This ain't no self-insert fic.
This ain't no slash fic neither.
This is Top Dog.
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The Lucky Dragon bar and restaurant at the corner of 5th and 12th in central Shinjuku was a bit of an oddity.
It was one of the oldest buildings in the district, jammed between two high-rise towerblocks; a traditional Korean restaurant originally constructed in the years following the Second World War. On that particular Monday afternoon, it was fairly busy. There were in fact thirty-seven people in the building; six staff and thirty-one customers, one of whom was an undercover cop. The Lucky Dragon was suspected of being a front, either for the Tongs or the Yakuza, nobody was really sure who, but there were definitely suspicious goings-ons at the place.
Nobody in the building had any idea of how abrupt an end said goings-ons were about to come to as a silver Isuzu Trooper with tinted windows turned onto 5th Street; the 4x4 pulled to a halt opposite the restaurant and its windows rolled down, revealing that it had four occupants, all of whom were wearing ski masks.
At some unseen signal, the guy in the front passenger seat leant out the window with a Fabique Nationale FAL battle rifle fitted with an underslung grenade launcher; he shouldered the rifle and fired the launcher. The grenade smashed through the window of the Lucky Dragon into the lounge, and landed in the lap of a customer at table 7, where it detonated, showering white phosphorous around the room; the man whose lap it landed in very literally never knew what hit him. Six others were set on fire by the grenade burst, and the remaining thirty became quite keen on exiting the now burning building.
As they fought to be first out the door, another problem presented itself; the gunman opened fire with the rifle, cutting the first three people out the door down in a hail of 5.56, and the two in the back of the Isuzu popped out their windows, joining in with the sub-machine guns they were holding –Heckler and Koch MP5's fitted with massive drum magazines. All but one of the occupants of the restaurant, given the choice between fire and lead, chose to try their chances with the hail of bullets; the gunmen mowed them down in their tracks. By this time, everyone on the streets within several blocks was running like their lives depended on it – there was a good chance they did.
The last surviving occupant of the Lucky Dragon, a rail-thin blonde girl with a boyish frame, ran like hell for the toilets, flung the window open, wormed through, landed in the alley behind the burning restaurant, and concentrated on putting as much distance as possible between herself and the Lucky Dragon, swearing all the way.
The Isuzu's crew waited for a few moments, then rolled their windows up and roared off.
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Koji Jitsuyama had joined the police as soon as he hit eighteen. He'd worked up from a beat cop to the hallowed ranks of TMPD's detectives, and over the years he'd seen a lot of nasty scenes – traffic accidents, Yakuza gang wars, roadkill week, murder, mayhem, and general street violence.
However, the scene that met his eye as he surveyed what had been a pleasant Korean restaurant in a nice district took the cake. A quick count showed twenty-eight bodies on the steps, all of them in extremely bad condition, and from the stink of burnt meat there were more inside the charred building. It looked like a tiny extract from Armageddon, bundled up and dumped in the middle of inner-city Tokyo.
"Oh holy shit." Jitsuyama said. He hadn't seen that much blood and entrails liberally spread around in one place since the slaughterhouse bombing back when he was a rookie.
One of the other cops – a beat officer he didn't know – nodded.
"I won't be able to face the thought of noodles for months."
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Disclaimer: It's disclaimed. You know the drill.
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Top Dog: Biker Half 2.0
Book 1: Birth of a Modern Legend.
A Doghead13 / United Galaxies fanfic
Written & produced by Calum J 'Doghead13' Wallace
Brought to you by Hairy Scottish Git Productions, GMBH
This is not a drill.
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Chapter 8: Only Half Alive
(In which we meet a tragic little rich girl and a trebuchet)
Twenty minutes later, Jitsuyama was picking through the interior of the burned-out building along with robbery-homicide detective Matsubara. They'd found eight more stiffs inside the ruin, all badly burned, one so badly they'd have to go for dental records to identify him. Three of the victims had been packing heat –a snub-nosed Nambu .32 police-issue automatic on one of the burned stiffs, and two of the ones who'd been gunned down on the steps were packing Czech-made Skorpion sub-machine guns, though only one of them had got his out. The Nambu was damaged enough to make identification difficult; it's ammunition had cooked off in the fire. All three guns were in evidence bags on their way to Okuno's lab and identification.
