped her tracks she could hide herself abroad under false pretences, no matter Ukyo’s delusions. Ranma was hers, body and soul, and had a prospective lifespan of over 200 years. She could afford to wait for the right opportunity, and a sufficient diversification of talents. Time was finally on her side, and she would have her empire, lack of obsessive genius notwithstanding… especially with some help from her overconfident prospective business-partner… although merc-boy definitely had to dump the e-word if anyone was going to take them seriously. 
 
She simulated the raspiest, hissing, most archetypal ‘dastardly’ inflection she possibly could. “Hello, I am eeeeevil, nyehehehehe. It’sss a political ssstatement you sssee. Here isss my card: Femme fatale; Player of gamesss; Prada-wearing devil; Writer of “How to get away with being really bad in 10 easssy sssteps, and why you’ll like it.” and “Zssen, and the art of finding the naughty you.” Make your neighboursss jealousss: Call XXX-VILLAIN for professional consssultation… Whooo spooky, I get tingly all over… Pardon me, but I’ve got a black hat to dry-clean and a pointy moussstache to trim. What!? No open ssslotsss? Pfah! Curssses and drat, foiled again! Blassst your eyesss, laugh at me now, but you will all pay, pay, and pay! Muhahahaha!” She theatrically rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. That should work for sure.” 
 
She pushed aside the goofiness and walked towards her window, exploited a bright midday sunbeam to illuminate and invigorate her frame, and then unwound as she gazed at the radiance of her garden and sparkle in her pond. (A rose is a rose by any other name, and so am I, as little Kuno might have put it.)
 
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The great and powerful kick-ass champion Gilgamesh Taro was getting tired of this. The elderly couple, currently tied facedown on the bedroom floor of their metropolitan residence, just wouldn’t concede, and their health was in sufficient doubt to prevent him from causing actual injury. He put another needle into a methodically selected meridian. The man grunted, but gave no further acknowledgement of what by now must be nearly excruciating pain. The woman was openly crying, but remained just as steadfast. Taro squashed a sickened itch to spit the wretched animal in her face. “Look, this is nothing personal, and it’s getting late for all of us, so why don’t you just agree to selling your real estate? It’s a reasonable price, and you’ll be good little nationalists by helping to advance the development of housings for far more citizens. Just sign it over, move to Hawaii and live off the funds. You’ll stop looking like porcupines and can go to
 sleep in those comfy-looking beds. Doesn’t that sound nice, hmm?” They were weary, but didn’t yield yet. It was just a matter of time, but incredibly dull.
 
He really didn’t need this crap to pull him down from his cloud. His gamble that the nexus of lunatics would intersect with something useful sooner or later had paid off big, and given him the perfect ally on a silver platter. Provide the saiko komon, so-honbucho, and key wakagashira, with inconspicuous, and to them undetectable, household items tracking every underhanded, cunning Machiavellian scheme or deception. Let the internal rivals ‘discover’ them through subtle hints from anonymous very carefully planted clues or, when necessary, some unnaturally gorgeous courtesans, and set the factions off at each other’s throats. Then use the brief destabilisation to grasp command, and continue to monitor all the kobun until the potential liabilities were weeded out. Sharing power wasn’t a problem as long as he gained the main spotlight, and had significant use for her resourcefulness, even if she might turn into the main strategist of the operation.
 He could always organise a Triad with her in open command if she turned discontented. The mainland underworld was not as inherently sexist in structure, and a power struggle was an assured mutual destruction no-no. Of course, he’d have to find ways to tweak or circumvent a few of her boundaries, but that would work out somehow. Not to mention, once she got taste of a real man, she’d definitely come back for more. He’d have the one-woman harem twisted around his fingers for some attention… funny now how that ‘name’ used to make him self-conscious about such cushy diversions.
 
