released three months ago.
Sadly, my ISP doesn't provide usenet access. Please direct any comments or criticism to mike ; I'd love to hear your opinions!
Characters and backstory are the creations and property of Takahashi Rumiko, and are used without consent or knowledge. I must ask that this work not be archived, distributed, printed, or used without my permission.
Note - sudden breaks in dialogue are intentional, and not the result of computer error.
S
Howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stones!
Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so That heaven's vault should crack...Lend me a looking-glass...
- King Lear, Act V, Scene III
There will be time, there will be time To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create...
- T.S. Eliot, Prufrock
I took the cold bright needle I used it as a sword...
- The Pogues, USA
Morning. The sun slowly climbed across the sky, as night reluctantly made its exit. Birds, feeling the warmth of a new day, burst into triumphant song. Lights on the corners flickered, then died, as if realising that they couldn't compete with the father of illumination. Windows were unfastened, doors flung open. The buzz of humanity, that murmur of noise and movement and purpose and life, rose, swelled, and established itself for another day.
Morning in Nerima.
To the casual observer, the Tendo Dojo seemed to be a tranquil place. The gardens and archetecture, seen by the newborn light, gave one an impression of serenity. An island of calm in a bustling city.
This, of course, is a very stupid thing to think.
And yet, that morning, the thought seemed almost justified. The precise lines of the garden were unmarred by a dueling boy and panda. Shouts of "BAKA!" and "KAWAIKUNEE!" failed to be heard. No one was causing any kind of a stir at all.
The casual observer would smile, and enjoy the sense of order and calm the dojo brought about.
Anyone who knew the dojo would realise that something was horribly wrong.
Ryoga winced.
Dr. Tofu noticed his discomfort, and chuckled. "If you two keep fighting the way you do, you can expect this kind of thing to happen." He finished the stitching, and began to pack up his bag.
Ranma had been observing the whole proceedure with uncharacteristic silence. "We'll be more careful, Doctor."
"It talks!" Tofu studied the boy. Normally he would have taken the Ranma's unusual lack of energy as a sign of guilt at having hurt his friend. Yes, Tofu thought, friend, though neither of the two would ever admit it. Despite Ryoga's melodramatics and Ranma's baiting, they now fought more for the sheer enjoyment of it than anything else.
While Tofu had often seen the two bruised and battered as a result, Ryoga's current wound was a bit more serious. The boy's shoulder had been ripped open, requiring stitches. Strange, though - it wasn't a knife wound, and you didn't get that kind of cut from a punch... And Ranma didn't seem apologetic so much as worried.
Ryoga gingerly moved his arm, grimacing as he did. "Thanks, Doctor. You did a good job on it."
Ranma pointed towards the kitchen. "Why don't you have Akane get you something to drink? Kasumi's gonna get back from her seminar today." He gave a knowing grin. "I'm sure she'd be glad to see you."
Tofu's professional demeanor melted like an ice cube in a blast oven. "Y-you think so? Me? See me? Her?
"The kitchen, Doctor," Ranma said gently.
"Kitchen! Yes, Kitchen. See me?" He wandered out of the room, glasses already beginning to show signs of fog.
"Thank you," Ryoga whispered, "for waiting until he was done to tell him."
Ranma gave a short bark of laughter. "Kasumi's nice and all, but to have that kind of affect..." He shook his head. "You can find copies of her in homes across Japan. Dutiful, hard-working, kind, dull."
"You forgot oblivious."
"I think that's unique to her." Ranma's face darkened. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Fine. The bullet just grazed me." Ryoga's eyes belied his casual attitude. "You think it's connected to...?"
"Of course," Ranma replied. "Unless you know of anyone else who would send a sniper after us." He glanced around; the tension he was feeling begining to show. "Damn them. If it were a fair fight, open, man-to-man, that would be one thing. But this underhanded stuff is something else. I've been imagining a gunman on every roof since last night. It's this waiting, not knowing what they'll do next; hell, not even knowing _who_ they are. "
Ryoga shrugged. "It they try again, we'll be ready for them. At the very least," he said, fatalistically, "we should take a few of them with us."
Wonderful, thought Ranma. He didn't learn anything from last night. When the next attempt comes, he'll charge into the fray, waving that stupid umbrella. Only next time they might have better aim. "Ryoga, I don't WANT to take anyone with me. I don't wanna go, period. If it looks like we're outclassed, we run. It's that simple."
In the background, the doorbell rang.
"Okay. I see your point. But if I get ju
Akane's morning had been eventful. First Ranma and Ryoga came charging in at three in the morning, Ryoga with a huge cut of some kind. She had tried to find out what happened, but they both just got all serious and insisted it was nothing. Right, nothing. They had been jumping at shadows ever since they got back.
Then Doctor Tofu stopped by. He said that he had just come to tend to Ryoga, but he had asked her a few times about when Kasumi would be back. Akane had done her best to give uninformative replies; the last thing poor Ryoga needed was to have Tofu in a blissful fog. Kasumi is lucky, she thought with a trace of bitterness. I wish I had that affect on certain people.
And here he was, stumbling into the kitchen with his glasses misted. Someone had probably informed him of Kasumi's imminent return. Akane slumped a little. Lord knows Ranma would never act like that at the mention of her name. Not, she thought hastily, that she'd ever want him to.
The doorbell pealed. Akane stood up, and began to walk into the hall to answer it. Maybe Kasumi had gott
Nabiki awoke, the faintest trace of a smile lighting her face. She had dreamed about _him_, and the memory of it was still fresh in her mind. It was going to be a beautiful day. Photos to sell, deals to make - she paused, the smile becoming broader - and a dream to make reality. One of these days.
She climbed out of bed, stretching and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The doorbell rang, probably Kasumi getting home from her seminar. It had been a while since Kasu
Ukyo skipped along the road, humming to herself. This was a great idea, she mused, going over to Ranchan's. With Kasumi gone, Akane will probably be cooking breakfast. And that, for all of them, is a fate worse than death. Ukyo grinned happily. And then I show up, and offer to cook breakfast. Ranchan will be sooo grateful.
She couldn't understand why he hadn't gotten sick of Akane. The girl couldn't cook, yelled at him, actually HIT him. If she really cared about him, she should be more considerate. I would never hit him, Ukyo firmly decided. I would rather cut off my hand.