The restaurant's walk-in meat freezer drew a wan grin from the pair of cops. It had survived the inferno pretty much intact; the shell was discoloured, but it was still in shape.
Matsubara tested the handle for residual heat and, finding it cool to the touch, hauled the freezer open.
The two men froze, rooted to the spot, staring at the contents of the meat freezer.
"Add at least another ten homicides to the list." Matsubara said.
The Lucky Dragon's meat freezer was loaded with human bodies, bereft of their heads, hands, and feet, and hung up by the ankles on meat hooks. They'd been defrosted by the heat of the fire.
Jitsuyama turned away; Matsubara slammed the freezer, and the two men continued silently checking the debris.
The next thing that drew their attention was the basement. The stairs down were of course in bad condition, but the door at the bottom was unscathed; it was a metal, naval-looking door, complete with a turn-handle at the centre.
Having picked his way down, Jitsuyama gave the handle a spin.
The door swung easily open, and Jitsuyama shone his torch into a gun maniac's heaven.
The freezer was a charnel-house; the basement was an armoury, mostly stuffed full of sub-machine guns, but with a few automatic rifles and, to Jitsuyama's considerable shock, a pair of shoulder-launched single-shot-and-dispose anti-tank missile launchers and a man-portable mortar.
"Holy shit." He said. "You could start another world war with this lot!"
"Let's get them the Hell up the station." Matsubara said.
And so they did. They roped four of the uniformed cops into the job, hand-balled all the guns and ammo into one of the vans, counting the weapons in the process, and took off with great haste towards HQ with six hundred and fifty-eight assorted firearms in the back.
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When Akane came through from the phone, Horse the cat was critically observing the scene from the middle of the dining table while Xian Pu noodled with her guitar on the sofa and Rei sat, completely unaware of her surroundings, in the chair that had by now been deemed to be Rei's chair; there was no sign of Micheru. As for Ranma, she was in female form, dressed in raggy muscle T and leather trousers, and she was cleaning her bike using the Tendo's garden hose; the hose sort of told Akane what Ranma was doing in curse form.
The thick layer of dirt was gone from the Suzuki, revealing that rather than the matte black Akane had thought, the bike was painted in a high gloss finish; only the forks, lamp lenses, mirrors and exhausts were a different colour – the fork sliders were bright metal and the exhausts were now unmistakably segments of scaffolding tube bent into shape and coated with matte black heat-proof paint. Now that it wasn't absolutely covered in filth, a couple of details were actually visible, like the bright red valve tap on the nitrous oxide cylinder, the mural of an angel on the top of the fuel tank, and the way the wiring and control cables were tucked mostly out of sight.
"Hey, Ranma." Akane said.
"Sup?" Ranma grunted.
"We're going over the park and meeting up with my mates. Wanna come?"
"Yeah sure." Ranma said, standing up. Horse leapt down from the table, sauntered over to the chair upon which Rei was seated, and climbed up onto her lap; she didn't bat an eyelid as the hulking cat settled himself.
"That cat definitely swaggers." Akane said. "I think he's a macho asshole."
"There's more'n one macho asshole in this room." Ranma remarked, jerking a thumb at herself, which seemed rather strange coming from a busty pint-sized redhead in a barely decent due to wear and tear tank-top.
"That no work, Airen no asshole." Xian Pu told her.
Ranma chuckled and mooched through to the kitchen in search of hot water.
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Two minutes later, Ranma came mooching back out the kitchen, back in the body he'd been born with and smoking a rollie as he hauled his leather jacket on; Akane found the different effect on his muscle-T a bit disappointing.
"So what's th' plan?" he asked.
"Daisuke's going to give me a lift." Akane said. "He'll be round any minute now. You wanna ride along, or are you bringing your bikes?"
Ranma frowned slightly, contemplating the beer Akane's arms were loaded with, then glanced at Xian Pu.