“Is this a bad time?” 
Taro instantly turned, ready for anything.
Ryuu calmly flashed his badge. It saved some time. Hayato and the psi-ops had apparently struck jackpot with this forecast. The squirt was a useful resource, no doubts about it. At least as long as it involved getting his daily action-fix. Helping to solve the messes was another matter. It took a few misses, but he finally nailed down the most probable location for the supposedly elite Yakuza assassin. If this turned entertaining enough he might have earned a free lunch.
Taro sniffed. “Shouldn’t you be out dealing parking tickets?”
Ryuu sized up the torturer in front of him. “I thought the name seemed familiar. Duck-boy mentioned you in passing while bragging about ‘his adventures’. The lingerie guy right?”
Taro was slightly surprised at being recognised by this stranger, but deemed the barb as unimportant. (He’ll have to do better than that to get a rise these days) “Not anymore. So what did Daffy come up with?”
“For once he probably nailed this one. ‘Arrogant, sadistic, honourless ingrate scum’ seems about right from where I’m standing. Breaking tied-up people as a hobby is pretty sick even by my standards.”
Taro was bored. Patronisation got very tiresome very quickly. This guy was obviously both naive, and an idiot, like all of his kind. Fluffy-headed sickeningly sugar-sweet people were blights on humanity that should be broken, mutilated, crippled, and shot in the neck on principle for being so damn nauseatingly annoying and counter-productive. “Yeah, yeah, heard it all before. In the big world the only rule is that there are no rules, so leave it for those who have an idea of what to do with it. I won’t tie my hands because some man on the Moon says otherwise.”
Ryuu gave the impression of an indifferent old hand that had found some particularly mouldy slime in the refrigerator. ”You really can’t get it huh?” Apparently some cleaning and disinfectant was in order.
Taro was getting annoyed. The whiner was trying to act tough. “I’m a visionary beyond your narrow judgement, if that’s what you mean. What are you going to do, cry me to death?”
Ryuu seemed even less impressed. “Pretty damn banal and standardised vision for a psychotic brat with delusions of grandeur, but talk is cheap. Bring it.” Beckoning with the fingers of his right hand.
 
(Oooo! Mister traffic policeman wants to play!) “A pleasure.” Taro darted forwards, hands poised at guard. This would be almost too easy.
“Freeze!” Taro was very well trained, and faltered only the tiniest fragment of a second. It was more than enough. “Opening gates blow!” Ryuu split Taro’s defence “Frenzied stallion fortified safe splitter!” followed by an instant kick towards the latter’s left lower leg “Round hug death!” and a powerful grapple-hold around the torso. Finished, Ryuu let his opponent fall to the ground. “I should probably read your rights. Not that you have any as far as I’m concerned.”
 
Taro clasped his fractured ribs and broken leg, while catching his breath in heavy, uneven gasps. “You bloody hypocrite! You need this just as much as I do! Who do you think you’re fooling?”
Ryuu was completely unfazed, and not even breathing hard. His opponent’s overconfidence had made this easier than it should be. Though the lack of versatility also helped. “Nobody, and that’s the point. You’re all about this smug, sadistic, power-crazed thrill-ride. I’m more of a predator-predator. I use the fury to grow, and there’s plenty of scum to take it out on. Now come quietly or I’ll have to get rough.”
As Ryuu spoke, Taro forced down the pain and shakily put his right hand inside the corresponding pocket, crushing the small plastic bottle he kept for emergencies. His fist was drenched, and his clothing split before his now several times larger frame. The hurting behemoth swept a massive arm backwards, shattering the flanking outer wall, let the 8 backside octopus-tentacles drag him out, and instantly plummeted towards the ground. (Fuck it! Shake it off!) His seemingly undersized wings gradually slowed him down, allowing him to erratically fly away from that damn speck of a cop. 
Ryuu cursed at himself. The brief moment of surprise had made him react too slowly, but that was no excuse, and he couldn’t just shoot it down in the open. He would risk either slicing right through occupied buildings, or that the bulk would crush some pedestrians as it fell. He did not look forward to making this report, but took some solace in that the crook certainly wouldn’t either.
 
“Lolololol!111 Pwnage! Stay in the tentacle-porn next time loser! Scary leather daddy ownzz yo lame ass!”
“Shut up Hayato.”
“Get over yourself man. Let’s get our freak on.”
“You have an off button?”
 