She sighed, her good mood fading. Ukyo could cook, she appreicated him, she didn't abuse him. Why did he seem so drawn to Akane, for whom the exact opposite was true? Maybe she was doing this wrong. Maybe playing hard-to-get was what worked on Ranchan. If so, this visit probably wasn't such a good plan.
No, she thought. This was the only real chance she had. Hard-to-
get is fine, but she doubted she was that good an actor.
Looking up from her reverie, she realised that she had passed the dojo. Feeling mildly embarrassed, she walked back along the street and up the front walk. At the door, she paused, adjusting her clothing. After making sure everything was in order, she rang the bell. Ukyo hoped he liked the dress; she ha
Saburo enjoyed his morning walk. He had a set route, and followed it with unfailing regularity. He did it for many reasons; the exercise, the fresh air, the scenery. But the main reason for his walks was that he loved being in the middle of Nerima's bustle.
Take the Tendo dojo. He loved this leg of his walk, he was virtually guarenteed an interesting sight. Mostly it was just a fight between Ranma and the old guy (his father?), but other days a more unusual occurance would unfold. Saburo chuckled; after one particular day, he had needed to make an effort not to stare at Akane when he passed her in school.
Just to be on the safe side, he always walked on the opposite side of the street from the dojo. Like most of his schoolmates, he had no desire to get caught up in one of the endless battles Saotome and Co. always seemed to be engaged in.
Today, he seemed destined to be disappointed. The dojo was quiet. No screams, no fight, no...
Wait a minute! Saburo spotted Ukyo Kuonji, the owner of that new cafe, approaching the dojo. She was looking rather distracted, not to mention a bit nervous. He grinned ruefully; everyone knew that she had her heart set on Ranma Saotome. A pity, that. He'd made a few attempts to flirt with her, back when she first arrived. Strike one, two, three, look somewhere else.
She was adjusting her dress, probably more as a way to mentally brace herself than anything else. Saburo thought it looked good on her, blue was definitely her color. Ukyo rang the doorbell, and Saburo idly wondered who would answer it. He'd be halfway down the block before anyone did, probably...
The world exploded.
Saburo was only dimly aware of the wave of sound and heat that hit him with the force of a sledgehammer, throwing him through the air like a wet rag. He landed hard in a bush, and blacked out for a few seconds.
Holding his head, he feebly struggled to his feet. The wave of heat struck him again, and he staggered, moving his arm over his face to protect his eyes. He stood there for a few seconds, and then, slowly, turned to stare at the other side of the street.
The dojo was a seething mass of flame and rubble. Bits of board and concrete lay strewn across the street, along with a few pieces of blazing, mangled furniture.
This is a bad dream, Saburo though numbly. This kind of thing doesn't happen here, only in the Middle East, or America. Not Nerima. Something wet and sticky ran into his eyes, and he cuirously wiped at it with his hand. I'm bleeding, he thought, seeing the red stain on his palm.
A low gurgling noise from the bushes to his right drew his attention. He stumbled across somebody's lawn, now looking like a scrap yard, and peered around the hedge that the noise was coming from. He stopped dead.
Ukyo Kuonji lay there, arms and legs flung at an impossible angle. The dress that Saburo had admired was no longer blue, but a nightmare of black and grey and slowly spreading crimson. Her face and arms had been charred by the blast; blacked and peeling skin covered her. A milky white fluid slowly made its way down from one eye in an obscene trickle.
The gurgling, though, was the worst. It meant that she was not only alive but conscious.
Saburo stared, aghast, and then doubled over and began to vomit. In the distance, sirens began to be heard. He prayed that they would get here soon, oh God, please let them hurry. The notion that he would have to go a different way from now on meandered into his thoughts.
His stomach empty, he forced himself to approach the smoldering body. "You'll be fine," he stuttered, aware of how uncertain the words sounded the second they left his mouth.
Ukyo twitched, and the gurgling grew louder. Saburo stumbled back, an irrational desire to somehow silence her building within him. He would be hearing that noise in his dreams for the rest of his life, he knew.
He turned and walked away, slowly at first, then quickly. The dojo was still burning, although the flames seemed to be dying a bit. I hope no one was inside, he thought. He knew there had been, though.
A crowd had begun to gather at the end of the street. Saburo could see the first of the ambulances turning the corner, followed by a police cruiser. He waved his arms frantically, relief washing over him.
"You didn't see anyone else around?"
Saburo sighed. They had been asking him the same things over and over, while the paramedics and firemen sifted through the rubble. Ukyo had been quickly rushed to the hospital, but the ambulances were still needed.
They were bringing out bodies.
Saburo wanted to leave, to go home, to go anywhere else, somewhere where he didn't have to carefully avoid looking at the horror in front of him. He had gotten a brief glimpse of a leg being carried out, and had again been violently ill.
"No. I told you, I had just arrived, all I saw was Miss Kuonji walk up to the door. That's it."
"And what were you doing here?"
"I was taking my walk. I do it every morning. Please, can I..." He stopped. Someone was pushing their way through the crowd, moving towards the dojo. A woman, it looked like, in an yellow dress. Kasumi Tendo. She must not have been inside. Oh God, the poor girl, he thought. Pushing past the policeman, he ran to where she stood, staring at what had been her home.
"Miss Tendo, please, don't look," he said gently. "Come with me." He took her by the arm, leading her away towards the police officer. Kasumi made no attempt to resist. She said nothing, and her face was flickering between expressions, as if trying to find one that could convey what she was feeling.
They took her into an empty ambulance. It was some time before she spoke.
Saburo had definitely been surprised whe the first thing she said was, "Oh my!"
CORONER'S REPORT-
NAME: Saotome, Genma AGE: 46 CAUSE OF DEATH: Crushed skull.
TIME OF DEATH: 9:30 AM, 5/23 IDENTIFIED BY: Kasumi Tendo
NAME: Saotome, Ranma AGE: 16 CAUSE OF DEATH: Severe burns, damage to internal organs TIME OF DEATH: 9:30 AM, 5/23 IDENTIFIED BY: Kasumi Tendo
NAME: Tendo, Soun AGE: 43 CAUSE OF DEATH: Severing of left torso, massive trauma TIME OF DEATH: 9:30 AM, 5/23 IDENTIFIED BY: Kasumi Tendo
NAME: Tendo, Nabiki AGE: 17 CAUSE OF DEATH: Massive burn trauma.
