Okay.  Thank you to all of those who have been waiting for this post.
I've finally been able to finish the first book of the lemon.  There
is a lemon outtake from one of the scenes, but it's not in this post.
I am 50-50 about adding it to the final post, though.  I ask that you,
the readers, give this a read, and tell me what you think can be done
to it to make it more readable.  I'll polish this book first, before I
brave the storm and post the lemony bits (as well as continue writing 
them).  Any and all commentary will be answered!  (Maybe not this week...)
Hopefully, the second draft will appease all of the same.  Hey, I like 
it... I'm just hoping that I'm not in the minority of the readers.

***

Whoremonger 
by Nikholas "Switch" F. Toledo
Character design and events based upon Ranma 1/2 by Rumiko Takahashi
No discredit or disfavor is intended upon anyone.

Some of the following dialogues have been translated from Chinese, in the 
dialect used by the Amazons of the Joketsuzuko village, with the help of 
the Jusenkyo guide.  Also, the dialogue in American has been translated 
accordingly by the author.  Translation to Japanese is for the benefit of 
those who follow the exploits of Ranma Saotome.

Book I:  One Man's Dream is Another's Undoing

What if...?

	"Kiss of what?!"  Ranma said to the guide.
	"Kiss of death," he said in his pidgin voice, "is promise to chase 
to end of earth, and KILL!"  
	Ranma just gulped.  She stopped suddenly.  "Where's Pop?"
	The Jusenkyo guide shielded his eyes and glanced about.  Then, he 
stared back the way they came.  He pointed.
	"Pop!"  The young woman ran back.
	"No!  Come back!  Is too dangerous!"  the guide shouted upwind.  He 
ran back;  they hadn't paid him, yet.

	Shampoo held aloft a bonbori and a curved sword.  She had been 
running for a while, but the outsider was as swift as she was strong.  
Truly a fierce fighter, and she deserved to die.  The true problem lay in 
the itchiness of her duty.  Any other day, she could have just chased the 
outsider and killed her, outright.  Today, though... none-the-matter.  
The red-haired one will die, over, and over, and over....  She grinned in 
a feral manner.
	They'd been caught surprised, though, as their quarry came running 
through their ranks.  "POP!!"  She steeled herself as the girl in the gi 
just jumped from the top of one of the Amazons to the other, oblivious to 
the terror they meant to induce in her.  The guide was huffing a distance 
back.
	She jumped up to meet her opponent, but only met with knee.  She 
fell on her back, wheezing.  When she opened her eyes, the guide was 
offering a hand.  He is hoping for absolution, she thought.  Fool, we 
will not kill a countryman for an outsider's folly.  She took the hand, 
and immediately gave chase, without thanking the plump man.

	The panda hung upside down from a low tree.  A figure was standing 
below it.  "To think that I was planning to go somewhere today," it spoke 
in fluent Japanese, "I wonder what would have happened if I wasn't here, 
eh?"  A laugh.  

	Ranma ran as quick as she could, without noticing the accosting 
women, who were all participants in the tournament.  "Where are you, old 
man?"  She couldn't, no matter what had happened, just leave her father 
in the hands of madwomen.  "If anything happened to you..."  Her fists 
clenched.  Then, she turned past the large log, and saw the low tree, and 
the panda.  "POP!"  she ran full tilt into the beaten path to the tree.  
A beaten path?  she thought too late.  From the lower rooftops nearby, a 
group of three hefty women came down on her.  

	Back on the log, Shampoo waited with crossed arms.  At a close 
distance, the participants of the Annual Martial-Arts Tournament (15-21 
age bracket) needlessly fussed, and talked torture.  A panda tied up in 
rope was unconscious nearby, while the plump guide paced worriedly, 
unable to light his pipe.  
	An entourage made itself known, and they bowed down.  From a hidden 
position, a diminutive figure jumped up into view.
	She approached the bowed Shampoo, and brought the walking stick she 
had quickly.
	No one moved.
	The crone nodded approval, and removed the staff from its position 
merely inches from the back of the younger woman's head.  She beckoned 
them all to stand.
	She spoke, with conviction.  "I know that you are here for two 
reasons.  One of them is the just awarding of the champion of today's 
tournament:  Shampoo."  She raised a hand for her great-granddaughter, 
which was greeted by riotous applause.  
	"The other deals with the subsequent defeat of the intruder known 
as Ranma Saotome."  With the same amount of honor in the acknowledgement 
of the just victory of the leader's descendant, they merely kept quiet at 
the mention of the trespassing foreigner who was similarly tied-up, gazes 
daggers.  Little did they suspect, the elder mused.  
	She beckoned the guide, who was helpful enough to provide both the 
name of one who was about to die, and a substantial amount of hot water.  
"The outsider had defeated Shampoo in combat, and proper procedure is 
under the jurisdiction of our tribal laws."  She hefted the kettle on the 
end of her staff.
	"Should the outsider be female, the defeated Amazon must give the 
kiss of death, and kill the outsider without delay.  Which was delayed by 
the efforts of most of the population gathered here."  The group looked 
ready to protest, but was silenced.  "However," she then upturned the 
kettle on the redhead, amidst gasps of onlookers, "should the outsider be 
male..."
	A sudden outburst from the crowd was again stilled, but not before 
the rest of the statement was eaten up.  "And so, this Ranma Saotome must 
be wed to Shampoo."
	"A moment, Cologne," said the formidable-looking runner-up.  She 
waited for an audience.  "We were about to voice a reason to the efforts 
of capturing the outsider," she was drowned out yet again.
	"Silence!"  She wondered what had caused them to be so unruly.  
"Speak."
	"The outsider had defeated the champion of the tournament.  And the 
champion defeated all of us," she gestured to the crowd, "and so, we 
share in the loss, and ask thereby," she pointed to the black-haired 
young man, "to all be wed to the outsider."

Akane's Story

	Nodoka Saotome had moved in, after she had introduced herself to 
the three Tendo sisters.  She was an invaluable help to the household, 
and all she asked was the lodging until she could finally, after a decade 
of wait, be reunited with her long-lost husband and son.  They had even 
talked of the engagement, and it had somehow become a moot point.
	Akane argued that Auntie Nodoka would probably be amenable to 
dissolving the agreement if she and this Ranma would not see eye to eye.  
For the moment, helping her find her family, either by calling up people 
across Japan, or having stuff put on the newspaper, would be enough say 
on that matter.

	The man introduced himself as Ranma Saotome.
	"Oh, Ranma," Auntie Nodoka had said, hugging the muscular young 
man.  "Whe- where is your father?"
	"Genma... father... is dead."
	Gasps of breath were stuttered in the room.  Soun lowered his eyes 
for his dear friend.  Nodoka cried with her head down.  "Ranma" looked as 
though he regretted saying it, and in turn did not look at the assembled 
troupe that held this "Welcome Home" gathering for him.  Kasumi waited 
for the young man to comfort his mother, but it was obvious that he did 
not know how.  She opted to console her, holding her shoulders lightly.  
	Ryu Kumon suddenly did not want to be there, watching the woman who 
was his "mother" cry.  He almost started on an apology, or maybe an 
explanation, when a strong yet soft set of hands held his hunched 
shoulders.  "We... I... feel for you.  I lost my mother while I was 
young."
	She stared into the young man's strong-willed countenance, and 
found a kindred spirit...

	One night, Akane woke to find the window in her room open.  On the 
sill, Ranma hunched over like a gargoyle.  "Ranma...?"  she said, 
sleepily.
	He put a finger over his lips, and stepped closer to the bed.  She 
sat on the edge closest to the billowing curtains.  He sat beside her, 
his face lit with moonshine.  "Akane..."
	She didn't understand what was happening, but knew it was happening 
too soon, too quick.
	"I... I can't live a lie anymore."
	He looked like a coiled spring on a hair-trigger.  She held a 
shoulder.  "Wh-what is it?"  For a moment, she thought it was the 
engagement.  "Is it...?"
	"No."  His flat dismissal made her sure that her fears were 
unfounded;  they had gotten so used to one another.  "No, I... Akane."  
He faced her;  his deep, dark eyes ate the light and swallowed her.  He 
held her smaller hands in his, and squeezed them slightly.  "I... have to 
leave."
	Her hands started to become clammy.  "No!"  She put her head to his 
chest.  "You can't."
	He felt his resolve starting to weaken, but struggled against it.  
"I have to find my father's killer, Akane."  He took her chin, and looked 
into her eyes, "I might not be able to come back."
	With her free hand, she brushed a loose lock of hair, showing more 
of his white headband;  then, she jealously retook his hand.  "Then don't 
leave."
	"Would..." he thought some, then continued, "would you like to come 
with me...?"
	"To your grave?"  She let the bitterness seep.
	"To... to the truth..." he whispered.  No sooner had he spoken had 
he left.  Akane opened her hand, having felt the thin band of gold that 
he who had been Ranma had worn.  She openly wept, but was silent and 
still.

	Weeks passed without Akane's knowledge, until a phone call brought 
her past to her present.  She disappeared, and the people of the Tendo 
household feared she had gone searching for her fiancé.  That was until 
someone checked the note she left on her desk.

	Shinnosuke's blood ran with a fever sending him into seizures.  His 
grandfather had gotten up, knowing that his grandson was going to die.  
He took a mop, and donned his monster-killer outfit, amidst coughs.  The 
young girl wanted to go with him, but the old man cried, "NO!"
	"Someone must stay to watch over him," he quickly covered his 
agitation.
	"I'll go get the moss of life, and you take care of him," Akane 
persisted.  
	"NO!"  the old man stressed.  "Stay with him."
	"Why?"  She knew that she was the best chance, and she was willing 
to give her life to the man who gave his life for her.
	"Because... it was his dying wish."
	"What?"  She was at a loss.
	"He... wanted to die by your side."  The old man then took the exit 
that presented itself.  She sat in the embers of the flame in which the 
last of the water from the spring of life was boiling away.