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Taro slammed a palm to the lavish desk in front of him. “Just let me use your best sniper rifles, and a pack of custom-designed, high-calibre, titanium-tipped, armour-piercing, explosive uranium bullets, with a cyanide-payload. I want to break him myself!” His foot and ribs were bandaged-up, but mental discipline of energising essence flows, and the reptile/octopi components in his unique ‘cursed’ makeup both ensured that he would heal rapidly.
The older man seated behind it remained completely inexpressive. “I’m sure.” The tone was dry enough to make the Sahara desert seem like a water park.
He recommenced. “However, you represent a valuable enough commodity not to recklessly gamble away, nor undermine your usefulness through severed fingers… at least for the moment.” Oyabun Takehiko displayed a very forced, straight, not at all pleasant, ‘smile’. 
“The ESP is intercepting a tiny but growing amount of transactions, and is quickly turning into an unacceptable nuisance. Key operatives are taken into custody at a swifter pace than we can educate replacements, and we have so far been unable to sway political opinion, pierce their defences, or even enter the premises. I have thus presented the commission to a thorough professional… with whom I understand you have some familiarity. I trust that you will respect his authority, and be dedicated to compensate for this dishonourable setback. That will be all.”
He limply motioned with a hand and looked down on his paperwork without acknowledging Taro’s presence. The latter had been summarily dismissed.
 
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A piercing chorus of screams awakened Taikio from his seated meditation-slumber in the temple’s central assembly hall. He rushed towards the adjacent bedchamber housing the reserve nightshift sensitives. The designation had more than one implication. 
 
He was met by a tumult of upset individuals engaged in simultaneous chatter. “Life-death!” “Danger!” “The destroyer comes!” “The despoiler of souls!” “Flee!” Kiyoko was evidently attempting to calm the others down. He brusquely grabbed hold of her shoulder. “What is the problem?”
Her face was ashen, lacking all signs of drowsiness, with a distant lustre to her eyes. “Listen… The wind is rising... Can you hear the thunder? A storm is coming. That’s all I discern. A storm is coming.” 
Cloudless heavens howled in affirmation.
 
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Nabiki frowned in confusion. “A letter of challenge? Noo… now why would he want to do that all of a sudden?”
Ranma returned an annoyed stare. “You probably know more about this than you let on.”
She theatrically put a hand to her chest, complimented by a very convincing deer-eyed pout. “You wound me. I’m shocked, hurt, and appalled. Really, you never trust me at all. How about some benefit of doubt once in a while?”
He crumpled the letter and threw it into the nearest wastebasket. “Benefit is right. I know what you are.”
Nabiki remained the height of pokerfaced innocence. (Golly-gosh-darn, you don’t say? What could’ve given it away?) “Well, give him my best when you see him, hear?” She gave him a jovial parting hug, turned into a falcon, and flew out through an open window.
Ranma sighed. (Just great. Love thy bitch, for she will give you many troubles.) 
He packed some provisions into a backpack, went out, and walked towards the train. Pretty certain that ‘someone’ kept surveillance from out of sight. 
He cheered up. (Whatever. At least something is returning to usual routine. Ryoga may be overly humble and depressing, or an awkward and sentimental gullible clown, depending on the day of the week, but he’s always solid for a good scrap.)
 
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Outside the entrance hall to the stop, Ranma instantly identified the hover-girl ‘greeting’, or rather enduring, him as the one pursuing the lost boy some time ago, with the ordinary folks doing their best to ignore her. Nabiki hadn’t been willing to tell him much beyond that, though the kinship with Herb was pretty hard to overlook. “Come.” She floated away, quickly picking up speed.
He didn’t see many alternatives to simply following along. She seemed to have said her piece, and that was it. He started to spring after her in 50-metre bounds.
 
Ryoga sat on an outcrop of a rather high, secluded mount, several kilometres away from Akari’s place, or his usual sparring-ground, attempting to keep surveillance over the landscape.
Ranma lightly took foot behind his challenger. Hao Li was already quickly making her departure to far above, leaving the men to their business. “So you wanted a match bacon-breath. Not tired of me thumping your sorry ass yet?”
The lost boy stood up, not bothering to dust off his dark sweatpants. “I’ve beaten you around twice as many times, but whatever.”
“Those don’t count! They weren’t official!” 
“Yeah, sure. It only counts when you say so. If you lose five times in a row, it’s over whenever you’ve managed to score a round…” Ryoga looked serious. “You’ve been cheating on Akane.”
(Oh crap) “Are you nuts? Have you seen the psychos I have hanging after me?”
“Her sister told me.”
“…So how come you haven’t gone bonkers on me?”
“Your girlfriend told me that she took the initiative, and that you did your best to resist, and I have other troubles than my temper nowadays… She’s really far too good for you.”
“I’ll be sure to tell her that.” Ranma deadpanned.
 