TIME OF DEATH: 9:30 AM, 5/23 IDENTIFIED BY: Dental records
NAME: Tendo, Akane AGE: 16 CAUSE OF DEATH: Burns, severing of lower body, massive trauma.
TIME OF DEATH: 9:30 AM, 5/23 IDENTIFIED BY: Kasumi Tendo
NAME: Ono, Tofu AGE: 24 CAUSE OF DEATH: Burns, destruction of chest cavity TIME OF DEATH: 9:30 AM, 5/23 IDENTIFIED BY: Kasumi Tendo
NAME: Hibiki, Ryoga AGE: 16 CAUSE OF DEATH: Massive trauma, smoke inhalation.
TIME OF DEATH: 9:32 AM, 5/23 IDENTIFIED BY: Kasumi Tendo
NAME: Kuonji, Ukyo AGE: 16 CAUSE OF DEATH: Severe burn trauma, internal injuries.
TIME OF DEATH: 4:36 PM, 5/23 IDENTIFIED BY: Kasumi Tendo
NAME: "John Doe"
AGE: Elderly CAUSE OF DEATH: Massive burn trauma TIME OF DEATH: 9:30 AM, 5/23 IDENTIFIED BY: Unidentified
Kasumi looked over her new apartment, and tried to smile.
The weeks since the bombing had passed in a blur, hours running into days with a nightmarish sense of unreality. But the seconds seemed to last for centuries.
...Walking through the long white sterile unending hospital to the cold freezer room draped with frost, as the doctor spoke meaningless sentences. They had pulled out the bodies, one by one, and she had named them. Nabiki wasn't there, and Kasumi had hoped, had allowed herself to believe that maybe she hadn't been inside. But the doctors, so unlike poor dear Tofu, had just pointed toward two closed metal drawers, and said that they would have to check the teeth...
...And then the task of confirming Ukyo's identity before they wrapped her like a package and took out the tubes and turned off the machines that hadn't really done any good in the end and the nurses walked off to the next bed saying that it was really too bad but not really feeling it and then they removed the body and then they removed the linen and then they removed Kasumi...
...The funeral, standing with a small knot of Hibikis and Kuonjis and one madly sobbing Ono as the caskets, mercifully closed, were lowered into the ground. The birds, oblivious to everything but the warm sun and fine day, had sang their hearts out as the first shovelfuls of earth was tossed into the gaping holes. She had just stood there, wishing it were over and yet afraid to go, because that would mean they would really be gone...
...Listening to the nice polite well-dressed almost sympathetic young man who told her about the life insurance and, why, it's all yours, as you are the sole surviving heir, which means you get the stocks investments property (damaged but insured) money your father was very thoughtful see how much he left you? She had taken the money that the almost sympathetic (almost) young man had given her, but had inside felt angry at him because daddy was a person not a check of yen but wait he wasn't anymore none of them were and you're the sole surviving heir and money is money (waste not want not) and your father would be glad to know you're being taken care of...
...Saying goodbye to Mousse, Cologne, and Shampoo, who were going back to China. Poor Shampoo wasn't quite herself, and they hoped that leaving Nerima would help. For a second the wild idea to go with them flashed through Kasumi's mind, but instead she smiled, and wished them well, and hoped to see them again, and helped them close down the Nekohanten for the last time...
...Shopping around for an apartment, having the managers remind her that "If you're living alone you won't need as much space," finding a four room that she finally has no real reason not to rent. Kasumi had then bought furniture, heavy pieces that wouldn't break easily (but there was no reason for them to break now), dishes (but only a few, for herself and the possiblity of guests who she supposed might visit one day), a stove, pans, books...
And so now she had everything inside, and my goodness, there was an awful lot of work to be done.
So she arraigned the furniture, and shelved the books, and swept the dust from the floor. The work was the key, Kasumi knew. She had discovered this after Mommy left, that if you did the work the pain went away. Just sweep the floor, and pick up the messes, and above all else don't try to think about a certain person who was gone forever.
But in a way, Kasumi felt her mother was still around. After all, everything that she had done still happened, because Kasumi _made_ it happen.
Daddy and Akane had martial arts, and Nabiki had her deals. But Kasumi had carried on her mother's work, and had made it her own.
The ease at which she had put aside her grief had amazed her, and she had suddenly realised, in one of those great strokes of insight that the preachers and madmen speak of, that as long as the work was done nothing truly bad would ever happen again.
But it had.
And so she threw herself into the work, moving and arraigning and sorting, telling herself that she would enjoy it here, trying not to think about the absence of her family.
They were gone. They were never coming...
Stop it, she chided herself. Look at those clothes, all wrinkled and untidy! They need to be ironed.
And so she got out her new board, and her new iron, and plunged into the work. And then the clothes were finished.
Emerging, she looked around the apartment. Everything was in place, everything was clean. No more work.
"How silly of me!" she said, surprised at how loud her voice sounded. "I almost forgot about dinner!"
Walking over to the new stove, Kasumi was suddenly seized with uncertainty. What should she make? All mother's recipes had been for more than one person...
And the only person she had to cook for was herself.
In the end, she made herself some rice and vegetables. Putting them in her new bowl, she sat down at the table and began to eat. The ticking of the clock in the corner seemed to grow louder and more rapid as she dined, and she paused to get up and disconnect it.
After she had finished, she carefully washed the bowl, dried it, and put it back on its place in the cupboard.
And then, it was all done.
Kasumi walked, uncertainly, over to the wardrobe she had bought the other day. Surely there was some arraiging that needed to be done.
There wasn't.
They were gone. She would never see them again.
Stop that. Don't think about it. The work...
She would never see Ranma and Akane finally do what everyone but them knew they wanted. Never pick up the dirty plates, or bake them cookies, or listen to their problems. Never hear them shout those ridiculous battle crys that they all took so seriously, or watch them eat the food she made, or listen to the fights and the arguments and the stammered apologies that were really something more.