	"Shinnosuke..." she whispered into his ear.  "It's time to eat."
	He gave no response, and continued to shiver in the cold he alone 
felt.  She felt along his forehead, and quickly pulled her hand away.  He 
was raging hot.  His lips started to crack a while back, and they were 
shaking.  "Akane..."
	She stopped.  He remembered her name.  He was also having a hard 
time to talk.  She shushed him.  "Keep quiet, and open wide."  She had a 
ladle in her hand, and waited for him to comply.  He tried, and soup 
trickled down the side of his face, and down his throat.  "Oh, dear."  
Akane quickly wiped the offending trail away.  She then saw the look that 
was in his eyes.
	He was delusional, at that point.  But it didn't matter.  He was in 
pain.
	He was in love.  And so was she.
	She kissed his cracked lips, and the fire that he had grew, and 
spread.

	By morning, he had died in her arms.  She had lain with his 
stiffened body for the whole day, burying him that night.
	She spent weeks searching for Shinnosuke's grandfather, but he had 
vanished, body and sign, as well.  She put up a shrine for him, beside 
his grandson's, and left.
	She never removed the mongoose horn from her breast for years to 
come.  Who knew?  Maybe someday she might even learn to make the most 
soulful song.
	She returned matured to the city limits of Tokyo.

Ukyo's Tale

	"It is a hard feat to follow chaos, and a quest to trail the random 
winds.  But what takes me here is a spirited dervish, a goading imp which 
sends me to madness and beyond."

	The trail of the Saotomes stopped cold in Japan, and they were last 
known to have traveled to China.  I boarded the next boat to the 
mainland, knowing that they could not have afforded to catch a plane;  I 
would do well to follow suit.
	On board, I heard of several places of interest to wandering 
martial artists:  some well-known martial arts schools;  some rumored and 
mythical dynastic strongholds.  Though, as soon as I had heard of the one 
place, I knew that there my pursuit would begin anew;  as soon as I had 
heard the words "training grounds" juxtaposed with "cursed", I knew that 
they had gone there...

	"... Jusenkyo," the man said.  The child on his back was cooing 
mercifully in her sleep.  I had thought that child not only cried too 
much, she had brought back some rather painful memories, with her big 
hopeful eyes. 
	"Not much," I noted.
	"That what they say, too," the guide noted.  He coughed a smoker's 
cough, and I noticed that his hands twitched in the way of holding a 
pipe.
	I unsheathed my battle-spatula, and partook of the facilities.
	"Sir!"  The guide started to wave his hands in a manner to call my 
attention.  "You no want fall in spring!"
	Well, duh.  That was the point, wasn't it?
	As I began a kata, using six close poles as foot positions, swiping 
at the air meaningfully, the man in the Mao clothes carefully placed his 
child as far as he could into a clearing, and as far from the springs as 
possible.  He continued his distractions anew.  "Please, sir!  We talk 
more of pigtail boy and father, yes?"  He was beginning to sound 
desperate.
	Apparently, he distracted someone else.  The child started wailing.  
	This, on the other hand, made me lose my balance.
	"Aiiyaa!" he shouted, as I broke the water's surface.  
	As I was submerged, I noticed several changes taking place, causing 
the bandages on my chest to loosen, and the ribbon in my hair to unravel.  
I dared not to rise again, but my lungs gave out before I had a choice.
	The man was holding a sign, and gabbing something fierce.  He saw 
my transformation, and had his eyes bug out of his head.  I thought only 
to ask for something to dry myself with.
	The guide stopped his hysterics, and his child sat with wide eyes 
at me.  "You take this better than others, sir.  No one I see fall in 
'nyannichuan' come out to ask for towel first.  Mirror, maybe."  He 
obliged, though.
	"Well," I said, between rubs, "maybe I should take you up on that 
talk."
	"Sir," the guide picked up his bundle.  "Maybe you want be girl 
more than boy?  You turn back to boy with this."  He indicated a kettle 
of hot water.
	I shook my head at the backwater thinking of these people.  "Let's 
just talk, okay?"

	I entered the village, wary of the prying eyes of various women in 
heavy battle armor and large-scale armament.  The Jusenkyo guide brought 
his young Plum over to what I could only think to be a corral where young 
girls were busy doing whatever young "Amazons" were supposed to do.  He 
started an animated talk with the youngish woman with thigh-length red 
hair, which caught the attention of a burlier woman.
	After some heated words, with the children that weren't busy mock-
fighting as audience, the trio took a look at me.  Then, the two women 
shared a meaningful glance.
	The smaller woman gestured in a way to say that she would handle 
it. 
	I stood, waiting to talk to the blue-eyed redhead.
	"You are looking for a Saotome," she said in straight Japanese.
	Not to be taken aback by this display of competence, I merely 
nodded.
	"Leave," she said, sincere.  "You will not find him here."
	"No," I gripped her wrist, not too lightly.  "I must find him."
	She gave the offending hand a leer.  "A outsider man who defeats an 
Amazon must marry her.  Are you willing to settle for a child like me?"
	I thought for a moment to reveal my secret, but settled to reveal 
only my quest.  I released her, amidst worried looks from my companion.  
"I merely want to settle an old debt.  I was told by the old man that he 
had brought them here, a while back."
	She looked into my eyes intently.  Behind her, two agitated natives 
waited.  "You have come a long way," she said slowly, "to settle a debt."
	"A debt of honor must be settled swiftly," I replied.
	She stared at me, more intent than before.  At last, she spoke:  
"Tonight."
	"What?"  I barely made her out, with the tone she took.
	"He... will be here."  With that, she left me to ponder her red 
hair, and blue eyes.

	The guide was cooking tonight, as I had run out of my homemade 
batch of okonomiyaki sauce.  Much as I had tried to not get amused with 
Plum, she had tried even harder to dissuade me from my murderous mood.  I 
was busy giggling over burbling sounds she was making, when the guide 
served us some broiled meat.  I was wondering why it was a custom to boil 
meat raw (and kicking), before further treating it, here in this neck of 
China;  I noted the recipe in the back of my mind.	
	The guide took my distraction, and started to slice off smaller 
pieces from the meat.  "Mr. Customer," the guide started.
	"Yes," I replied, between careful bites.
	"This red-haired Amazon... she say he there now?"  He was obviously 
groping for the right words.  I nodded assent.  "You go there?  Now?"
	"Well, yeah," I said, washing off some of the oil with water.
	"You kill him?"  He obviously didn't like the idea.
	My jaw tightened.  I just finished off my plate and, hefting my 
tools of trade, left.

	I edged up, towards the path to the Village of the Amazons, in the 
light of the full moon.  As I entered the clearing, just at the mouth of 
the village, I saw him, standing in the middle.
	He crouched, lowering his center of gravity, as I tried to lose my 
silhouette in the shadows of the nearby outcroppings.  "I'm here," he 
said, straightening up.
	I barely made the shrubs I passed shake, as I neared the other end 
of the path to the village, placing myself effectively behind him.  He 
began to pivot on his right foot, slowly, but deliberately.  "I'm here to 
talk," he whispered into the still night air.
	Not wanting to waste the opportunity, I leapt as he turned from my 
position, with the two-handed spatula above my shoulder.
	To my annoyance, he caught a beam of reflected illumination, and 
was able to roll away as I embedded the sharpened end of my weapon into 
the ground.
	"You talk of honor," he said, brushing himself to stand.  I allowed 
him the chance to continue, "and you pull something like that."
	"You," I grated, "have some nerve," I pulled back, swiping at his 
feet, "talking about honor."  I watched him jump above me, and turned to 
face him as he landed.
	"Tell me what it is I've done," he spoke, suddenly aggressive.  He 
was able to whisper this in my ear:  "Or who it is you are."
	We stood like that for a while, and I expected a blow of some sort.  
I opened my eyes to see him turn towards the village.  "I've got no time 
to play some stupid games."
	"Go!"  I suddenly felt the cold of the foreboding night.  "This is 
not the first time you're leaving me!"
	He turned back, taken aback.  "What?"  he hissed.
	"But I'll be running after you, and I'll hunt you down!"
	Ranma stopped in mid-turn, eyes unfocussed in a recalled scene.  
"Is..."  There was a dread in that voice.  "Is that you... Ucchan?"
	Instead of calming me down, the mention of my childhood nickname 
sent a chill down my spine, fanning the flames of anger that threatened 
to freeze me.  I ran full tilt at the mocking young man with thigh-long 
hair.
	"Ucchan..." he whispered, as I sailed within a hair's breadth of 
him.
	I was surprised as he held me from behind.  "Don't... don't go 
there..."  There was a hollowness to his voice which made it eerie.
	My anger could not be abated.  "Let go of me!"  I pushed away from 
him as far as I could, and let loose with some sharpened spatulas.
	He seemed to have come back to his senses, as he closed the 
distance with another jump.  "Why?"  He started to come within range of 
the battle spatula.  "Why did you find me?"
	"To kill you!"  I savagely arced the flattened metal down on his 
head.
	He brought up his hands to catch the edge.  "Why?"
	"Because you left me!"  I tried to force the metal down.
	"But... why?"  He stared into my eyes with blue eyes.
	"Because you stole my family's grill!"  The metal was beginning to 
bend at the handle.
	"Pop said that you gave it to us."  He didn't even flinch.
	"You were supposed to take me too!"  I gritted my teeth, giving all 
my strength.
	"But, why?"
	The spatula broke.
	I tumbled forward... and he caught me.
	"I... I was... to be..."  We sat down.  He still looked at me, as I 
gave way completely.
	"... my friend," he completed, breathless.  I held the broken 
handle, and lost consciousness.