“Anyway, she says that it would be best if I am “a friend who explains to Akane, and slap away the wishy-washy, so you’ll come out of it” or whatever, but she regrets it, and I’m not so sure how she figures that it will do much good.”
“Yeah, you’re the expert of wishy-washy all right. So Akane is free pickings… Whoop-de-frigging-do! Ring the bells! Why the long face?”
Ryoga wistfully shook his head. “It’s way too late for that, and I think you owe her to handle this yourself.” He stood up. “Move away a little bit. I’ll show you something to make this fair.” 
Ranma went along. It only helped himself if the gullible jerk wanted to show his cards in advance.
Ryoga’s hands started to glow in oddly shifting colours, and he directed a burst of force towards the bedrock. There was a slight tremor in the ground.
Ranma walked up to him. “That’s it? That’s your big move?”
Ryoga simply pointed down. 
Ranma followed the direction with his eyes. There were two hand-sized cylindrical holes in the ground… Ok, so big deal. He offhandedly inspected them. It was way too narrow and darkened inside to gauge the depths. He dropped a small stone, and waited for a final resound… Oh… Darn.
 
Ryoga sighed. “I could keep it up for much longer, but that should do it. I can’t use them anyway. I always nail you with my regular blasts, and these are the 20-30-metres wide special ones, narrowed down in size. You’re tough, but it’d drill right through you, and easily chop up a mountain into slices.”
Ranma blinked. “How did you get that low? Did your dog die and the sky fall down?”
Ryoga shrugged. “I don’t need that any more.”
Ranma was confused. There was something very wrong here. Ryoga was a bit gloomy and dim as usual, yes, but there was more there. And he didn’t get silly emotional episodes, daydream and talk to himself, bashfully run around without noticing that he was wrecking anything in his path, start to beat him up in embarrassment, or anything like that… That could be a bit of a problem. His main advantage over the bipolar buffoon lay in goading him into making mistakes.
Ryoga noticed the dubious gaze. (Here we go again.) He knew that this was coming, but didn’t feel like talking about it. “I get rid of most pressure with the blasts. They use everything.” That should get to the gist for any busybodies. He gestured towards a few treetops, some hundred metres away. “It’d be better if you moved away a bit more this time.”
Ranma acquiesced, and ricocheted between the trunks in a zigzag pattern until he found a top where he could keep track. Better safe than sorry.
“Bakusai Tenketsu!” Ryoga simultaneously struck all his ten fingers to the earth. The over 50-metre high hill instantly erupted with a deafening boom, large boulders violently hurtling in all directions.
Ranma shattered, or redirected, the ones that came too close. It was a tad challenging to keep his balance as his foothold swayed fiercely back and forth. (That idiot! He was downright suicidal after all.) He jumped down to the resulting mound and frantically began to scan for life-signs amidst the rubble.
“Don’t bother.” Ryoga gripped Ranma’s arm, just as the latter was about to fling away another 40-ton pebble. 
 
“How did you…? You should have at least felt that! You’re not…!”
Ryoga awkwardly scratched his head. “I suppose that I can’t use that one either. Just sparring should be all right though.” He motioned with a hand. “Have a go at me. I won’t use any specials.”
“No problem.” Ranma went all-out from the start, using a barrage of supersonic kicks, punches, sweeps, and occasional aerial flips to get into a better attack angle, but it didn’t do much good. Ryoga remained a tad slower as usual, but almost seemed able to read his moves in advance, avoiding or blocking the vast majority, while the ones that slipped through appeared to barely make him flinch. Ranma dearly wished he could say the same. Ryoga landed a slightly higher amount, and they did hurt… a lot. He would go down in moments if this continued. Usually the jerk had some combo of amped toughness, or strength, or blasts, or speed, or attack, or accuracy, or evasion and reflexes, but not all at once, except maybe those times he went into focused ‘righteous beating’ mode. (This is not good.)
Ranma somersaulted backwards, simultaneously blasted to the side to fell a sizeable tree on Ryoga’s head. Intuitively gauged the very brief time it would take the oaf to throw it away and get into the right position. Let his feet take a brief vertical brace towards a massive trunk, hurled himself forward with full force, and readied his hands for a cumulative 1000-blow onslaught for the instant his opponent would heave it away, and briefly expose his jugular. Timing was everything, and the undisputed heir to the Musabetsu Kakuto Ryu was a grandmaster. There! Perfect as always! (The man does it again!)
Ranma’s midriff was snatched a few milliseconds from successful execution, as Ryoga used his extended belt whip, chi-infused to incredible strain tolerance, to slam him to the already shattered ground, chunks of debris flying in all directions from the impact. (Ouch!)
 