Poor, silly, wonderful Tofu would never try to explain something in his awkward way. Never tell her what he had obviously wanted to tell her, and what she had secretly wanted him to say.
No one would call her "Oneechan", or need her.
No one. Never. Ever.
With a cry of pure rage, Kasumi lashed out, sending her foot up in a whisling arc into the wardrobe, cracking the door. The old techniques, from before Mommy left, surged up, washed over her, swept her along. Screaming like a wounded animal, she pummeled the hard wood, feeling it crack under her blows but not caring.
And then, there was nothing to hit. The wardrobe lay on the floor, nothing more than kindling. Blinking, panting, her hands raw and bloody, Kasumi stared with dull eyes at the wreckage.
Then she fell to the floor, curled herself into a ball, and softly wept.
She wound up at the dojo, at about eight in the morning.
The constuction crews had yet to clear away the rubble, and the bomb experts had already gone over the mess with a fine tooth comb. The site was roped off, but no one watched over the property. Kasumi stepped over the rope, and began to make her way across the rubble.
Every once and a while she would stop to pick something up. A fragment of vase. A half-melted teacup. A dented pot, the one she used for making soups and stews.
About halfway across the wreckage, she found something else.
A mirror.
The Nanban mirror.
It lay there, gleaming in the cold dawn, half buried under a heap of ash and rubble. It was cold to the touch, she noticed, digging it out. Except for a hairline crack, it seemed to have come through the inferno in one piece.
How, she wondered. She thought of the answer an instant later: It was magical. Happosai had certainly proved that. It let you travel through time and space.
Kasumi regarded her reflection in the mirror, surprised at what she saw. This couldn't be her, could it?
This couldn't be her home.
This couldn't be.
She turned away. Her purpose was clear. She would succeed. She had Work to do.
A single tear, the last one she had left to give, fell upon the smooth, cold surface of the mirror.
"Nanban Mirror, take me to last May 21st, in front of the Tendo Dojo."
A cold wind swept through the rubble, blowing scraps of wood and paper across the street. Kasumi was not there to feel it.
End of Part One
Part 2
Kasumi fell. Or maybe she rose, it was hard to tell.
Around her, a whirlwind of shapes and images dashed about, through her, over her, beneath her...
In her hands, the Nanban Mirror pulsed erracticaly. A angry red glare had formed around the crack.
She looked out into the maelstrom, and tried to catch her bearings. Scenes came into focus...
...It was spring, and Ranma and his father had just arrived. Kasumi had no desire to be married off to a stranger, especially someone younger than her, and had immediatly nominated Akane as the fiancee. She had felt guilty afterwards, but only for a while - anyone could see the two were perfect for each other. Anyone but them. She often wondered if they would ever stop fighting and...
...they've stopped now...
...not if I have any say in the matter...
...It was winter, and Kasumi had fallen and skinned her knee at the pond and it hurt and she started to cry, which was the cue for Mommy to enter and make it better but Mommy didn't because...
...She had stopped crying, and kissed the knee, and cleaned it, and at that moment the Work began...
...Where am I?...
...It was autumn, and the leaves fell golden brown over the city, making it a blanket against the oncoming cold. A new doctor had set up practice in the clinic, and Kasumi had taken Akane in to see about a cut. The doctor had froze at the sight of her, and she had wondered what could ever be the matter, and then she realised that she was doing the same, and Akane was tugging at her arm, asking what was wrong, not realising that something was instead very, very right...
...No! The Dojo, May twent...
...It was summer, all the summers she had seen run together, and there was Mommy and Daddy and Nabiki and Akane and Ranma and Tofu and...
...She was falling (rising?) further, and the Mirror was throbbing in a funny way...
...The Tendo Dojo! May 21! Two days before...
...The Dojo in spring summer winter autumn then now then soon rubble standing both either...
...NO! MAY 21! NOW!
And there it was...
Kasumi leapt/ran/fell/walked/swooped desparately through the blinding crack of the mirror leading to...
This isn't my bed, she thought groggily. It's much softer than this, and the sun doesn't beat down as hard...
Kasumi's eyes flicked open, and then it all came flooding back. The bomb. Finding the mirror. Using it.
Where am I?
She quickly stood, looked around. The dojo rose before her, intact, whole, not a pile of rubble and corpses and despair, but home.
At her feet lay a slowly cooling pile of glowing metal and glass, all that was left of the Nanban mirror.
She had made it. Now all she needed to do was wait until a hour before the bombing, and get them all out, and the hell of pain and loneliness would be over, would never have even happened...
Wait. No. You're missing something, something important.
What? It's simple get them out who cares about the dojo save them for God's sake its that simple...
Why was the bomb planted?
Who cares it killed them remember the bodies the hospital who cares why it did it killed them stop it save them...
Someone wants them dead. Someone has decided that either one or all of my family must die. And if the bomb doesn't work, they'll try something else. And the something else probably will work.
What can I do I don't know who it is God how can I stop it the pain just tell them they'll know what to do...
No. They didn't know what to do last time. This someone isn't like the other people who've been trying to attack or kidnap in the past year. He or she bombs instead of using martial arts. The poor dears just aren't equipped to handle someone who doesn't physically charge into combat.
And you are?
I'd better be. Who would try to kill them? Why? What possible reason...
Kasumi smiled. It was quite a different type of smile than her normal kind.
She couldn't go inside, couldn't let anyone see her. After all, she was supposed to be in Osaka attending the seminar...well, actually, she _was_ in Osaka, the earlier her...it was rather confusing, really.
Whatever was wrong, it was a safe bet that it was all Ranma's fault. Okay. Time to start watching Ranma.
Ranma Saotome was in a good mood. The sun was shining, the weekend was almost here, and he had money in his pocket. He also had about two days left to live, but he was blissfully ignorant of that fact as he strolled along a street in downtown Tokyo.
Ranma didn't go into the main part of Tokyo very often. He really didn't need to; Nerima had just about everything one required. Except a little peace and quiet...
He sighed. There was the problem. Father's Day was coming up, the latest imported holiday. The florists had been touting it for months, building up publicity. And Ranma and Akane were stuck with the same dilemna that children everywhere have: what on Earth does the old man _want_ that I can afford?