	"... sir!"  I blinked, and sat upright.  The guide was stooping 
over my sleeping bag.  I still was gripping the twisted metal remnants of 
my battle spatula, whose counterpart was on a table.  
	"He... he must have brought me back..."  The guide nodded, anxious 
to stop me from talking.
	"He live with Amazon.  Is Amazon," the guide shook his head 
ruefully.
	"He left me..."  I was still dazed.
	The guide handed me a note.  "He leave you this."
	I read.

Ryoga's Journal

	[The following excerpts are from entries of the journal kept by 
Ryoga Hibiki during the entire length of his study of the martial arts.  
The entries are all found under the heading "Summer, China".  One should 
note that this heading is the last one in the said journal.]

	China is huge.  Almost as big as my backyard.  No, much bigger.
	The only reason for me to believe this is that I understood most of 
the people I met in the backyard.  And I don't remember any really large 
bodies of water in the backyard.
	China is big.
	When I find Ranma, I'm gonna smash his face.  That's it.

	I finally found out what's Chinese for "where's the bathroom?"  
Sure beats having to run out, and be chased by the owner when you have to 
go.  And go you should, with those realllllllly big knives they always 
have.  Murder on a man's kidneys.  What'd I do to make them think that?
	Gotta go.

	I finally found out what's Chinese for "can't marry your daughter."  
Sure beats having to run out, and be chased by the father when you go.  
And go you should, with those realllllllly big knives they always have.  
Murder on a man's kidneys.  What'd I do to make them think that?
	Gotta go.

	Where the hell am I?????
	[Several entries go like this.]

	I'm now sure that China cannot fit in my backyard.

	I WILL KILL YOU, RANMA SAOTOME!!!!!
	[Several entries go like this.]

	Finally!  This man says that he saw a pigtailed boy and his bald 
father in gis.  He also says that he overheard them planning to go to 
some training grounds called Chew Sink You, in the Kings High province, 
near the Buying Cola range.  Or something.  Never could figure out some 
of these people say when they keep smoking and talking at the same time.
	Your time of suffering comes soon, Ranma!

	Dammit all to hell!  How many mountain ranges could there be in 
China, anyway?!?

	Damn these deserts!

	Damn these avalanche prone areas!

	DAMN YOU, RANMA SAOTOME!!!!

	I am glad that I have found this journal.  I find that, again, my 
life has meaning and purpose.
	I have not made any new entries in this journal mainly because, for 
the past week, I have had no intention to write - or even think - about 
the sheer hell I have seen.
	I still have no intention of writing about it.  The memory itself 
is etched into my brain forever.
	All I know is that this - all this - is the fault of the one named 
Ranma Saotome.  It is my sworn duty to rid the world of him;  I will not 
stop until I do so.

	I wonder how mom and pop are.

	China is much bigger when you are much smaller.

	Damn the rain!

	Damn the river!

	I should use this umbrella.  It isn't just a weapon.

	DAMN YOU, RANMA SAOTOME!!!!  I SHALL KILL YOU!!!

	I wonder where mom and pop are.

	I am glad that I have found this journal.  I find that, for most 
part, my life had been a lie.
	I have not made any new entries in this journal mainly because, for 
the past weeks, I have had no intention to write.  I doubt that I ever 
will again, after this.
	A few weeks ago, I had the unshakable luck of stumbling back upon 
Jusenkyo.  I took care, and started to retrace my steps.  Luck again was 
responsible for showing a sight I could never really remember, but now 
could never completely forget.
	It was the small, yet pert, redheaded girl in the gi that tossed me 
into the spring of drowned little black piglet.  She was wearing a 
modified cheongsam and some tight pants, and was carrying two buckets of 
water.  I was hesitant to attack her, hostile only because she did toss 
me in.  But, I didn't have a choice:  she rushed to me, unbound breasts 
bobbing furiously.
	She shouted my name, as though she had known me.  I jumped, barely 
avoiding contact.  She shouted as she stopped and pivoted, legs poised 
slightly apart and bent as in a Kempo stance, but I couldn't hear her.
	Only then did I notice that one of the buckets was falling on me.
	The world turned dark;  I was powerless again.  I was able to heave 
the bucket above my head.  She stared at me with those swallow-me-whole 
blue eyes.
	She stared at me in disbelief.  She grabbed me by the headband and 
called out.
	A horrible phantom from a nightmare came back:  a squat, middle-
aged man in conscript clothes appeared from a nearby hut.
	I thought that they were going to try and eat me again.  I 
struggled in her grasp, and couldn't figure out what they were talking 
about.  They started running.  I was frantic again, certain that they'd 
cook me alive, whether or not I did change into a man.
	To my surprise, they were running away from the hut and further 
into the cursed pools of Jusenkyo.  Surprise turned into confusion turned 
into shock as I found myself hurtling towards yet another spring.
	I fell into it headfirst.
	Moments later, I rose above the water, and saw the girl staring 
intently at me.  Intently staring at the pool, as though she wanted to 
take off her clothes and jump in with me.  The plump man was squawking 
about a drowning pervert.  If I wasn't so completely shocked at becoming 
human, I would have shouted my head off at him for the insult;  I hadn't 
done anything yet.
	The girl sullenly stared at the pool, then turned, her sweet little 
butt receding into the distance.  Dumbstruck, I was only able to give 
chase when the man pulled me up.  I wasn't able to find her.
	I look back into my life on these pages and I see nothing but 
anger.  Nothing but noise.  Nothing but martial arts, getting lost and 
revenge.  I'm tired of it.  Nothing about the life of a young adolescent 
in search of love and free women.  [Free was crossed out.]  Where's the 
life?
	It's as though I could finally find my way, without anywhere to go.
	I'm going back home.

	[Journal ends with the last entry.]

Mousse's Misery

	"Why?!"  the grief-stricken mother shouted at the father.  "He's no 
more than an infant!"
	The father covered his bald spot.  "For the sake of our family's 
heritage, we must go on this... training trip."  
	The baby gurgled in his arms, wanting to join in his parents' 
discussion, but was not sure how.
	The mother was in tears, arms reaching for the father and son.  
"He's too young."  She harriedly tugged at the fabric of her kimono, 
revealing a breast.  "He hasn't even stopped breast-feeding yet."
	The man's eyes bulged out.  The baby happily chirped, recognition 
evident.  The man did "hush!  hush!" gestures to calm her, or maybe so 
that he wouldn't be tempted to stay, even for a while.  "Now's a good 
time to start.  Besides, it's so that he can be a man among men that he's 
destined to be."
	The mother's tear-soaked eyes grew in focus.  "... man among 
men..."
	The two males' surreptitious departure was halted by a firm hand on 
the father's shoulder.  She turned him to face her.  "Promise me!"
	The man was relieved that he was not to receive a pounding.  A 
promise, after all, could be made, or broken.  "What?"
	She knelt in front of him.  "That when you come back..."
	The young boy gazed into the eyes of the one he loved.  He took the 
opportunity to speak his first word:  "Ma... ma... Mama."
	There was a silence.
	The mother's eyes lit up.  "M... my, my son..."
	She stood, planning to take him in her arms.  
	The baby took the movement to be a sign for a reward for his 
efforts to catch their attention.
	The father looked down, and "Erk!"ed.
	The mother, with her nose suckled by her son, said, "when you get 
back, get him some prescription glasses, will you?"

	"Winner up!"
	The man smiled.  At this rate, he would be able to leave with a 
sufficient amount of money to travel Asia in luxury by the end of the 
night.  His bifocaled toddler sat on his lap and craned his neck to see 
the dealer dole out five cards to each player.
	He deliberately picked up the cards, one by one, under the 
purveyance of his son.
	A jack of diamonds.
	A king of diamonds.
	A queen of spades.  He set this between the first two cards.
	A seven of hearts.  He wrinkled his nose at this one, and set it to 
the leftmost position.
	A seven of diamonds.
	He glanced at his cards.  A pair.  Possible flush.  Possible 
straight.
	He smiled even more.  Nudging his son, his thumb pushed the queen 
lower than the other four cards.
	On cue, the toddler took another card from his small shirt, and 
slid it in front of the queen and into the hand.
	He looked at his revised hand:  the queen was now a six of spades.  
He gave glances across the table to his opponents;  none of them had 
noticed the alteration.  He glanced down:  the toddler looked up at him 
through glass-lens, and the queen had mysteriously disappeared.
	He tossed the two non-diamonds to the dealer.  They returned 
changed.
	A nine of diamonds, and the ten of hearts.  Another exchange of 
cards returned the queen for the seven.
	After cleaning out that self-same hand, his son tugged at his 
beard.  The child knew that this irritated him to no end, and did this 
for only one reason.
	He raked in the chips, and said to those on the table, "if you 
gentlemen will excuse me... my son wants to sleep."  He rose, carrying 
the child over his shoulder, cupping the chips in his hat.
	"You, dear boy, have no sense of timing," he chided the sleeping 
child.  He chose his route to the exchange cashier.
	A feeling alerted him to a shortish old man who was smoking a pipe.  
He was leaning against a large pot, with a fern that hid him well from 
sight.  "Psst..."
	Nothing a doting old man in a casino could do?  he asked himself, 
with some concern.  Nothing was what it appeared to be, especially in a 
casino.  He would have walked on, if it wasn't for a very familiar card.
	A seven of diamonds.
	That stopped him in his tracks.  He turned and kneeled in front of 
the midget in brown.
	"I take it you think you're clever," the ancient smoker breathed, 
making smoke rings.
	"Not as clever as you, master," he stressed.  As much as he didn't 
want to be in anyone's debt, he had his chain pulled.
	"There, there," the old man grated.  "I'm a senile old goat.  I 
easily forget things."  With a flick of the wrist, the card disappeared.
	"What do you want?"  He indicated the chips.  "The cash?"  He 
thought again.  "The boy?  Are you some gnome, exchanging my kin for 
gold?"
	"You greedy fool.  You would do it, too, wouldn't you?"  He stopped 
to puff once more.  "No, I want to help you get the treasures."
	Was there something he was supposed to know here?  "What 
treasures?"
	"Oh... nothing big."  He puffed again.  "Mostly magical trinkets, 
and jewelry."
	"What makes you think that I'd want stuff like that?"
	"You'd stoop as low as stealing candy from a baby, as long as you 
could use your particular 'skills'," he commented.  "Who knows?  Maybe 
you could grab their land and make a casino."
	"'Their land'?"
	The old man stared into his eyes for the first time in their 
conversation.  "'They' being the Amazons of China.  Legends have it that 
they're the strongest people in the mainland, and amassed a fortune in 
battles."  His eyes glinted.
	"Legends?"  He knew there was a hitch.  "Sorry, master.  I have 
more real pursuits to follow."
	"Ah... but it is true.  And there is a simple way to get it all."