“I haven’t just been training by myself lately. I’ve been coached by experts, just like you always were.” Ryoga afforded his briefly dazed opponent the option to get up and continue, rather than proceed. It was an implicit rule during most bouts. This time, rather than taking the offensive, Ranma focused all his attention towards avoiding Ryoga’s blows, regulating his aura to dispassionate coolness, leading his rival in a circular motion, moulding the spent heated battle-aura into a spiral, and…
Ryoga casually blasted his opponent to the ground with a dispersed low-yield output.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t use any special moves!”
“Just making a point. All right, I don’t think it will do any good, but try out the twister if you want.”
(I’ll make you choke on that!) Ranma recast his anger into detached ruthlessness and resumed the manoeuvre, executing the sequence flawlessly at nearly unprecedented breakneck pace; all the conditions perfectly set up, threw his arm upward in a corkscrew motion, and reaped the whirlwind. Ryoga calmly remained standing right beside him. Mirror images of frozen aura, standing untouched in the centre as the insufficiently nourished torrents rapidly fizzled and died down around them.
“I said that I use any emotions now. Not just pain and rage.” Ryoga moved forward, closing the distance at blinding speed, with the slightly surprised Ranma not reacting quickly enough to steer clear.
 
Ryoga sat on his knees, and kept Ranma down to the side without much effort, locking his rival’s wrists behind the back in a lone tight fist. “Ok, this is my usual strength. I’m about 3 times stronger than you. Any professional wrestler would tell you that unarmed close quarters with those kinds of odds would get you lots of broken bones within moments. You basically have to stay out of reach to survive.”
He stood up and was once more surrounded by an irregular rainbow glow. “This is me when I’m focus all my chi in myself. I can’t keep it up for very long, but…” His arm darted out towards Ranma’s head, gripping it from above and keeping him airborne.
Hard as he tried, Ranma couldn’t budge a single finger. “My full power is stronger than Lime’s. I could basically crush your skull to powder without trying.” 
Ryoga let go, and despondently looked down. “So I’m having a big problem here. I hate to see you like this. You’ve really got to do better. Maybe work out ways to keep out of close quarters, and get me from a distance, or start using swords like Mousse?”
 
“Oh yeah?” Ranma caught the distracted Ryoga in a hammerlock from behind, put his feet against the challenger’s back, and tightened it with all the strength his entire body could muster. “So, feeling like giving up yet? I don’t care if you’re a bit stronger than me, or whatever. There’s no way you can break this hold without pulling your arm out of its socket.”
“Actually I can.” Ryoga flicked his wrist.
Ranma was tossed high into the air. 
He flipped upright, revolved multiple times to slow the descent, and landed smoother than a cat, nullifying the momentum with a single toe. “So who cares if you’ve got a bit better? It’s not like you’re hard to beat! You’re still just a teeny piggy!” Ranma pulled out the hip flask he carried to drink after exertions, and for makeshift disguises.
Ryoga seemed alarmed. “Don’t do that!”
Ranma found himself unexpectedly amused. He had the dope on the ropes. Better push the entertainment value. It’s not like he considered this an actual victory, but it was nearly as fun. “Don’t do what? This!?” He made a quick throwing motion.
“No!” Ryoga shirked away.
Ranma mockingly shook his head. “Psyche. Seriously, who would ever buy that?” 
“It’s not funny! Throw that thing away. It’s for your own sake too.” 
Mister dense actually looked earnest about this, and he was the only guy Ranma knew with even worse poker face than himself. He strongly visualised another action, certain that the latter’s oversensitive aura-sense would pick it up. “It looks pretty funny to me… Catch!”
Ryoga jumped into the air to avoid the throw.
Ranma rolled his eyes. “Oh, for the love of… Let’s just get this over with.” He unhurriedly flung it towards his still airborne foe. A soft splash of liquid was heard. 
 