What their fathers apparently wanted, more than anything, was to see them married. And that, they had quickly agreed, was going a bit far for a present.
On the other hand, a dinner date would thrill Soun and Genma to no end. And, Ranma had stammered, it wasn't like it would be a real, I mean, it's not, well...
Of course not, Akane had replied. It's for them. Just for them.
But he was looking forward to it anyway. He really wanted this to go well, not only for their parents, but for...
Y'know, she is cute, when she isn't being violent...
Anyway, the date, which of course really wasn't a date, had to be somewhere away from Nerima. So he was looking for a restaurant in the city. Otherwise, he knew exactly what would happen; in would come Kuno, or Shampoo, or Ryoga...
"RANMA, PREPARE TO DIE!"
Ranma turned around to face a charging Ryoga. Speak of the devil, he mused, and snapped into a fighting stance.
In a back room in downtown Tokyo, a tall, slightly overweight man fired a automatic with cool precision, taking down his last target. A quick survey of the room showed five corpses. No escapes. Good.
He walked calmly out of the restaurant, and down the street for two blocks. The cops in the building across the street had gotten a nice good look at him, enough to give a detailed description. He entered a store, walked directly to the restroom. Inside, he proceeded to become someone else.
Off comes the beard and layers of fake skin. The platform shoes come off as well, to be tucked inside the suitcase that had been masquerading as a beer belly a few moments before. The waiter's uniform was replaced by a conservative business suit, and the pudgy table server becomes the slim, respectable businessman.
The man known as Cerberus, second only to Carlos the Jackal and Jason Bourne in the field of killing, walked out onto the street.
"Come on, Pig boy! I'm sure if you try a bit harder you'll be able to touch me!"
Ryoga snarled in anger and frustration, and sent another flurry of umbrella swipes in Ranma's direction. "I will rip the heart from your chest with my bare hands!"
Ranma yawned and dodged the blows, tripping Ryoga in the process. "You seem awfully mad today, P-chan. What'd I do this time?"
"You have the effrontry to try and date Akane! I shall see you suffer a thousand deaths for this!" With that, he made a sudden leap at Ranma, tackling him. "DIE, SAOTOME!" The surprised Ranma stumbled back...
Cerberus strode along the street, basking in the warm sun. The rush of adrenaline was fading, and he was ready to go home and relax...
"DIE, SAOTOME!"
A sudden movement, just out of his line of sight, registered as the shout rang out. Instinctively Cerberus spun, his hands frantically moving for his automatic...
He had the pistol about halfway out when the shape hit him, sending him tumbling to the ground. The pistol fell from his hand, and he prepared to attack hand to hand...
A kid? Two kids?
The three of them stared at each other for seconds that seemed like an eternity. They looked at him, at the gun, at him, my God, they could recognize me, kill them...
No. Too many people around. Get out, deal with them at leisure.
Springing to his feet, sweeping the pistol back under his suit jacket, the assassin ran.
From a alleyway across the street, Kasumi watched, her face an impassive mask. So this was how it started. A stupid, meaningless coincidence.
She had seen the gun fall, had seen the man's eyes go wide with shock, then narrow. This was the one. She knew it.
How to stop him?
Warn them tell them you found him now let them deal with him remember those eyes cold dead hard let Ranma or someone deal with him...
But Ranma couldn't deal with him. It was still up to her. The work waited, unfinished.
Ranma and Ryoga were walking off, talking excitedly. They probably thought that what had happened was nothing more than a interesting puzzle; something that they would remember in a few years, and, over beers, wonder why the man was carrying a gun, remember that, guess we'll never know. Kasumi felt an irrational wave of anger build, then subside. It wasn't really their fault.
Walking out of the alleyway, she strolled across the street to a cafe. She ordered a cup of tea, and sat down to think.
She knew why the bomb had been set. She knew what the man responsible for it looked like. What she didn't know was what on earth she could do about it.
The man has to go. As long as he's around, they'll never be safe.
Kill him? She couldn't, that would be...
You have to do something.
First things first. The man is obviously afraid of being identified; he had the look of a cornered animal in his eyes. The result, she knew, would be the 9:30 blast two days hence. But was that the first attempt?
Die Saotome, Ryoga screamed in her mind's eye. He might as well have been wearing a magic wishing ring. All the killer had to do was look for a Saotome in the Tokyo School System, and it wasn't a very common name.
Wait outside the school, follow him home, and there it was. They would probably try to fake a mugging turned violent, that was less attention-catching than a bomb. Ranma, of course, would laugh in their faces and make mincemeat out of them. And then they would resort to a bomb.
Kasumi sighed, and sipped her tea. It looked like she would be following Ranma again. And then, hopefully, his murderer.
Ring. Ring.
"Furinkan High School, meeting your children's educational needs for 30 years, can I help you?"
"Yes. Do you have a student by the name of Saotome?"
"Yes, we do...what kind of damage has he done this time?"
Click.
"Hello? Sir?"
"RANMA NO BAKA!"
Akane delivered a mean right hook to Ranma's face with her usual accuracy, gave a snort of disgust, and stalked off. Other students carefully detoured around the crumpled form lying in the middle of the doorway.
It took him about five minutes to regain consiousness. Groaning, picking himself up, Ranma trudged out of the school grounds and towards home.
He wasn't even sure why she had hit him.
From behind the wheel of the borrowed car, Cerberus watched the boy with amusement. Love problems, and a black eye. Me, you don't need.
The kid had almost reached the street. Rev the engine.
Kasumi, crouched behind a row of shrubs, watched in horror as the blue sedan accelerated, heading straight for Ranma. Remember, she thought, he dies in the bomb so he can't die here...
But that car's going to hit him, it can't miss...
It will miss. Stay put.
But...
Stay put.
Ranma heard the noise of the car about two seconds too late. That is, too late for anyone else. Instinct taking over, he jumped at the car, landed on the roof, rolled down along the trunk, and swung down behind the still-accelerating sedan. He half expected it to turn around and try again, but it just kept going, disappearing around a corner with a screech of brakes.
He stood there, trembling slightly, realising that he had come as close to death as he ever cared to come. And he was still alive.