"There room in yer mate's car fer Miss Lightweight?" he asked. Xian Pu stuck her tongue out at him; he ignored it.
"Sure." Akane said.
Ranma nodded. "Think I'll take me bike. She'd better not if we're gonna be drinkin'."
Akane grinned, remembering Drunk-Immobile-Xian-Pu from the nightclub.
"Too true." She said. Xian Pu stuck her tongue out at Akane for good measures while Ranma casually got his leathers sorted out.
A rumble of Subaru announced Daisuke arriving; Ranma swung aboard his bike and asked, "Where exactly are we headin'?"
"The park just opposite the school." Akane said. "It's near the school so most of the dickheads won't go there unless it's during the school year at lunch break."
"Uh, I dunno howta get there." Ranma admitted.
"Well, why don't you just follow us?" Akane asked.
Ranma grimaced and grumbled about crappy slowpoke sports cars as Akane and Xian Pu climbed into the Subaru, then followed the car off into the maze of streets known as Nerima.
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Ten minutes later, they drew up opposite Furinkan High. Right enough, there was a moderate-sized municipal park, and a compact carpark; Ranma parked his bike beside Daisuke's Impreza, and glanced around as the others got out the car. A group consisting of Yuka, Sayuri, Gos and Kaori was lounging around in the park at the benches that overlooked the pond; his attention rapidly got diverted when he saw what was stationed in the schoolyard the other side of the road.
"You know when we say about the Trebuchet Incident?" Akane said. "There's the trebuchet."
There were three medieval siege engines scattered around the schoolyard; a smashed-up ballista, some form of catapult, and a truly enormous trebuchet.
The trebuchet seemed to have been made from a mix of telegraph poles and old railway sleepers; it was massive, solidly constructed, and looked fully operable.
"It's there as a reminder." Akane said. "Every time someone sees it, it tells them 'This is what happens if you screw with Akane Tendo'. See the lighter patch in the top floor? That's where the principle's Land Cruiser hit the wall."
"Let me get this straight. Ya loaded a four wheel drive inta it, an' flung it at th' buildin', right?"
"Right." Akane confirmed. "Well, actually, we kinda assembled the trebuchet around the truck. What's left of the Toyota is still in room C2. There was a lot of other stuff happened that day, but yeah. That's the trebuchet."
Ranma went over and examined it.
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A trebuchet basically consists of three poles; two uprights and an arm.
The arm is pivoted between the tips of the uprights, which are attached to some form of assembly to keep the whole shebang upright.
A very heavy weight is attached to one end of the arm, and a sling to the other. The arm is winched down (raising the weight) and the projectile is loaded into the sling, then the winch is simply released.
The weight descends, causing the sling (and projectile) to ascend; when the weight gets right down the projectile proceeds onwards in a high arcing parabola.
The trebuchet is one of the most efficient throwing devices ever designed; what it lacks in accuracy it more than makes up for in simplicity and effectiveness. It is able to hurl a lot of weight a long way.
In the United States, a group of modern-day trebuchet enthusiasts have stated the intent to throw a Cadillac the length of a football field; that is not an unrealistic goal, and the pun was entirely intentional.
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Looking up at the huge trebuchet Akane had apparently constructed, Ranma found himself wondering exactly why this mighty machine had ended up being used to fling lemon meringue.
After a few moments, he decided he didn't want to know.
"This thing in workin' order?" he asked.
"Of course; I keep it fully maintained in case we ever need it again." Akane told him; she'd wandered over to the trebuchet with him. "You never know what the education authorities will try to use to enforce their petty rules."
"What a fuckin' beauty." Ranma muttered, evil schemes dancing through his mind, such as loading Kuno into the trebuchet and testing his aerodynamics. If that thing had flung a four wheel drive a couple hundred feet, it should be able to throw an arsehole halfway to Tokyo Bay.
"Glad you like it." Akane said, smirking to herself.
Ranma gave her a funny look and went to join the rest of Akane's crew.