	Shampoo was crying out as loud as she could.
	"Hush, child!"  The figure approached.  "The princess of the tribe 
must not be such a crybaby!"
	Shampoo's wails continued unabated.
	"So be it!"  The figure receded, then returned with a bottle.  She 
was hefted, then rocked in the figure's arms.
	Cologne sighed.  There were only so many years left in her.  The 
child she held in her arms would most likely hold the tribe in decades to 
come.
	She brought Shampoo outside the house, in time to see oncoming 
figures in the distance.
	"This, sir," the guide said, "is Joketsuzuko, village of Chinese 
Amazon womans."
	He seems to be fattening up, noted Cologne.  Those jokers at the 
Jusenkyo Preservation Society must be paying him well, seeming that 
nobody's been there except the Musk Dynasty emperor, and that's been 
three decades since.
	"Greetings, wise mother."  The blonde-haired foreigner bowed before 
her, giving her the sight of a toddler sleeping on his back.  "We are 
foreigners who wish to reside in the confines of your great village."
	"Greetings, traveler."  It wasn't often that one gets visitors from 
the lands across the seas fluent in the language.  "Would you mind if we 
would talk in here?"  She pointed with her staff to the door she just 
came out of.  "It is rare that the village should be visited by one from 
so far with such a handle on the language.  I have been looking for news 
of the outside."  She felt, rather than heard, the bottle fall, and 
turned before she could begin caterwauling again;  it would not do well 
to show weakness to anyone not of the tribe.  She covered the infant's 
mouth, and beckoned her guests inside.

	"It is not uncommon to marry into the tribe," noted Cologne, "but, 
not to put too fine a point on it, we Amazons have our standards."
	"What?"  Her guest, though well-within the bounds of politeness, 
was able to show some acerbity;  he tempered it with a layer of good 
humor.  "We outsiders would taint the noble bloodline..."
	"Not at all."  Cologne took the bite out of her next words.  "Truth 
to be told, I myself married an outsider."
	"I see."  He turned, looking over to the crib, where both baby girl 
and baby boy slept together.  "They make a good couple, ne?"
	Cologne smoked her pipe.

	"Where is it?"
	Cologne hopped about on her staff.  At the start of one hop, she 
stopped short.  "What is it, child?"
	The outsider's son peered through his lenses with a serious 
expression.  Pulling a hand from within his loose tunic top, he produced 
a patch.  She gagged before she could cover her mouth;  luckily, she 
recovered quickly.
	"How did you get your hands on that?"  She took the 'girl-away' 
potion from the toddler's hands.  No sooner had she put the patch away 
(i. e. safe from prying little girl's hands) when she spied Shampoo 
tiptoeing her way in from the outside.  She was trying to hold on to 
something which clearly was squirming.  The young boy still had his back 
turned to her.
	At a few paces, he turned.  Too late though:  she had reached into 
his tunic and deposited her cargo.  She stepped back as the initial shock 
hit him.
	The little bulge that was in her hands started to hop about in his 
garb.  If she actually hadn't done this to him several times over 
already, he might have shrieked like he did the first time.  She never 
made him forget that.
	He put his hand back in, covering the smaller hopping bulge.  He 
slowly pulled his hand out.  He threw his hand open at a spellbound 
Shampoo.
	She "ack"ed as a rain on leaves fell on her face.  In an instant, 
the other toddler closed in on her and whipped his other hand up.
	An purple chrysanthemum was in it.  Or supposed to be in it.  
Instead, the frog leapt out from it.
	Unfortunately, he hadn't known.  Neither had she.  Response was a 
swift kick, which threw the spectacles from off the three-year-old's 
face.
	Cologne clicked her tongue and shook her head.  One would wonder 
what the boy's father taught him.
	Unbeknownst to the three, the father in question surveyed the 
scene, all the while cuffing a bracelet with three round pills studded 
into it.

	The guide complained to himself that he was gaining weight, because 
each meal he ate could be of any single meat on the face of the earth.  
Also, because he wasn't walking as often as he could.  So, that day, he 
decided to start on a diet.  This was the day he started to smoke.
	Also, he noticed that the Japanese man handing a bracelet to a 
wizened old figure with a baby, which he was bathing in... spring of 
drowned yeti-riding-bull-carrying-crane-and-snake?  He shouted them off;  
what a scary man that baby would grow into, though.
	It was only later when he considered that he should have just 
dipped the child in 'nannichuan'.  He promised not to make that mistake 
again.

	Shampoo ran crying in the waiting arms of Cologne.  "Great-
grandmother!"
	She, of course, knew what was to happen.
	He stepped in with a swagger, with the tight-cropped blonde beard 
jutting strong under his chin.  The flat-pointed hat squared off his 
face, which held a sneer.  He held a single sheet of paper high.
	"I," he said, "own your village."
	She held the sobbing five-year-old to her chest.  "Your paper means 
nothing."
	"Oh?"  He had a gleam in his eyes.  "Your little princess has just 
written over her complete inheritance to me."
	He and the young Amazon were completely surprised when she laughed, 
a terribly taunting laugh.  It toned down to a menacing chuckle.  "Fool!  
The ruling line has no ownership over the village!"
	His veneer of overwhelming confidence faltered in an instant.  
"But... but... I won it from her..."
	Her eyes narrowed.  "Won it from her?"  She glanced at her heir.
	"At a game of cards..."
	Her spine stiffened.  "An Amazon defeated by an outsider male must 
marry the outsider."
	They both fell into a silence broken only with sharp sobs;  she, 
contemplative - he, tentative.
	At last, she spoke.  "However, if the defeated Amazon should defeat 
the outsider... the marriage is annulled, if she pleases."
	He felt, rather than saw, the presences keeping him within the 
confines of the cottage.  "What do I get if I win again?"
	"Your free passage.  And a light reprimand."
	"And if I lose..."
	She paused.  "You leave.  Without your son."
	"My son?"  The only thing he had brought with him, when he first 
came here years ago.  He had no choice;  he started shuffling, and sat on 
a table.
	He motioned Shampoo to join him, but she was held back by her 
ancestor.  "The wager involved a position which was not hers.  I will 
play."

	Mousse had since owed the Joketsuzuko Amazons much:  his name, 
which was the only one he had ever known;  his training in the arts of 
hidden weapons, which the old woman had seen to since almost the day his 
father left him;  and, his heritage, as he was treated as one of their 
own.  However, as equal as law was, he was not to receive all that he 
wanted.  There were few others that became Amazons, and fewer still that 
were as respected as he.  And yet, the only goal in life that he had - 
the one reason that he had trained to be strong enough for - slipped 
through his fingers one day.
	And yet, the man who had stolen his precious Shampoo from him was 
the reason why he was on his way to Jusenkyo.  He went on this errand, as 
it was, because of no sense of debt, but out of a man to man agreement, 
and, maybe, just maybe, because forces greater than him have once again 
showed their interest in him.
	The guide was there waiting for him and, as he became visible, the 
pudgy man hurriedly entered his cabin.  As he pulled into the path, a 
shorter, brown-haired individual came to meet him.
	"You must be Mousse," the person said, shaking his hand firmly.  
"Ranma said that you would be prompt."
	"I am.  I take it that the arrangements have been made."
	The man, as Ranma informed him his friend was, nodded.  "Our 
contact in Tokyo has confirmed the accommodations."  Two airline tickets 
were shown.
	"Then, we leave."

	Only the guide noticed a distinctly purple-haired individual who 
was apparently spying on them.  This person left in the general direction 
of the Amazon village much soon after the okonomiyaki chef and the Amazon 
man with the glasses left.