Ryoga wasn’t there anymore, and neither was the diminutive black piglet. 
A ghostly apparition landed in their place. Iridescent eyes, with irises indistinguishable beneath a permeating shine of whiteness. Monstrous jaws of massive sharp teeth, wide enough to fit the head of a man, fangs the size of daggers, and claws that seemed firmer than steel, entirely pale fur with thin dark stripes, and wispy rainbow-coloured streams of flame haphazardly flowing back and forth as its aura suffused the air. 
It was the most massive tiger Ranma had ever seen, easily over 6 metres long and 2 metres high, larger than a horse, even bigger than Maomolin the Bakeneko, and very, very scary for a hardcore ailurophobe. Ranma lost control, and pounced to shred the hostile creature encroaching on his feline territory.
 
A massive paw forcefully pushed the belligerent tomcat towards the ground. The great beast bowed its neck, looking into the eyes of its felled prey, ignoring all struggling and air-pressure swipes powerful enough to easily shred trees into splinters. A thunderous roar bellowed from its maw. The kitten’s features braced for attack, but then relaxed in comprehension. Its captor grunted, set it free, and tramped away. The conquered feline inquisitively followed its sudden pride senior.
 
Ranma came to from a stream of hot water to his face. It looked like it flowed by itself from a spherical formation, hovering above the hand of the similarly airborne woman that seemed stuck to Ryoga nowadays.
“You can’t say that I didn’t warn you.” The clown in question was sitting on a tree stump to the side, once more returned back to normal.
“I lost it huh? How long was I out this time, and how big is the mess?”
His rival shrugged. “Just 15 minutes or so, and there isn’t much to wreck out here except for even more stone and wood.”
Ranma nodded towards Holly. “So she’s keeping track all the time huh? What’s up with her and…” He gulped. “…Not being an oinking hug-toy anymore?”
Ryoga got something pensive in his eyes. “None of your business, at least not right now. Do you want to continue where we left off? It’s been pretty pointless so far…”
 
That certainly got Ranma’s attention. Now the sucker had made the mistake of pissing him off. (Pointless!? Ranma Saotome can’t lose! He… retreats, and advances from another angle.) He stood up, more than fully recovered. “Oh yeah, I’d definitely say we will.” His aura blazed in ginger determination and crimson fury, as he focused and accumulated his energies.
Ryoga calmly rose from his seat, but otherwise remained unmoving from his spot.
(I! Am! Saotome! Ranma! The prodigy! The greatest warrior of his generation! The strength of a hundred thousand men! The speed of a jet plane! The master of the windstorm! Caller of Shen Long, dragon lords of the skies! I can match any tricks he can come up with! Saotome Ranma can’t lose… Saotome Ranma can’t lose… Saotome Ranma can’t lose… Saotome Ranma can’t lose… Saotome Ranma can’t lose!) “Hraaaa!” It was the by far strongest discharge he had ever produced, bolstered by his brimming rage, pride, and determination, scorching the air in its path. 
Ryoga calmly stood and let the powerful sphere of chi flow over his aura like streams from a refreshing light spring rain.
 
No! That would not be it! Never! Ranma’s senses expanded. His perception and control was absolute. The sleeve of his right arm ignited into a cloud of ashes. His left shattered into chunks of ice. He focused to his limits and beyond, scorching battle-aura and freezing detachment directed in balanced co-ordination. He danced and spun at an ever quickening pace, encircling his eternal rival. A master dervish would be awed. A sonic boom followed in his path. 
It wouldn’t matter if Ryoga adjusted his aura to any state he wished, not if he didn’t provide the ignition. The arrogant infuriating bastard was just standing there waiting for his move! The jerk didn’t even dignify him with interfering! Howling currents of boiling air swirled around an arctic core, curving into the centre, moulded into a seamless flow.
Ryoga didn’t budge. Heavy pieces of surrounding wreckage harmlessly bounced off his frame without so much as a flinch.
Curse him! He had rooted his aura to the ground! (Saotome Ranma can’t lose! Saotome Ranma can’t lose! Saotome Ranma can’t lose! Saotome Ranma can’t lose!) The wind turned into a roar as it finally erupted, a twister stretching into the sky, a dragon rising to the heavens, the finger of the gods. He desperately clung to a massive tree, fighting against the sucking airstreams.
Ryoga evenly noticed that sound had departed with the air, as the core gave way to an empty nothingness. The near   vacuum didn’t bother him. His essence thoroughly stabilised his entire structure, so he was in no jeopardy of suddenly popping like a balloon, but he still needed to breathe. This might turn into a problem. The widespread great mound of rocks upon which he stood loosened from the earth… any available debris and several massive trees rapidly closing in from more than 40 metres across, surging to balance out the low-pressure cell. He tumbled into the residual cavity and was buried beneath the rubble. (Pretty smart. Using the setting against me…)
 