They settled themselves, passed beers round, Gos stuck some Front 242 on, and then they got an unexpected interruption.
"Hey, who's that?" Sayuri asked, jerking her head in the general direction of where the bikes and car were parked.
"Dunno, but she's hot." Akane said, peering in the direction Sayuri had indicated.
"I know her, vaguely." Satoshi said. "Her name's… Cod something? Shit, can't remember. She went to the same grade school as me."
"That one in her leg musta hurt like a right bastard when she got it." Kaori remarked. "And ouch, that arm doesn't look comfortable."
"Definitely broken." Ranma agreed.
"I seem to remember something about her getting hit by a car." Satoshi said.
The tall girl stopped beside Ranma's bike, and thoughtfully examined it. Ranma heaved himself to his feet and ambled over, followed by Xian Pu and several of the goths.
"Quite a beast, ain't she?" he said.
"This is your motorcycle, correct?" the girl asked.
Ranma nodded enthusiastically.
"Yup." He said. "Suzuki GSXR1100R, bored out ta 1300cc. Been buildin' her up since I wuz nine; I keep choppin' an' changin' her engine, she's puttin' out somethin' like three hundred an' sixty brake horse at th' back wheel, so that's closer ta five hundred at th' crank – I hadta use a clutch offa a racin' car, only part that'd take th' strain. She's a fuckin' animal. Problem is, she's really scrapin' th' top a' what th' materials can handle – she's always blowin' parts. I just got done rebuildin' her gearbox, she'd smashed second ta fragments. Hey, we ain't been introduced. I'm Ranma Jaku Saotome, pleased ta meet ya."
"My name," the girl said, "Is Kodachi Kuno."
The goths gave her highly doubtful looks; Satoshi snapped his fingers and slapped himself across the forehead.
"That was it." he said.
"Any relation to Tatewaki Kuno?" Akane checked.
"Indeed; he is my elder brother." Kodachi said. "You'd be the Akane Tendo girl about whom he obsesses, correct?"
"Yeah." Akane said, slowly nodding.
"And that would be why your face is familiar." Kodachi said. "Unlucky you."
"How would you know my face?" Akane doubtfully asked.
"It seems that, until some kind of upset involving a siege engine that Father and Tatewaki refuse to elaborate upon, you were a favourite target for the Furinkan Photography Club." Kodachi said, shrugging lopsidedly.
"Typical." Akane muttered. "That arsehole and his fixations – it doesn't make any sense why he latched onto me like that."
"It makes perfect sense." Kodachi snapped. "Tatewaki's self-image revolves around his sex appeal, and when you spurned him I believe he simply lashed out at this perceived assault against his masculinity. I do not believe it helped that I chose the same day to inform Tatewaki and Father of my bisexuality."
"Figures." Akane groused. "The thing I want to know is how to get his attention off me and someplace else."
"A .357 Magnum?" Kaori suggested.
"Shut up, Kaori." Satoshi growled. "That's seriously unfunny."
Kodachi suddenly cast an aggravated look around the group.
"You may as well ask about it." she said. "Everyone does."
"About what?" Akane blankly asked.
"My arm!" Kodachi snapped.
"What about it?" Ranma asked. "Sure, it ain't hangin' right, figured ya bust it recently or somethin', 'specially wiv yer limp. So what? Shit happens."
"Recently?" Kodachi blankly asked. "Ranma, I broke my arm eight years ago. I also broke both my legs, one of which still doesn't work quite right, my other arm, my collar bone, my skull and very nearly my neck. I was hospitalised for two and a half years, and I was in a wheelchair for another two years. When I die, I shall accurately be able to claim to have died three times; I was resuscitated once at the scene of the attack, and once again in the hospital."
"Holy shit, what happened?" Akane asked.