Nerima's Pride

	Touchdown.
	Nabiki shouldn't be there, she knew.  Airports were not safe 
places;  what had happened to her father and sister would forever remind 
her of that.  But some time had elapsed between then and now, and she 
wasn't leaving.  In fact, she was waiting for someone.
	"I'm not sure why I'm here," Akane piped.  Her loosely ponytailed 
deep-black hair sat rather contentedly at the small of her back.  It had 
always been a matter of contrast between the two sisters:  Nabiki's brown 
hair was undercut, slightly longer than a boy's cut, but flatteringly 
chic and sophisticated-looking.  Once, now that she would care to admit 
it, she had been envious that her sister had been the center of 
attention;  now, this was her greatest problem.
	After Akane took over the Tendo dojo (a tradition must continue, 
after all), they both found it harder and harder to maintain it;  they 
were the only two students of it, now.  But this was only the short of 
it.
	Nabiki rose.  "Come.  They've arrived."  Akane followed her sister.

	Dr. Tofu woke up from a dream.  It was the usual one that he had.  
Kasumi would have woken up from her coma, and they would rebuild their 
lives, away from the hellpit of Tokyo.  They could go and live with his 
mother, he'd said.  And right up at the point that they were about to 
leave, it was fine;  then, a gunshot, laughter, and she was falling...
	Dr. Tofu woke up.  She was still where she lay, kept alive by 
machines and modern miracle.  He wanted to believe that she was still in 
there, fighting, struggling to open her eyes.  Yet, he had been waiting 
for four years now.  Four long years....  His fists clenched in blind 
rage, blind only because it knew no face to strike at, except the dark 
forces that ran the world around him.  Like hitting the air.
	He got up, and stroked her hair.  He sat down beside her and 
started talking to her, nothings which came to him and from him in a 
soothing voice.  Hearing was the strongest of the senses;  if she were to 
come to, the first sign of life she would receive would be his voice, 
coaxing her back.
	Ten minutes.  He stood, and left the room.
	He came back, and set some clothes on the chair he sat on.  He 
gently slid off the sheet and the soft bathrobe, leaving her naked.  
Setting the washbasin near her feet, he wrung the face towel from soggy 
to moist.  Starting from her face, he softly scrubbed her clean.
	How sad.  The intimacy that he longed for but would have never 
taken steps to have was here.  If only he could have told her before....  
Tears would not wake her now.

	Ryoga walked the alleyways;  it seemed much safer than the 
rooftops, now that some of the gunfights had been taken to the skies in 
helicopters.  Also, the streets were where the most heinous of events 
occurred.
	Case in point:  the truncated shriek came from the vacant lot 
across the street.  A quick situation check-up:  mid-morning, lots of 
visibility, a big tree in a corner, possible 3- to 5-to-1 disadvantage, 
high maneuverability, melee, one possible hostage, low probability of 
reinforcements.  Conclusion:  quick and easy.
	Since no one was visible from his position, he surmised that the 
assailants, as well as their victim, were on the other side of the girth 
of the trunk.  He quickly spirited to the side of the tree.  He 
considered whether to unholster his piece, but thought the better of it.  
To the right of the tree, a bag of groceries lay gutted hither and yon.  
A hand appeared, grabbing an unbroken egg.  Following the retreating arm 
with his eyes, he edged carefully to see a Mohawk-toting hood-type 
sucking on the egg.  He was staring at the base of the tree.
	Spitting out pieces of the shell, the hood choked out a guffaw.  
"Y'know what I think?"  he spat at the other hoods, standing over the 
crumpled form of a girl.  "Maybe you two should be holding her up while I 
do'er."  He stood, and started undoing his pants.  "Keep the clothes on.  
It'll only take a minute."
	Then Ryoga fell in.  Or hung in, as he was holding to a low-lying 
branch with his feet.  Catching the two closer to him, the viciously 
slammed their heads together.  As they fell into a bloody-faced clump, 
Ryoga bent backwards upwards;  the Mohawk-hood was quickly refastening 
his leather trousers.
	As soon as he grabbed the branch, Ryoga lashed out with his feet, 
right extended, shifting his momentum, just as suddenly letting go of the 
limb.  He caught the last hood square in the face with the ball of his 
foot.  He crumpled backwards as Ryoga picked himself up.
	"Only took a minute."  He flicked his nose at his fallen opponent.
	The girl was at the base of the tree;  besides being unconscious, 
she looked unharmed.  Her knee-length skirt was ruffled but not torn, and 
her loose blouse was still tucked at the waist.  Now, why was she still 
unconscious...?  He tried to find a pulse, but he had jostled her head 
(bad, bad thing... never, never try to move the victim, he chided 
himself) and drew back his hand:  there was blood.
	Hefting the girl's body in a lover's carry, he rushed to find the 
nearest hospital.

	Ukyo whispered to Mousse as soon as they were officially cleared 
for entry into Japan, "they allowed you in with all that junk you have 
on?"
	Mousse whispered back, "I left all the metal stuff back in China."
	She traced the edge of her bandoleer with a finger.  "I'm glad I 
have clearance for these."
	He eyed her coldly.  "Why do you go around advertising like that, 
anyway?"
	She stopped to give him a chilled gaze.  "Why do YOU go around 
hiding your weapons?"
	He gave her a pompous silence.  She gripped the handle of her 
battle spatula, only to notice that it wasn't there;  it was broken, and 
needed repair.  She just shook with indignation for a moment, then turned 
to trudge on.  She wasn't able to see the smug smirk on his face;  she'd 
have probably punched it right off, otherwise.
	They walked on until Ukyo noticed the girl from the photo their 
contact sent them.

	At the precinct headquarters for Tokyo police in Nerima, the doors 
flew open.
	A few of the inspectors on duty quickly took positions, pistols in 
hand.  This prompted the civilians to take cover under desks.
	At gunpoint, Ryoga Hibiki stood confused yet determined.  He 
shouted, "yaah!"
	The desk sergeant declared a standdown as Ryoga asked no one in 
particular, "what am I doing at the precinct?"
	Hiroshi clasped a hand on his shoulder.  "'Fess up, 'Lost Boy'.  
Where were you planning to take the girl, eh?"  He nudged Ryoga's 
opposite shoulder, where the girl's head was leaning.  "Eh?"  Hiroshi 
suddenly noticed the reddish tint on his shirt that wasn't supposed to be 
there.
	Ryoga was shouting, "the hospital!"  Hiroshi stopped Ryoga from 
running helter-skelter to god-knows-where.  They went with haste to the 
infirmary, which was just across the street.

	"You."  Somebody grabbed Akane's shoulder from behind.
	Akane immediately held the hand, and started to execute a throw 
when Nabiki stopped her.  The man with the long brown hair raised both 
hands in a calm, assuring manner, as the bespectacled man with long black 
hair pulled up beside them.
	Nabiki took note of the garb of the men:  the shorter of the two 
wore a fitting blue wraparound over tight black pants, toting a bandoleer 
of spatulas;  the one with the glasses wore a loose white tunic over 
similarly loose black pants.  Though both of them seemed to be in their 
twenties, the brown haired one seemed to be in the early twenties, while 
the other seemed to be in the late twenties, older than she herself was.
	"Who are you?"  Akane said fiercely.  She was obviously accustomed 
to being answered.
	"Are you the one from the Providence clan?"  Mousse said in a even 
yet dangerous whisper.
	Confused and slightly outraged, Akane's answer was delayed, an 
opportunity her sister seized.  "She is.  As am I."  Akane wisely kept 
silent then on.  "Shall we go?"
	The men nodded, and the four of them left.

	Just as Dr. Tofu had dressed the prone Kasumi, the summons came.  
Two inspectors came in with a girl, who was bleeding through a small 
wound in the head.  Other than that, the girl had had no injury, a fact 
that can only be attributed to the quick-wittedness of one of the 
inspectors, if he were to give any credence to his story.  While the 
doctor bandaged the girl, the other inspector took his leave.
	Ryoga stood anxiously.  He sat down on the couch, ruffled through a 
newspaper, stood up again.  Having done all that he medically could, his 
studious gaze left the girl and settled on the younger man, who had 
gotten to fidgeting in place.
	Out of the patient's earshot, he whispered to Ryoga, "do you know 
her?"
	"Uh... no."  Fidget, fidget.
	Hmm... "is anything wrong?"
	"Wrong?"  A glance to the girl, and to the tips of his sandals.  A 
little more fidgeting.  "Umm..."  He looked straight into the eyes of Dr. 
Tofu.  "I want her."
	This actually caused him to blink;  he said it so candidly.  He 
reverted to his fidgeting, though his glances towards the girl became a 
little more frequent.  "You..." the doctor started.
	"I want to DO her.  Sir."
	The affirmation confused him.  "DO her...?"
	"Doctor," Ryoga suddenly refocused.  "Do you know anything about... 
Jusenkyo?"

	Ukyo and Mousse got out in front of the broken-down house.  Nabiki 
rolled down the tinted window of the car to toss them the key to their 
hotel suite.  The car rolled off behind them.
	Was it going to be this simple?  Ukyo rolled the key in its loop.  
If it were, then they would be out of the country by the fall of night;  
the short-haired girl had ascertained that all they needed was a phone 
call.
	However, none of them were really of the opinion that things were 
going to be easy.  That fact that nobody had voiced it was insignificant.
	However, it would be easier for all if it all went smoothly.  It 
wouldn't hurt to keep a positive attitude.
	With this in mind, Ukyo jumped ahead of Mousse to press the 
doorbell, and possibly, just maybe, get to know the woman who was her 
fiancé's mother.
	BBBZZZZZTTT!!
	The front porch blew up.