The sun beat down on his face, warm. A breeze ruffled his shirt. Overhead, a bird made its way home with a flutter of wings. And he was still a part of it all.
Slowly, still shaking, Ranma resumed his walk home.
Kasumi wanted to run to him, comfort him, tell him everything was all right. That horrible mask of shock he had worn for a second was one that she was very familar with. If the universe were just, no one would ever have to wear it.
The car was gone. And it was probably stolen anyway, even if she had gotten the licence plates. Dear me, what could she do next?
Hope for another attempt, that's what. And get something to follow the man with. A bicycle, perhaps.
Only a day and a half left.
Ranma's sleep that night was troubled and uneasy. The near-
accident had preyed on his mind all day, casting a shadow over the afternoon.
Kasumi had returned to her hotel, cleaned the rather untidy room thoroughly, and then fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Cerberus, irritated over his failure, had savored a glass of brandy and taken a hot bath. Afterwards, he climbed into his lush, soft featherbed and slept the sleep of the righteous.
Kasumi woke, screaming in terror and outrage. It was morning.
It took her several minutes to stop screaming, and afterwards she began to feel a little better. She supposed that she had been having a nightmare. It didn't really matter. Nothing but the Work mattered. Her family.
She moved around the shabby room, pulling on clothes. Ranma wouldn't be awake for a few hours yet, but it was always best to get an early start.
Ranma awoke, and suddenly it hit him. The car. The guy with the gun. Connection? Maybe. Very likely.
He had to find Ryoga.
Ranma sprang from his futon, and began to frantically pull on his clothes. He hoped it wasn't already too late.
It took him an entire day of frantic searching. Ryoga was a grandmaster in the art of getting totally, amazingly, really, really lost; and this made finding him that much more difficult.
He had felt a odd feeling wash over him once or twice, as if someone was aiming a searchlight, or other, less benign object at him. It might just be nerves, but Ranma didn't think so. He was being followed. As darkness fell, he found himself growing increasingly edgy. Almost midnight, he thought, turning the corner into a back alley. If I don't find him in the next ten minutes or so...
But there was Ryoga, up ahead, with his usual determined-but-
dumb-as-a-brick expression. "Yo, Ryoga! Over here!"
Ryoga turned, the determined look changing to one of relief. "Ranma! Could you point me back towards the do..."
Ryoga was a trained martial artist, and followed his instincts. While this normally got him into a lot of trouble, it saved his life this time, as he threw himself to the ground. The gunshot came a second later, a flash of light spitting from the shadows at the mouth of the alley.
Ranma, despite vailant efforts to appear so over the past year, was not stupid. The equasion Guns+Martial Arts=Dead Martial Artist ran swiftly through his head, and he dived to cover behind a pile of crates.
Ryoga, possessed of a lack of good sense almost equal to his lack of navigational ability, sprang to his feet, whipped out his umbrella, and charged.
A second shot rang out, and Ryoga fell to the ground clutching his shoulder.
Ranma noticed himself rising, screaming something, and running towards the gunman in a evasive pattern. Might as well go along with it, he thought, and sprang forward in a jumpkick.
The gun flew from his assailant's hand, and Ranma saw him clearly. A short guy in a ski mask, nothing at all like the businessman they had collided with the day before yesterday.
The gunman pulled himself up, thought for a second, and ran. Ranma let him go, he was more concered about Ryoga, let him be alive, please...
He was. The bullet had just grazed him. "Ranma? Is it...bad?"
"You were just winged. C'mon, let's get you back to the dojo. I'm gonna call Dr. Tofu."
The gunman ran, and Kasumi followed.
Pedaling the rented bicycle, she glided after the fleeing man. He had pulled off his mask as he ran, and she could see that he wasn't the one Ranma had bumped into.
He jumped into a parked car, and drove off. Kasumi would have sworn if she had known how. He was pulling away, darn it...
She leaned forward in the seat, and concentrated on the slowly shrinking tailights in front of her, like a pair of mocking eyes. Breath was coming harder now, pumping the pedals up and down was no longer a smooth, automatic motion.
She played her mind on a certain hospital room, and kept pedaling.
But the spirit can only drive the body so far, and after fifteen minutes, it bacame apparent that she would lose the car.
Panting, crying, Kasumi pulled her bicycle to a halt...
...just as the car pulled into a driveway.
As she watched, a certain man came out of the house. She had found him.
The bomb!
Tonight is the night!
Leaping back on the bicycle, Kasumi rode on the wind, her destination the Tendo dojo.
The man moved steathly down the hall of the dojo, looking for a good place to hide the bundle he carried. Dressed in a black costume akin to a ninja or cat burglar's, he had a definite air of the feline to him. On the bundle, a timer slowly tore away seconds.
This was fairly easy, really. He had thought that a dojo, with all them karate types, would be hard to get into. But no; he just came in through an unlocked window, easy as anything. Now all he had to do was place this...
"Excuse me."
He spun around, expecting to come face to face with a seven-foot tall, firebreathing black belt. Instead, he found himself staring at a young woman in a tattered apron. She was smiling, but he could see the fear behind her eyes. Predators are very good at sensing fear.
The man smiled. Cerberus had told him to stay out of sight, but he had also told him what to do to anyone who saw him. He would have fun with this one.
With a sudden, fluid motion, he lunged for her. One hand clamped around her mouth, the other wrapped around her waist, and he began to wrestle her to the ground.
He felt a sudden pain then, from his chest. Pain and a wet sensation. The strength drained from his arms, and he slowly, almost reluctantly looked down at the knife embedded in his side.
It was a simple, wood-handled kitchen knife; the blade nicked and the handle notched from hours of chopping vegetables. There was one like it, or several, in every well established kitchen.
He looked up at the stupid, vacant-eyed girl, choked, and fell into blackness.
Kasumi stared at the corpse, and couldn't decide whether to cheer or throw up.
In the end, of course, she did neither. She just stared at the person she had killed. A pool of crimson was slowly begining to spread across the clean tile floor.
She had killed him. Her. Killed a real, living, breathing person. And, as hard as she tried, she couldn't bring herself to feel any kind of sorrow for the man. Just a numb, empty feeling.