The torrent of wind quickly subsided in lack of pressure-differences to sustain it. Within a few minutes it had completely abated.  Ranma panted with heavy gasps. He had been forced to reach for new trees as they were gradually uprooted and he climbed horizontally away from the nexus. (I did it! I really did it! Of course I did! I’m brilliant!) Combining the Hiryu Shoten Ha with the principle intended for the Umisen-ken Deep-sea Wrap had been a masterstroke. Now to dig the sorry so-and-so free, then thoroughly rub it in his nose. (Ha! Ranma Saotome can’t lose! I’m the greatest! I’m the king! I’m going to make him so sick of me reminding him!)
 
The over 20,000-tonne heap of rock began to shake, light shining through the gaps as it inflated from the centre, pulsing and giving way, bursting outwards as Ryoga pushed his aura in all directions. It was a bit swifter than digging.
Ranma shielded his face from the detonation. (No way! No fucking way!)
Ryoga dusted himself off, inhaling blessed huffs of air. (Well, that tickled, but I’ll have to work on the suffocation problem.)
Ranma shrank to his knees, staring vacantly. (He just stood and let me hail at him! And it didn’t matter! He didn’t even try! He didn’t even try!)
 
Ryoga felt sad. He had respected Ranma as a worthy adversary, and now the latter just seemed like a small dog barking behind a fence again. What should he do now? He always felt very lost whenever this happened. He used his right index and middle fingers to send two tiny blasts to the respective sides of his opponent, causing two cracker-like snaps.
Ranma reflexively jerked to his feet. “What did you do that for?!”
“Ok, so you’re back to normal… What do we do now?”
Ranma looked carefully, Ryoga was serious. (He was right… I really can’t keep up with him… He’s actually more talented than I am… and way more powerful… I have... failed?) He shook his head. “I don’t know. I really don’t know.”
 
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Ranma had arrived at home with an unreservedly hollow demeanour. Nabiki patiently listened as she urged him to relay the expected tale. She noticed with intense satisfaction that everything had worked out just as planned. Her lifemate was lost, and thus very, very impressionable to her suggestions. She gave him a comforting hug, and led him to the bath, soothing him with calming words. “There is always someone stronger or better out there. It’s the fact of life. What matters is what we get out of it.” He would be putty in her hands. She would fill the cavity with whatever she wanted, turn him into a star, drug him with fame, and let him start a celebrity dojo, a real trophy-husband. Life was good.
 
Ranma felt like crying. Ryoga had offered him a place in Ryuu, Mousse and Holly’s alleged gang-up battles as consolation, “to be able to continue honing our skills against each other”. Worse yet, the jerk had been genuinely regretful! Barbs he could handle, but this? Gang-up battles, him? The world was ending… At least he had been promised some respite with telling Akane, so things could get sorted out a bit.
Ranma froze up. He had an idea. A desperate idea he’d never dared, or been in position to try before. He immediately brightened up, turned around and seized Nabiki by the shoulders, happily whirling her through the air like a petite doll. “You can help me! I can fix this! He hasn’t won yet!”
(Well, whatever. I’ll play along if it makes him happy.) “What do you mean dear?”
“You can transform!”
(Ok, he’s worse off than I thought.) “Yes sweetie… that’s what I do.” 
“No, I mean you can make me master it!”
“You’ll have to be a taaad more specific…”
“The C-Cat-fist!”
(Oh, right. Well, it won’t help him in the long run, so why not?) “That’s great honey. So one claw at a time then, so to speak, and working our way to tigers?”
Ranma trembled at the t-word. “Yeah… th-th-th-tha-that’s it.”
Nabiki grew some whiskers, elliptical pupils, and fuzzy ears. “Booh!” 
“Yaaaah!” Ranma instinctively lost his grip, jumped into the air and apprehensively stuck to the roof. 
Nabiki smirked to herself. (This should be fun)
 
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Coming up: 
Payoff time: The unbeatable underdog.
 
 
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