	Yuka woke to an explosion.
	The house was in a hellish flame, crackling in a sinister and low 
cackle.  "Mother!"  she had cried.  "Father!"  It was of no avail;  they 
had never even known that the house, that the family, that their lives 
had gone up in a trail of coal-black smoke.
	She was no fool;  she knew that there was nothing she could do.  
She collapsed in the arms of Akane, who she was with, studying as they 
were doing.  She sobbed, and sobbed... and when she was stilled, Akane 
told her that there was nothing left to do.  She sought comfort in her 
friends strength, in her eyes...
	... and found herself looking into a Mohawk-haired hood.
	"Aaaaahhhh!"
	Dr. Tofu and Ryoga, mid-stride, stopped.  Command decision time.
	"Stay with her."  The doctor rushed onward to the fire.
	He nodded, knowing too well what vermin do when panic arises.  He 
had, on the other hand, a hysteria-driven young girl on to look after.
	Nerima, as prescribed by chaos and tradition, suddenly had rain.

	As much as the tinted windows, air-conditioning and suspension 
served to remove the Tendo sisters from the outside world, Akane still 
felt the explosion.  Turning to view a chaotic pillar of fiery rage, the 
erstwhile heir of the Tendo clan gave the current head of the Providence 
clan a sharp glance.  "What... you..."  She turned back to the 
brightening horizon.  "... you knew about that!"  she finally blew.
	Nabiki sat back, not quite facing the younger.  "I only knew that 
Aunt Nodoka was no longer living in that house.  Apparently, she wasn't 
expecting visitors 'til she comes back."
	"Dammit, Nabiki.  You KNEW that Auntie didn't want to be traced."
	"Yeah, but they didn't."
	"They could've been killed!"
	"They won't."  She sniffed.  "At least it would save me a few days 
at that hotel."

	On a rooftop across from a battle of two elements, Ukyo shook 
herself up.  Dammit!  Too careless.  Japan was a much harsher than she 
had remembered, and she stepped up to shake hands with a BOMB!  Damn it 
all!
	Her skin felt tanned, and her blouse was seared off, leaving soot 
on her skin and on the bandages on her chest.  However, this was only 
because of the man who was now sprawled on top of her, bleeding 
profusely.
	"OH MY GOD!"  She started hefting him, almost spilling off the 
roof.  With all her might, she jumped off of the house, and onto another.

	After calming down, Yuka noticed that she was in a clinic.  It was 
already raining outside, and she felt a draft.
	A man in his mid-twenties walked in from outside.  "Um, excuse me?"
	The man had his head bowed, obscuring his eyes.  His prominent 
fangs didn't seem frightening.  "Yess."
	"Did... I was... in trouble..."  She stood, facing him.  "Did 
you... rescue me?"
	His face curled into a smile.  "Oh that I did."
	The way the shadows played across his face did not ease her 
anxieties.  "I hope," he started, "that you don't mind," he took a step 
toward her, "if I ask for my reward now?"  He lifted his head to look 
into her eyes with wanting.
	She screamed as he leapt, only to be stopped in mid-air with a 
question in his eyes.  He fell in a clump in front of her.
	The older man behind him pulled back his arm from his neck.
	"So," he whispered to himself, "he did want her."

	From the sanctuary of one of the larger buildings in Nerima, a man 
watched the small inferno on the other end of the district.  The shower 
had quickly doused the larger flames, and had soon eliminated all signs 
of there ever being a fire, much less a bombing.
	He didn't grin.  There was, after all, no reason to.
	Turning from the truncated deflagration, he moved with menace to 
the darker corner of the room.

	As soon as they were safely holed up, Nabiki contacted the hotel.
	"Oh, they checked in, madam."
	That was strange.  She had thought that they wouldn't have trusted 
her after what had happened.
	"They have also locked themselves in."
	Again, not surprising.
	"I suppose madam would pay for washing the blood off of the 
carpets?"

	In the time spent moving Mousse from the explosion to the suite, he 
had lost a serious amount of blood.  Most of the injuries were 
complicated by the fact that he had been bruised by some of the weapons 
he had brought which were violently jostled by the blast, as well as 
being so violently brought to the room.
	Ukyo had him stripped down to boxers, noticing that his body was 
replete with contusions and lacerations.  A basin of warm water was lying 
near the head of the bed.  A gaping wound on his back was now enswathed 
with cloth, while she herself only was loosely covered by an extra 
unbound wraparound.
	For an hour now, she had scrubbed him down with soap for burns, and 
dressed up all the open wounds he had.  For all her effort, she couldn't 
do anything to resuscitate him from shock, nor keep his body temperature 
from falling.
	When the doorknob turned, she stood on wobbly knees, reaching for 
her bandoleer.  Nabiki rushed in, with two doctors in tow.  "Not now," 
she said, catching the other girl's wrists.  While the doctors started 
hooking Mousse up to a packet of fresh blood, Nabiki eased down Ukyo onto 
the other bed.  "I hope my brother-in-law appreciates this."

	Dr. Tofu returned, having escorted the young lady named Yuka home.  
He gave a passing glance to the passed-out officer, and mulled over their 
conversation.  "Jusenkyo?"  A training ground of cursed springs?  Is he 
being possessed?  He surely didn't act this way earlier.
	He settled to go to his office, to read up on any such places.

	"Is there ANYTHING I can do?"
	The doctors shook their heads, contenting themselves with taking 
the prone man's blood pressure.  Nabiki huddled the still-bedraggled Ukyo 
to a corner, where none of the other occupants would hear them.
	Ukyo's haze of shell shock prevented her from physically accosting 
Nabiki, who obviously had known that there was a bomb, but Nabiki gave 
her something else to think of.  Only the overwhelming frustration she 
had was keeping her alert.
	Nabiki herself gave a glance at the older man.  Then she fixed Ukyo 
with her gaze.  "I didn't know about the bomb."
	It penetrated her fog, and she was already shaking her head before 
she could form the words.  "That's a lie," she finally whispered.
	Nabiki shook her own head, deliberately and emphatically.  "What I 
knew was that Mrs. Saotome had left.  I was actually hoping that you 
would uncover something."
	Ukyo had finally found her vehemence.  "You could have already 
found out yourself.  You probably planted the bomb, so nothing could be 
left.  No evidence, no snoopers, no trail-"
	Nabiki slapped her, hard.  "God damn you, woman.  I know you and 
your lover had got to be lucky to survive a ground zero blast, but I'm 
the thin line between your life and death, and you're crossing it NOW."  
He breath came in hot rasps, and was all she had until they evened out 
into a calm inhalation.  "As a clan head, I couldn't go around poking my 
head into holes.  And I have nothing to gain from killing my brother-in-
law's friends.  Or from keeping him from finding out where his mother 
is."
	Ukyo registered all of the information, flinching slightly at the 
slight implication, weighing their validity.  Nabiki continued.  
"However, someone else does.  Which could mean that the plans he and I 
have prepared are already in jeopardy."
	"If," Ukyo interjected, "what you're saying is true, then there's 
no time left."
	Nabiki nodded once.  "It begins."

Kuno's Day

	There are men that believe.
	Of these men, belief is spread throughout a pantheon of deities, 
from the divine to the mundane.  Several buildings of worship have been 
built in honor of these holy hosts, ranging from cathedrals and shrines 
to beerhouses and casinos.
	In the window seat of a plane, quite recently coming from an 
airport in Japan, sat a man who believed.  And his god was...
	"Aloha, Hawaii!"  The volcanic islands spread serenely below...
	Kzzzt!  "Uh... this is your captain speaking.  We are currently 
experiencing difficulties flying through, uh, turbulence.  Please fasten 
your seatbelts.  Thank you."
	The eldest Kuno glanced down and saw the engines under the wing 
catch fire.  He put down the ukulele, and put on his seatbelt.  "Wipe 
out..."

	Sasuke, starting his many years of servitude to the Kuno clan, had 
turned on the television set.
	"... had crashed, after engine strain caused a fire to break out in 
the right wing.  Survivors are being gathered in lifeboats by the 
Hawaiian Coastal Guard.  The following are still missing:"
	His vague interest turned into stunned shock as he saw the name 
"Kuno" pass by.  He let a ragged breath out and, for the first time in 
ages, he dared to hope.

	For a week, the vacationing principal floated through the misnamed 
Pacific Ocean, lucky to have been hoarding both pineapples and coconuts 
for food.  When he finally did touchdown on American soil, the now 
shrunken coconut tree on his noggin appeared to be a shriveled hand.
	However, he had only been lucky again, as California, while lacking 
in muumuus and leis, had all the waves he needed.
	He was actually able to stay homeless on the beach for four days 
before the Immigration people came to take him home.

	It wasn't exactly a cell;  after all, he wasn't exactly a criminal.  
However, the term he remembered being used was "detainee".
	On the other hand, his roommate could be considered as criminal 
material.  He even had the "gangster" look:  a stocky, hefty body, 
supporting a separately motile head;  slitty, shifty eyes;  a square 
face, and an unyielding jaw.  However, aside from the manic look in the 
man's eyes, he looking exactly like a king pulled out from a deck of 
cards.  He did, however, wear handcuffs, and that was enough reason to 
stay away from the man.
	That was if you were sane.  Principal Kuno of Furinkan High School, 
Nerima, Japan had never, in his entire life, been called sane.  He 
immediately sat right next to the man.
	"Cold!  Magazine!  Warm!"
	The man had immediately assaulted him, strangely enough, with 
gibberish in Japanese.  "Whoa!"  he started, "slow down, brudda!"
	"Wha-?"  The man known only as the Gambling King stopped trying to 
strike fear by shouting scary sounding Japanese words, and considered the 
countryman he had for his latest cellmate.  Although he looked to be the 
bruiser, the uneven tan he had told of misfortune of either shipwreck or 
homewreck.  He also seemed to have the soft skin... of the unconscionably 
rich.
	"My friend," he said, his voice hoarse with both overuse and 
excitement, "you wouldn't happen to have Visa?"