She turned him over, and plugged the wound with part of his shirt. Then she went to the closet, brought out her mop and bucket, and methodically cleaned every inch of the floor, marveling at how easily the blood was scrubbed away.
Quietly, so as not to wake the sleeping household, she dragged the man and his bundle outside. There, on the lawn, she went through his pockets until she found the ring of keys. Leaving him under a bush, she walked down the street to where his car waited.
Kasumi was the only one in the family besides her father who could drive. She wasn't very good at it, but she was able to pull up in front of the dojo without making too much noise. Getting out, she prepared to transfer both body and bomb to the back seat of the auto.
She was hefting the heavy, dead weight in a fireman's carry when she heard the noises coming from Nabiki's window. She stopped, cocked her head, and for a few seconds just stood there and listened.
Kasumi slowly began to blush, her face turning a deep crimson. A big, foolish grin emerged. Nabiki? And HIM, of all people? A couple? How long had this been going on?
Whenever it had started, this was just what Nabiki needed. Money had been her chief love for far too long, and it was high time for her to find someone special.
Humming with contentment, Kasumi carried the corpse to the rear of the car. Then she picked up the bomb, placed it on the seat beside the driver's, and slid behind the wheel. People who give you gifts, she thought giddily, should get gifts in return.
Starting the car, she drove away.
She parked about a block from the house. Removing the corpse's black sweater, Kasumi carefully wrapped the bomb in it. The timer gave her about three hours.
Dawn was breaking, but the sun had not yet fully risen; the cover of darkness would be hers. Slowly, creeping from bush to tree, she made her way toward the lair of her family's murderer.
The house was a pleasant looking middle-class home; it was hard for her to imagine it as a nest of bombers. You were expecting a seedy brick tenement?, she thought wryly, as she scanned the near wall for a means of enterance.
They've left the window unlocked. Good. She just needed to lift the pane...there we go...climb through, mind the sill, tripping and falling is the last thing you need. My goodness, it's actually fairly tidy in here. It's...a kitchen. With pots and jars and racks and drawers and is that an apron hanging on the door? Do monsters like him wear aprons, just like me? Do they cook meals for their families and friends, and feel pride in it? How can they do that and then go out and do such horrible things?
Dear me, what if this isn't his house?
She would have to make sure. She couldn't just place the bomb and leave, not when this kitchen gave doubt to his presence.
Bending over, she opened a cabinet beneath the sink. The wrapped bundle was placed behind a row of plastic detergent bottles and cleansers. Straightening, she walked towards the kitchen door, and grasped the handle.
Run run he's here don't do this run you'll be caught run...
No. She had to be sure. She would not cause some poor family the pain that she had felt. She had to be sure.
Kasumi opened the door and stepped into the hall. Moving as quietly as she could, she opened the first door she came to.
There was the man, all right. Awake and staring right at her. Oh dear.
Kasumi turned to run, and heard the bark of a gunshot. Something grabbed her by the shoulder and threw her at the far wall, and then all was blackness.
She hurt, and she wasn't sure where she was...
"She's awake."
Her eyes flicked open, jerkily. The man and two other stood before her, looming like statues. She had been propped in a corner, and her left shoulder, God, the blood, it hurt...
"Who are you?"
She wasn't sure who had spoken. The room - the kitchen, they had brought her into the kitchen - was moving, shaking. The men didn't seem to notice.
The clock on the microwave caught her eye. 9:17. So.
"Who sent you? Do you know those boys? What where you after?"
She would have to stall them, keep them here. "How can you cook here and do such terrible things?"
The man in the center looked startled. "It's a hobby. Killing is a business. Who sent you?"
"But how can you..."
"I cook for relaxation," he said patiently. "And I savor the results.
What goo d are expensive foods if you can't prepare them well?"
He cooks for himself, Kasumi realized.
"Who sent you? Why are you here?"
She looked around the beautiful, homey kitchen, and let her gaze rest on the stained apron in the corner.
"I would talk. You won't like what we'll do if you don't."
The breadboard in the corner had several notches in it, and a few stalks of celery rested on it. She idly wondered what they were for; a vegetable stew, perhaps, or a salad...
"Hurt her."
The two men closed in, sadistic grins on their faces, as Kasumi turned her attention to the gas stove, a rather old model and not very clean...
They took her over to the breadboard, held down her hand, and began to remove her fingers with a pairing knife.
After the third finger, it became clear that she wasn't going to talk.
They took out a packet of sewing needles, and went to work with those.
When that didn't work, they used the stove.
And when even that didn't work, when it was clear that the girl just wasn't going to do the intelligent thing and talk, they used their feet.
She was being torn apart, the men just kept laughing...
...the world was red and whirling, a rioting dance of pain, and the laughter went on...
...She felt something break inside, and the pain moved in a different direction and the laughing sliced through her and she couldn't reach the pan for some reason...
...Howling laughter, as the blows and boots and fists rained down into her haze of self, she heard someone scream in agony and realized it was her, and the silly pan was just out of reach, how would she make dinner without it? And they were so hungry, and she had the work still to do so that nothing bad would happen...
The laughter changed, going from cruel to gentle. "Kasumi? Kasumi dear?"
Mommy wanted her. She ran over, and Mommy tucked her into bed. "You sleep now, Kasumi. You've had a long day."
...The blows rained down, somewhere, and someone's ribs broke and speared deep, sending a wrench of...
Kasumi was tired, and snuggled down beneath the cool sheets. "But the work, it's not done..."
Mommy smiled, and kissed her cheek. "Tomorrow we'll do it together, you and I." Kasumi gave a sigh of contentment, and held Mommy's hand.
...Pain, somewhere somewhere distant...
The clock hit 9:30, and Kasumi fell asleep.
The doorbell pealed. Akane stood up, and began to walk into the hall to answer it. Maybe Kasumi had gotten home from her seminar. At least then she wouldn't have to hear about how she couldn't cook; she could, she knew she could.
At the door, Ukyo paused, adjusting her clothing. After making sure everything was in order, she rang the bell. Ukyo hoped he liked the dress; she had picked it out especially for him.
The door opened to reveal Akane, who looked less than thrilled to see her.
"Akane! Um, is, ah, Ranchan in?"
"He's still asleep. Would you like to come in?"