"My father was a detective in the Advanced Police's Special Crimes Task Force; they said he was one of the finest police officers in the world." Kodachi said, a hint of pride in her voice. She sighed. "I remember little of those days, but I do remember that during an exceptionally important investigation Father was sent a photograph of me, Mother, and my brother, making our way home from school; Mother was a teacher at the grade school Tatewaki and I attended. Written on the reverse of the photograph was, 'We know where your children go to school. Mind your own business if you want them to stay healthy'. Father did not pay the warning any heed. He continued his investigation; it led to the arrest and conviction of several prominent yakuza, one of them the oyabun of a major family. Two days after the trial began a car ran me down while we walked home; it's occupants used a sub-machine gun on Mother. I… I remember hearing an engine close by, then waking up in hospital six weeks later. It seems I was struck by the car's fender and thrown a hundred and ninety feet; I hold the Tokyo record for the distance thrown from the scene of a collision. Tatewaki never recovered from the shock; he escaped without injury to his body, but they tell me he held Mother in his arms as she died. He was nine. Father left the police the next day; he was given a cushy job administering a quiet high school in the area, but within the year he had gone quite insane; the school went insane along with him, I believe the siege engines were merely a symptom of something far deeper. And me? They tell me I shall never walk properly nor use my left hand as long as I live, and I will definitely never be able to run again."
"Shit." Ranma muttered.
"Told you it was unfunny." Satoshi hissed to Kaori.
Ranma considered Kodachi's arm for a long moment, then shrugged.
"Well, could be worse." He said. "Yer still breathin' so it ain't got ya yet."
"Indeed." Kodachi said. "I have to go."
"Seeya around." Ranma said with a nod.
Kodachi inclined her head. "Count on it, Saotome-san." She said, and departed.
"Intriguing girl." Satoshi remarked, having waited until she was out of earshot.
"Especially considerin' she's got three ninjas followin' her." Ranma said with a casual nod. "Two guys anna girl. Whoever they are, they're good, but they're maskin' their ki an' they ain't maskin' th' blank gap, an' th' guys got some sorta, I dunno, thingy in their auras what's givin' me th' heebie-jeebies."
"Very intriguing girl." Satoshi said with a nod. "I have a suggestion, O fearless leader."
"What?" Akane asked. She was staring blankly in the direction Kodachi had gone.
"Invite Kodachi to join our merry band." Satoshi said with an evil grin. "Let's see her numbnutted brother and his drooling goons have a go at us when we've got his tragic baby sister with us."
"You are evil, man." Kaori said, sounding impressed. "Pure evil."
"I have another suggestion." Sayuri said. "Well, actually it's more a way to piss Kuno off, but…"
"Go on." Akane said.
"Hit on Kodachi. What? Hey, she said she was bisexual."
"That," Akane said, "Is an excellent idea… I should have thought of that." A little image ran through her mind of a public make-out session between her and Kodachi causing Kuno's head to explode, complete with a miniature mushroom cloud.
"I think someone's been feeding Sayuri my evil pills." Satoshi remarked. Sayuri stuck her tongue out at him; he tried to grab the tip, and failed.
"Stop molesting Sayuri." Akane said. "That's my job."
"Make Sayuri stop sticking her tongue out." Satoshi told her. "It tempts me."
Hiroshi and Daisuke shared a doubtful look while Yuka and Sayuri broke down in a giggle fit.
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"What a fascinating group of people." Kodachi murmured. There was something that intrigued her about the group of goths, and especially the tower of muscle and leather and hair that was Ranma Saotome; she couldn't get him out of her head. There was something exciting and exotic and dangerous about the massive young man; something quite unlike the sedentary life Kodachi knew. Even his name – the presence of that middle name – had something alien that made Kodachi's pulse quicken; he was the absolute antithesis of the lot of a crippled girl in Tokyo, and Kodachi found herself wanting to know everything about him.
As she walked back towards her ancestral home, she made a mental promise to herself that she'd speak to the chief of her family's retainers at once – Master Sasuke. The ancient ninjitsu master had served five generations of Kunos, and in that time he had made an incredible network of contacts and information sources throughout Japan and the wider world.
Surely he would be able to tell her what she wanted to know.
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Half an hour later, the crew got back to the dojo; Xian Pu had avoided getting drunk by the simple expedient of turning down the offer of a beer, and she proceeded upstairs to unpack for display the remainder of her weapons – a pair of rifles, a sub-machine gun, three handguns, and two swords.