	Kuno, the Gambling King mused, is exactly what I thought he was:  
rich, gullible and entirely naive.
	Of course, with a little scraping from the funds in Kuno's account, 
they (or he) had arranged the (green) paperwork with the Embassy, some 
decent clothes, and right now, two plane tickets to paradise.
	The Gambling King, Kuno mused, is exactly what I thought he was: 
poor, gullible and entirely opportunistic.
	Of course, dabbing into his smallest personal account, he was able 
to secure the documentation for his extended stay in mainland USA, some 
gaijin garb, and right now, two plane tickets into gangster's paradise.
	And somehow, neither of them really expected to be in Las Vegas 
about a week ago.

	There are men that believe.
	Sometimes, this belief is all that is necessary for something to 
occur.  Such is the power of the mind.
	"Another long shot!"  The craps dealer pulled the dice to his end 
of the board.
	Kuno was impressed.  With a meager ten thousand dollars, his 
companion had nearly busted the house into bankruptcy.
	"That's it," he said, lugging the piles of chips.  "Gonna call it a 
night.  Luck won't run that far."
	At the cashier, they were met by two tight-suited hoods.
	"We gonna run for it?  Look like we gonna get messed up preeeeety."
	They were cuffed by meaty hands.
	"Well..."
	Gambling K turned around, tossing the multi-hundred-thousand bounty 
into the air.  "Heads up!"  He took the uke-strumming principal in the 
ensuing confusion.
	"This could'a been betta', no?"  He said, unheard over joyous 
screams.  They cleared the fire exit, but not before the goons had seen 
their escape.
	"Where did they go?"  One of the bruisers pulled out into the alley 
where the fire escape went into.  The troublemakers were out of sight.
	This was when he got mauled by a vicious tone.
	"You din' haf'to do dat, brudda," the distraught principal said, 
commenting on the misuse of such an unassuming instrument.
	The blonde hurled the rest of the ukulele into the garbage bin they 
were hiding in.  "You do what you have to."
	"Den you won' min' dis."  With a speed and ferocity that shone his 
true nature, "kocho" Kuno, lunged for a pure and simple right hook.
	At this point, there was a shiny... CR-RACK!
	Kuno shook his right hand, checking for circulation.  "Oy, whatta 
big glas' jowl, you be havin'."
	Gambling K stood, having palmed the $5 chit he saw.  A thump behind 
him alerted him to the second hood.  "Hey," he told his partner, "than-" 
CR-RACK!
	Kuno held his left hand.  Sure, it was less powerful, but he needed 
instant gratification.  He pulled out the battered wooden body, and made 
like a monkey.  (After tying up the hoods and throwing them in the trash, 
of course.)

	"You swing like a rusty gate, y'know?"
	"Oh?  Wan you t'ink you know 'ow to ride da waves, brudda?"
	The Gambling King nursed his jaw.
	"I'll pay for the stupid uke, okay?"
	Kuno sat, with his back turned.  "Eet' sokee..."  He whipped out 
one of his spares.  "I gotta 'nutha twenny!"
	The Gambling King groaned.  "And I thought it was all over..."
	"Wakki-wakki luau!  Com'on da Ha'waii beach en' see'em waihines 
sway!"
	Not because anyone else wanted to comment on his singing, the door 
blew inward.

	"Now, that," the wheezy voice old man intoned, "was not a good 
move, Gambling King.  Did you think that we couldn't retrieve the loaded 
dice."
	"Well," the Gambling King spat out a tooth, hawking blood, "I 
didn't think I'd be talking to the only Japanese-talking gaijin don on 
the West Coast."
	"Tut, tut.  Epithets will get you nowhere."  He made a passing wave 
to the unconscious Kuno, in vague warning.  "You've been on our black 
list for a while.  Even lost you for a few years."  He snorted.  "What's 
wrong?  Recession's got Japanese gambling into a slump?"
	"Get... on with it..."  He was already blacking out from the 
beatings.  "... kill... me..."
	"What?  Kill a guest?  That wouldn't be polite.  I probably won't 
be allowed to participate in tea ceremonies...."  He laughed derisively.  
"And it wouldn't be... sporting..."

	The limousine pulled into a deserted street.  Two bodies fell onto 
the asphalt, as the stretch car pulled away.  Kuno fell roughly, while 
the bearded blonde rolled as best he could.  But Kuno was the first on 
his feet, checking on the internally bleeding gangster.
	"Th-thought... you were... gone..."
	"Made'uh tuff'r stuff, brudda."
	"Not... not... your... brother..."
	The damage was taking its toll on him, at last.  He had wanted to 
be conscious before death finally took him.  But, now, he was going to 
die a helpless man.  He felt himself hefted on a broad back.
	"Kuno... do... do you have a son?"
	He wondered where the nearest hospital was.  "Ya.  A strappin' 
keiki, en' a waihine t' boot!"
	The shorter man didn't know how much time he had left.  "Ha... had 
one, too... lost'im."
	"Ya, ya."  Kuno heard the cars, but was sure that it wouldn't be a 
good idea to check them out.  He scanned the horizon, hoping that one of 
the tall buildings would be a hospital.
	"This... Amazon..."  He trailed off.
	Not good.  "'Ey!"  Nothing.  He shook his burden.  "'Ey!"
	"Wha... wha'?"
	"You tellin' 'bout you little mon."
	A few shots rang in the air.  Kuno picked a building at random, and 
picked up his pace.
	"Got... kid... kidnap... China..."
	They crossed a street safely.  Kuno started running.  If he wasn't 
so worried for his life, he would have laughed out loud.
	"Never... wanted... to bring... him... in the... mob..."
	The gunshots came closer.
	"Must... see... one... more..."
	Kuno knew that it was a lost cause.

	The ferry filled itself out into the port of Yokohama.
	The erstwhile principal of Furinkan High stepped off the plank, 
thought upon by people of both ends of the Pacific to have died of the 
fierce elements of nature.
	The Las Vegas mob lord who had confronted them that day had his 
henchmen finish them off.  They had been pleased to announce that they 
had retrieved two bodies.  Although it was merely chance that Kuno had 
fallen onto the path of a tourist with a similar build as he, it was more 
than chance which made him cut off the tree that had been growing on his 
head.  A part of him had changed that night, being hunted down like a 
wild animal in the urban jungles of Nevada.
	A new profession.
	While still recovering in California, his accounts had suddenly 
closed, as his "family" overseas had finally finished the paperwork to 
officially declare him dead, and to transfer his liquid assets.
	There had been no mention of his or of his companion's 
"disappearance".  Two Japanese nationals - one who had been thought to 
have been lost at sea, the other a wanted felon - killed on American 
soil.  It would have been a national incident.  An international 
incident.  It was obvious that the cover-up spread far beyond the Las 
Vegas community.
	A new identity.
	It was laughably easy to locate the Yakusa clan which the Gambling 
King had been embroiled in.  The relative inexperience of their 
organization had also made escape possible for the petty crook and his 
son, and they had merely traipsed to mainland China.  Still, they had 
controlled a considerable portion of the Yokohama district, but were very 
much in trouble from without, as much as from within.
	Much as he would not say, many things had troubled him during his 
stay in America:  how much human evil was in the world, how much one man 
can control, how much can be done with the power of money.  He had the 
money.  And now, from the first step he would take off the ferry, to the 
last step he would take to pay back his Las Vegas tormentors, he was 
going to get the power.

	In an unassuming suite in a hotel in uptown Yokohama, the door to 
the bedroom was locked.  A heavy hand knocked on it.
	"Don't bug me, Ken!"  He barely maintained his rhythm.
	The knocking continued.
	"DON'T BUG ME, KEN!"  The woman below him actually shuddered at 
that.
	The knocking continued.
	"BLAST IT, KEN!  THIS BETTER BE IMPORTANT!"  The man pulled up his 
trousers.  Fiddling with the knob, he unlocked it.
	He was barely able to get out of the swinging oak's way, falling 
down hard near the foot of the bed.  A familiar silhouette stood in the 
doorway.  A ghost of the past.
	His eyes flared with recognition.  "The Gambling King!"
	The figure made a show of running a hand through his blonde beard.  
His smile was as flat as his hat, which was as sharp as his eyes.  They  
held no such recognition.
	However, the woman herself had a minute flickering of recognition.  
It waned, but the dread was not removed.  "No... no..."
	The man wished that the woman would just keep under the sheets.  
But her moans were becoming louder.  "No... NO..."
	"SHUT UP, WOMAN!"  He started to stand.
	The Gambling King backhanded the man on the mouth, drawing blood.  
He went down again, but did not black out.  The stocky king-figure rushed 
to the side of the bed, as the other man rushed outside, yelling, "Ken!"
	The woman finally had the mind to hide under the covers, but it was 
too late.  For all his bulk, the man known as Gambling King was fast.  He 
was able to pull the covers off before Ken could arrive to his summons.
	"NO!  NO!"  The woman was frantic, but more because of the man 
before her than because of her nudity or her dishevelment.  "YOU'RE NOT 
HIM!  YOU'RE NOT HIM!"
	"What a touching reunion from beyond the grave."  The other man 
regained his composure and pomp, despite being topless.  "The Gambling 
King, last seen dead in Las Vegas, came to a nameless suite in Yokohama 
to meet his long-mourning wife.  Leaving out the fact that she had been 
having an affair with the head of the Fujii clan of the Yakusa.  
Touching, touching... waste'm, Ken."
	"Yeah," said the Gambling King, "do'em."
	Faster than he had realized, the man was shot in the groin by the 
man beside him.  Ken quickly turned to the woman in bed, and quieted her.
	The once-boss of the Fujii clan knelt, bleeding from his pelvis, 
breathing in big gulps, just to keep from keeling over.  Gambling King 
loomed before him.  "You know what?  She was right.  I'm not the Gambling 
King.  YOU had him killed in Las Vegas.  YOU had an affair with his wife, 
who probably begged you to spare their son.  YOU."  With a sneer, he 
looked him in the eye.  "YOU are history."
	He ground his heel into the man's crotch, and stood there, 
listening to the screams until they died.
	The man who was not the Gambling King turned to Ken.  "Nice bit 
there, Ken.  Shooting him in the balls, I mean."
	Ken shrugged.  "He had me do it once.  Poor guy... owed him three 
million."
	"Well, then," the Gambling King said, boffing his hat to reveal a 
miniature tree stump, "let us give credit where credit is due."  He gave 
the corpse an exaggerated curtsy.
	Returning the hat, he motioned to his right hand man.  "Let's go.  
There is much to do, and much to change..."  He made a face as though he 
had just thought of the idea.  "... like a change of headquarters..."