She didn't sound very enthusiastic about the idea, Ukyo noted. Too bad for her. "I'd love to," she smiled.
Nabiki climbed out of bed, stretching and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The doorbell rang, probably Kasumi getting home from her seminar. It had been a while since Kasumi had left home, and the dojo just hadn't been the same for the last few days.
She pulled on her clothes, grabbed her ledger and pen, and ran downstairs to see Kasumi.
It turned out not to be Kasumi after all, but Ukyo. And Ryoga. And Tofu. What was this, a convention? At least everyone seemed peaceful enough...
"You'll cook for us, Ucchan? Thank you so much! I've been scared to death of having to eat another of Akane's charcoal breakfasts!"
"RANMA NO BAKA! *whack*
"You hit Ranchan, you...!"
"Kawaikuneeeeeeeeee..."
Nabiki sighed, and began to total up how much the hole in the roof would cost to fix.
Saburo watched as Ranma Saotome soared heavenward as if shot from a cannon. Let's see, he mused, that angle should take him towards...
A distant splash was heard.
...the river. Saburo grinned. He loved this town.
Whistling a merry tune, he strode off. Around him, the birds sang of the pure joy of life.
Morning in Nerima.
Kasumi arrived home from her seminar to find the whole family gathered in front of the TV. "I'm back, everyone!"
Soun looked up, his face relieved. "Kasumi! Thank Heaven you're safe!"
Akane looked exasperated. "Daddy, Oneechan's seminar was in Osaka. The bombing was in Tokyo. Somehow I don't think she was in any danger."
Kasumi looked mildly interested. "Bombing?
"Some lunatic blew up a house downtown. They think the owner was some kind of terrorist or something, and one of his bombs went off in his face."
"Oh my!"
Later that evening, the phone rang.
Kasumi put down her broom and got it on the second ring. "Hello, Tendo Residence?"
The voice on the other end was solemn, heavy. "This is Police Examiner Okawa, down at the 23rd precinct. I'm very sorry to have to tell you this, but...um, are you Mrs. Tendo?"
"Oh mercy, no!," Kasumi laughed. "I'm Mr. Tendo's daughter, Kasumi Tendo."
Silence for a few moments. "You're...Kasumi Tendo?"
"Yes. Is something wrong, Police Examiner?"
"I'm sorry, Miss Tendo. There seems to have been a mistake. Good night."
"Good night," Kasumi said, puzzled. She shrugged. It couldn't have been very important.
With a smile, Kasumi resumed her Work.
Finis.
Ex cathedra - Author's Notes:
This took me quite a while to write, especially the second half. Perhaps that 's because I knew from the beginning how the story was going to turn out. Most of my stuff just kinda writes itself - I'll stop suddenly and just stare at what I've written, and think, "Now where the hell did that come from?". I knew exactly where this story was going, from the first word...and perhaps that slowed me down. It sounds strange, I know, but I hear that other writers have had similar problems.
My original goal was to write a story with Kasumi as the main character. Why? I've always been kinda curious about her, what she's really like. Character development was not a priority for Kasumi in the anime. But what we do see gives us a lot of questions. Why is she like that? How can she possibly see things in such a rosy light?
The easy answer, of course, is because that's the way Takahashi wrote her. My personal theory is that Nabiki and Kasumi were both intended as parodies of the two extremes of Japanese women - the traditional, subservient housewife and the motivated, profit-
seeking businesswoman. The resulting characters poke fun at both the people they parody and the stereotypes that others apply to them.
Of course, that's all very good in RL. But it still doesn't tell us why Kasumi acts the way she does. I wanted to do a piece that would give us an idea of how she thinks.
The first few storylines that I thought of were comedies. I discarded them as not being a good match for the goal.
A strong idea was to explore the way Kasumi felt about Dr. Tofu, but I just couldn't think of an interesting story to go along with it.
Finally, I settled on having Kasumi play detective in a comic mystery. I revved up the Mac, and began to type. And realized that I had problems.
There was no earthly reason for Kasumi to try to solve anything. She's too damn passive. If something odd happened, Ranma and Ryoga and Akane would be the ones to investigate, while Kasumi tossed off an "Oh my!" and baked something. I had to come up with a way to (1) Make Ranma & Co. unavailible, and (2) Give Kasumi a reason to act strong enough to penetrate her blissful state of existance.
That's the moment the fic turned dark.
Kill off everyone but Kasumi. Have Kasumi seek revenge.
No. First of all, that's not Kasumi's style. Second, I didn't want to write something _that_ dark. I wanted a portrait of Kasumi, not a Kasumi Goes Rambo piece. There had to be a way out, a chance for a happy ending.
Kidnap? Yeah, right. Stealing Akane is one thing, but kidnapping every major cast member and sucessfully holding them would take a small army. And if something like that DID happen, Kasumi would probably do the sensible thing - call the police.
Time travel. Wasn't there some kinda mirror or something?
I posted a request to the FFML, and promptly got a responce from HTG. Cool. This was perfect. Kill them all!
I finished part one and posted it. Since this was a darkish, serious piece, I was nervous about the responce. Frankly, I was going to consider myself lucky if I even got three pieces of C&C.
As it turned out, I got 42 pieces. Wow. Most people seemed to like it. Others told me that if I didn't make Kasumi feel better RIGHT THAT INSTANT, they would do unpleasant things to me.
And then came the Really Long Revising. I finished Nameless 7 & 8, did some wo rk on a couple non-anime projects, and settled down to type this thing.
I went through 4 different revisions. Normally fanfic writing is smooth and effortless, but this...gah. Glad it's done.
The names of the two other assassins are from Robert Ludlum's Bourne Trilogy, which had a slight impact on the story.
Great big thank you's go to Harvey Griffin, Matt Trotter, Joyce Meadows, Kergma, and especially Travis Butler. And those who wrote C&C, well, bless you. :)
Much of this fic was written to the strains of Enya's "Cursum Perficio" and "Boadicea", and lots an lots of Bach.
Interested in the aftermath of this? Check out Converging Series at
.edu/~rpm/converging_series
C&C, People. Keep churnin' 'em out.
- M. Loader, August 2, 1996, Las Vegas NV mike