Nabiki wandered past just as the half-Chinese girl was finishing setting her miniature arsenal up; the middle Tendo's attention was instantly attracted to the rack of swords.
Or rather, one sword in particular.
It looked much like a katana, but a touch on the short side and with a blade as straight as an arrow, finished a gleaming jet black, and with an oddly European-looking crossguard.
Nabiki reached for the sword, paused with her hands a few inches away from it as she suddenly remembered how manners are quite important around people with guns and sharp things, and asked, "Can I?"
"Yes, but don't unsheathe him more than half an inch. It's unlucky to draw a blade without letting him taste blood." Xian Pu said, switching to English since Nabiki spoke said language.
Nabiki blinked, momentarily taken aback, then remembered this stocky purple-haired BDU-clad girl was a barbarian warrior. Having weird traditions and superstitions is one of those things that barbarian warriors do.
She carefully examined the sword; it was beautiful. The hilt was inlaid with silver Chinese dragons interlinked in a manner reminiscent of Celtic knotwork, their heads forming the pommel; the guard was a knotwork circle. The blade (what little of it she drew) was inlaid with hundreds, thousands, of tiny runes, each a millimetre at most across. The sheath was made of the same black wood as the hilt, once again inlaid with a continuation of the interlinked dragon motif.
"It's beautiful." Nabiki said, gingerly placing the sword back on the rack. "It's got to be at least five, six hundred years old… I guess it was the prize for that tournament, or is it a family heirloom?"
"Wrong, wrong and wrong." Xian Pu told her. "This sword is my masterpiece. I finished him six months ago."
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"Sasuke? Where are you, Sasuke?" Kodachi asked, peering cautiously into the servant's quarters. As she'd expected, there was no sign of any of the staff, not even any sign they'd ever been there. Aside from Sasuke, Kodachi had only ever heard the voice of one of the servants – a young man with a cold voice, and Kodachi had no idea what said young man was called or actually looked like; she'd overheard him arguing with Sasuke once some years before. She'd seen several of them around, but she only knew bits of the appearance of two of them; Master Sasuke was of course familiar, and she'd once come face-to-face with a girl on the second floor; the girl had very promptly vanished, seemingly into thin air. All the other times Kodachi had seen members of the Kuno staff, they'd been clad in nightsuits that completely concealed their identities, thanks in part to the addition of mirrorshades.
Having a ninja clan as your family servants can be an unnerving experience.
"You called?" Sasuke said, stepping out of nowhere, or at least that's what it looked like.
Having got her pulse rate back under control, Kodachi nodded.
"Indeed." She said. "Earlier today, I chanced to encounter a most fascinating individual, and-"
"Ah, yes; Ranma Jaku Saotome, correct?" Sasuke checked.
"How did you know that?" Kodachi asked.
Sasuke smiled enigmatically.
"Your guardians told me you had encountered him, and seemed quite taken with the young wild man." Sasuke said, with a very Gallic shrug. "I have been awaiting your query for two hours now. You desire to see what I know of the Saotome family, correct?"
Kodachi nodded. "And what do you mean, guardians?"
Sasuke paused.
"Since your mother's tragic death, no Kuno has ever been alone." He said. "Our honour was stained when those thugs slew her and maimed you, and we shall not permit a repeat of that incident. But enough on that subject; you wish to know all you may of Ranma Jaku Saotome. I have prepared a preliminary dossier on the Saotome family, including the nature of their connection to the Tendo family and the Moroboshi ninja clan. I advise you to endeavour not to infuriate those families, Mistress Kodachi. As yet, a fragile peace exists between their kind and the Kuno line; I would like to see that peace last, as neither the Kuno line nor my clan would survive the breaking of that peace."
"I would like to meet my guardians some day." Kodachi said, accepting the slim folder Sasuke handed to her.
"Some day, perhaps you shall." Sasuke said, with his mysterious smile firmly in place. "I shall endeavour to find what may be found about the young man in question and those he calls kin; it will not be an easy task. Out of all the ninjas of Japan, the Moroboshis are unquestionably the most talented; they say that anything a child of Happosai touches turns to shadows for a reason."