	There are men that believe.
	Sasuke Sarugakure watched events unfold in Nerima with a belief in 
a higher power.  He believed there was enough justification for the loss 
of Kodachi to Tate... er, Kuno's lady love, Akane Tendo.  He believed 
that Kodachi's subsequent open-ended blood-feud with the girl to be 
natural, even if it was as unhealthy as having an alligator as a pet.  He 
believed that the siblings will once and forever see eye to eye, though 
he wondered whether this would be within his lifetime.
	The manservant believed in many things, indeed.  He believed that 
Nerima was possessed by an evil, and that this evil first gained reign 
when there was a sudden decision to renovate Furinkan High School, and 
put, in its place, the Headquarters of Tokyo Police.  It was as though 
the spirit of the elder Kuno had brought a pox upon the district when his 
shrine to knowledge had been desecrated.  This, though, he did not 
believe.  If he had believed it, by connection, the evil that had 
possessed Nerima would be the elder Kuno's vengeful soul, which was 
entirely correct.
	Armed with these beliefs, he answered the doorbell.
	There was a limousine outside, which was not an unusual sight;  
they had had enough encounters with the similarly rich.  The man who was 
at the doorbell was a generic-looking bodyguard.  Again, not unusual, due 
to the fact that Nerima, and the rest of Tokyo, was going to hell in a 
wastebasket.  Since both of his charges were away to school (Kuno had 
just about gotten settled into Kolkhoz High across town, if he didn't 
keep picking fights with both of the Golden Pair), he went down to tell 
them that whoever was needed wasn't at home.
	At the gate, he shouted, "neither the Mistress nor the Master are 
at home right now, so you might as well come back later."
	"Actually," a voice, eerily familiar evenly said, "I've been 
looking for you, Sasuke."
	A hail of gunshots blasted the heavy wooden doors inward.
	The Gambling King strode purposefully through the haze, finding 
Sasuke's body in the debris.  "I have returned."

Ranma's End

	He sat in the darkness of the thatched hut.
	The hut did not have much in terms of creature comforts.  What it 
did have spoke much of what any male in the Amazon village had:  a 
stiffened mattress, on a low-slung framework of the bed;  a table used 
mostly for eating meals or writing letters, when he had started about it;  
a small stool.  He had learned that his father had been sending letters 
on a semi-regular basis to his mother while on their god-forsaken 
training trip.
	His father's last message to him was that, no matter what, he 
should find his mother, but not until he could freely visit her.  On that 
night, they had smuggled him onto a roving circus, disguised as a panda.  
He had promised to try and find her.
	Of course, they had punished him for letting his father escape.  
Despite the fact that he was already middle-aged, he was still a robust 
and formidable martial artist.  They had learned that when he tried to 
escape the village with his son on the night when Ranma would become 
Shampoo's husband.  He had actually beaten a few of the guards before 
they were caught.  Genma had unwittingly gotten himself married before 
the night was through.  Ranma had never heard him cry out from anguish as 
much as he did that night, in this very hut;  the only socially redeeming 
quality that Genma Saotome kept in himself was his loyalty to his wife.
	He was a broken man in days.  He was nearly beaten to death when he 
would not move one torrid night.  Cologne had made the conclusion that 
the panda curse he had acquired had taken over his faculties, and thus, 
by several magicks, permanently transformed him into a panda.  Ranma knew 
that his father had found his way out:  they still talked to each other, 
his father using signboards and such.
	That was ten years ago.
	"Amazon law sees fit that males of the Amazon village are 
indentured to ten years of loyal servitude to the village before he may 
be sent into the outside world as a representative of the village."
	The earliest of those years passed with much hardship.
	Males of the village were not given leverage in terms of the law.  
Most of the household duties fell upon them, but beyond the fact that 
they could not leave the village, they were not treated much worse.
	However, the husbands were the worst off.  Whereas a male will keep 
house for his family, a husband keeps house, not only for himself, but 
occasionally for any and all of his wives.  Also, it is at the husband's 
house where an Amazon and her mate consummate their marriage.
	For the first few years, Ranma could not leave the hut, out of 
sheer fatigue.  Much as he had been married to nearly a quarter of the 
tribe, he had, by law, the right to choose the woman he would sleep with;  
it was just his sense of honor that dogged him to fulfill his duties to 
his appointed spouses.
	In the succeeding years, though, he had learned that his curse of 
changing sexes could be put to use.  Through the guise of a female 
Amazon, he participated in the more important matters of tribal justice 
and special training.  No elder Amazon was willing to train a man in the 
most secret of Amazon techniques;  with Cologne's decision and tutelage, 
he trained with Shampoo under the greatest of the Amazon masters.
	Slowly, he had gained respect in the village as a strong and 
capable warrior for the tribe.  He also began to teach the younger 
generations of Amazon women;  in return, he was allowed to venture 
outside the village, alone or with an elder, to learn of other 
techniques, and in turn to teach these to his students when he returned.
	Many of those times, when he was alone, he had chances to escape.  
Surely, if the thought had not passed, he wouldn't have chosen the path 
that he did now.  However, he had not digressed from his path.
	He did not expect that this would be used against him.
	Weeks before, he had approached the Council of Elders, petitioning 
to take his wives with him to Japan, as soon as he had fulfilled his 
decade of service.  Cologne argued that he (she, since Cologne reasoned 
that Ranma was now full-fledged Amazon) had knowledge which would be 
dangerous outside the village.  Despite his pledge as a martial artist to 
keep these secrets into the village, Cologne was not appeased.
	It took an unusual stroke of luck on his part to convince them to 
let him go.  Shampoo told him that Cologne had married an outsider.  
Cologne did not seem to be the type of person that was easy to defeat or 
one to let go of her husband without a fight.  Some research had revealed 
a shocking secret:  this outsider had also fallen into the spring of 
drowned girl.
	Happosai, Cologne's husband, had chosen to fall into the spring of 
drowned girl in order to gain the secrets of the village's techniques.  
When Happosai campaigned to be part of the Council of Elders, Cologne saw 
through his schemes, and had him exiled in light of his stay of over ten 
years, and by the fact that he was initially male.  Faced with this 
precedent, Cologne had no choice but to relent.
	And now, he had only to wait for news of Japan.
	"Husband."  The faint musk that came to his nostrils told him that 
Shampoo had stayed outside the doorway.  "Your friend, Ukyo, has news for 
you."
	He nodded.
	Shampoo hesitantly took a step forward.  "Husband."
	He waited on the stool, until Shampoo put a hand on his shoulder.
	"Must we leave?"  She did not need to reason her agitation.
	"Shampoo, I must return to fulfill my father's wishes."  He hadn't 
spoken about his father since his escape.  "You do not need to come with 
me."  He stood and turned, taking her hand.  "I relieve you of our 
marriage, if you so wish."
	Shampoo gave the ghost of a smile.  "Only females of our tribe may 
annul a marriage, husband.  And only if she can defeat her mate.  I have 
not beaten you, yet, Ranma."
	Ranma put a hand lovingly to the back his wife's head.  Moments 
later, Shampoo left to fetch Ukyo.
	Ukyo appeared, her ordeal in Nerima barely scarring her features.
	"Where's Mousse?"  he whispered.
	"He... he..."  She took a gulp of air.  "He's hurt."
	"What?"
	"Ranma, we couldn't locate your mother.  A bomb in her house took 
Mousse out."
	He remained expressionless, but his eyes shone bright with pain.  
"What did Nabiki say?"
	She bit her lip;  this was what he didn't want to hear.  "She says 
that there's no choice but to go.  Everything's set."
	She tried to find his reaction, but his face went blank.  She tried 
to think of something else to say, something to set him on the path he 
was about to take.  Nothing came to mind.
	"Ukyo?"  The voice wavered slightly.  She took a step into his 
domain.
	He had his back turned to her, leaning on his arms on the table.  
In the darkness, he looked all the more helpless.  She could feel his 
energy, his passion, his madness...
	Ranma felt Ukyo's arms press against his sides.  With her so close 
to him, he could feel her breasts press up to his back.  He turned to 
give her a kiss on her forehead and lips.  They held each other in the 
dark, and, for once, tomorrow waited.

***

Coming Soon:  Book II

Nikholas F. Toledo Zu @ http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Flats/3145/mezza9.html
Vector, Switch, Yebah, Don Juan, goo, Pervert, Scruples, Hollie, NomaD,
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