"Who is this Happosai?" Kodachi asked.
"Master Happosai Moroboshi." Sasuke said. "He is known by many titles; he is the Emperor's spymaster, and the master of the Imperial assassins. He is like an octopus that dwells in the darkness; his power reaches out to touch all, and none are outside his knowledge. It is said that he knows the secrets of life and death, and it is said that sex is secondly only to the Emperor in his mind. His children and grandchildren are the Moroboshi ninja clan, first among equals; they act as the Emperor's private army, his hand in the shadows; known also as the Emperor's Blades, they have served our Emperors since the dawn of Japan's history. All the ninjas of Japan listen when Master Happosai speaks; he is the mightiest of our kind. It is said that Happosai stole the Way of Shadows from the gods, and was cursed to serve the children of Ameterasu for as long as the Crysanthenum Throne stands; Happosai is said to be the creator of almost as many Arts as Son Wukong. I believe there is a kernel of truth within the myths of Happosai. One thing is certain; there has been a Happosai in the direct service of the Emperors since records began. It is possible that the name 'Happosai Moroboshi' is in fact a title given to the serving Master of the Moroboshi clan, a ceremonial name inherited from the first Happosai, the one who either brought ninjitsu to Japan, or created it. But I do not believe so."
"You mean you think this Happosai guy's immortal?" Kodachi asked.
Sasuke bowed his head.
"Mistress Kodachi, I first met Master Happosai when I was a boy of only six years of age. I attended a conclave of sorts, a meeting upon neutral ground of all the ninja clans of Japan, to decide what stance to take on the Meiji Restoration; I was there as the eldest son of my father, who was at the time the master of my clan. Master Happosai told my father that he believed many great things would come of me; a belief I still struggle to fulfil. In 1938 I once again met Master Happosai, and he had changed not one jot. In 1945 I met Master Happosai again; it was like he had not aged a minute. And once more, in 1966, I met Master Happosai, and he looked just the same as always. Then again, two days ago, I met Master Happosai, and he had changed not one jot. I believe he does indeed know the secrets of life and death."
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It was a beautiful morning. It had rained during the night, and the wet grass gave everything that crisp, clean feeling you only get after rain. The rumble of the excavation labor woke Akane up a bit earlier than usual, and ensured she wouldn't get back to sleep, so with a resigned sigh she headed downstairs.
Akane stopped dead in her tracks as she saw what was sat on the patio.
Ranma was in female form, and dressed only in boxer shorts and a battered black T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off. She was meditating, seated in a full lotus position.
It was right there and then that Akane came to a conclusion that seriously embarrassed her.
She fancied Ranma's female side.
"Oh holy shit!"
Nabiki's yell attracted the attention of everyone in the house, unsurprisingly enough; even Horse had a look-see. Ranma just opened one eye, peered sideways, made a 'not-my-problem' expression, and went back to meditating.
The middle Tendo daughter was standing in the porch, holding the morning newspaper, and staring at the front-page headline:
FIRE-BOMBING IN SHINJUKU!
Soun saw it, looked faintly satisfied for a moment, and then went back to his usual serious expression. Genma and Horse were the only members of the household who caught this momentary change of expression; the cat gave Soun a thoughtful look and swaggered back to Rei's chair, while Genma favoured the Tendo patriarch with a doubtful look, then shrugged in a not-my-problem kind of way.
As for Nabiki, she shakily put the newspaper on the table, had a look through the rest of the mail, made a startled noise, handed most of it to her father (who handed the industrial supplies catalogue to Akane) and opened the large envelope she was still holding.
She then settled herself at the table for a good read while the rest of the household was setting up for breakfast.
After a few moments, she handed Akane a printout.
"What do you think?" she said.
Akane looked at it. It was a ballistic report on a bunch of bullets that had apparently been found at a crime scene. It seemed several of them had gone through someone.
"Ouch." She said, reading over it. "Hey, that's funny. How come the slugs were stuffed full of wolfsbane?"
The reaction wasn't what she expected. Nabiki went as white as a sheet, grabbed the printouts, squeaked "Wolfsbane?!?" and ran for her room.
"… that was weird." Akane said.
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Nabiki drummed her fingers as the phone rang through.
"Jitsuyama here, talk to me." Came Jitsuyama's voice.
"Nabiki here." Nabiki said. "I think I've hit on the significance of the aconite."
"Atta girl – what've you got?" Jitsuyama asked.
"Aconite," Nabiki said, "Is also known as wolfsbane."
"Oh holy shit."
---End Chapter---
My source for random authentic Japanese names is very simple; the credits listings on the backs of my assorted anime videos and DVD's. That said, as soon as a character is named, even if they only turn up for one scene and are then never seen again, they go into my master character list, and become fodder for in-jokes and references.
I am given to believe that telegraph poles are called power poles in the States. Likewise, railway sleeper railroad tie. Both are suitably substantial chunks of wood, like you'd need to construct a trebuchet on the scale I described earlier. Truck-chuckin' time.
I'm aware that a Toyota Land Cruiser would be described as an SUV in the States, I just don't feel it's a term Ranma would use. Remember, he's spent time in Britain as well as all over the Far and Middle East, and much of Europe – he's much more well-travelled than the canon Ranma, partly because they did the voyage of training via motorbike. 'Four-wheel-drive' or 'Four-by-four' (written '4x4') is what we call that sort of vehicle here in the UK; either that or 'Japanese imitation Land Rover'. American SUV's aren't at all usual here in Britain, and I guess they're even more unusual in Japan due to the scale of the place; a Hummer is a big vehicle by American standards, now compare it to a Honda Civic… you get my drift.
Yup, ol' Happy is ninjitsu's own personal Jesus Christ. And yup, he's a dirty old lecher. He may be the Emperor's most loyal servant, but he's still Happosai. Happosai not being a pervert would be a bit like Michael Jackson dancing the Macarena while wearing only a buttplug tail – just plain wrong.
Son Wukong is the Monkey King from Chinese myth; he's who Son Goku of Dragonball fame was based upon. And yes, Son Wukong is going to feature in this tale. And no he's not Happosai. Oh, and by the way, 'The Emperor's Blades' is indeed an Elder Scrolls reference.
Moving on, here's some brief notes on my gun selection for this chapter –
I don't have much information on Japanese police firearms. I named the .32 a Nambu as that's the only Japanese pistol manufacturer's name I've been able to find.
The MP5 and the FN FAL were chosen due to the fact they are very professional weapons – they're both kit used by 22 Special Air Service. I don't know the exact capacity of the MP5 drum magazine as I only know it from airsofting. The underslung on the FAL is probably an M203E of the type that mount on a RIS rail, which I once again only know from airsofting. I'm unsure if white phosphorous incendiary grenades are available for the M203E; artistic license? Oh well.
The Skorpion sub-machine gun was made in Czechslovakia and Yugoslavia; at one time it was made for export by Zastava in Yugoslavia, who called it the M84. It's usually seen in 7.65mm Browning (aka .32 Auto) but it's supposedly also been made in .380 Auto and 9mm Parabellum. It is a sub-machine gun about the size of a heavy pistol, and is highly popular with your itinerant terrorist due to it's inherit concealability; that is why I chose it.
The Thompson M1A1's were probably snuck back into the country during the war in the Pacific by returning Japanese soldiers, or left in Japan after the occupation; that's what I'm trying to indicate with the level of wear in their barrels. Tommy guns are highly reliable and built like a tank; it's not at all unlikely for a Tommy gun made and used during the war to still work perfectly happily in the 1990's or even today, and they're liable to keep right on working for decades yet.
Moving on, in a few moments I'll be posting a file containing the varied date systems I've come up with for the setting; it'll be in the Top Dog forum, and it at least sort of applies to both this and Headmaster's Socks.
Goddamn I need to reduce my AN's; oh well, see you all next time.
Doghead Out.