Disclaimer:
Megaman X character designs belong to Capcom. I'm just borrowing 'em, guys. I'll have 'em power washed before I bring 'em back. Yeah, yeah, I'll even hot wax 'em. Ranma characters belong to Rumiko Takahashi. I'm just borrowing 'em, Rumiko-san. I'll have 'em power washed before I return 'em. Yeah, yeah, I'll even hot wax 'em. There's a character design that I borrowed from the Sonic anime, but that should be it. He'll be waxed and washed too.
Flashfyre5 Presents
A Flaming Amarant production
In association with Digital Wizardry Studios, Minnesota
The Opening Bet
Chapter Five: The Virus
" " = speech
[ ] = panda board
= thought
/ / = written
* * * * * *
I inhale slowly, savoring the scent of burning flesh. The pungent scent of roasting human is quite unlike any other, a rare and intoxicating perfume that is to be savored on those occasions that one is fortunate enough to indulge themselves, either by action or chance. Suddenly, a skyscraper in front of me, ringed by palm trees and bushes, explodes with a thunderous explosion. The shock wave from the blast would be enough to send any person unfortunate enough to be nearby tumbling away like a rag doll. I should know. I set the charges that caused the explosion. How important can a company called 'Square' be, anyway? I stroll casually up to the still-warm rubble of the skyscraper that had dominated this part of the little island that I now walk upon until just recently. The perfume is so intense that it's staggering, especially with my sense of smell. I only wish that I could concentrate the smell and bottle it, that I might wear this scent as a testament to my glory.
Finally, I open my eyes, which I'd had screwed shut for the explosion. My eyes are more than a little sensitive, and such a flash of light would surely destroy them. No matter. The sight of the semi-molten rubble is almost as intoxicating as the scent of this place. I pivot on my left foot, the heavy boot scraping loudly on the rubble-strewn concrete, and look around at my handiwork. Not a single building remains standing in this once-great city, nor a single human left alive, as far as I can tell. As wonderful as the perfume of death is, it deadens my nose to other scents, and though gazing upon the blasted rubble of these pathetic human constructs is like seeing the gates of Heaven itself, it provides many hidey-holes that a human could hide in. It is of no matter. Should one survive, it would only serve to heighten my glory.
I sigh, knowing that my time here is up. As wonderful as this place now is, there are other places that I have to gift with my presence. Slowly, savoring every last minute on the now-dead city of Honolulu, I walk to the ocean, and dive in. My legs disengage, and fold into my body, and my twin water turbine engines kick in. They function much the same way as a jet engine does for a fighter, but these are made to work underwater. I relax and allow the powerful engines propel me toward my next target, which lies halfway across the Pacific. At my best speed, not more than two days away.
Not nearly soon enough.
* * * * * *
The man, huddled in the wreckage of what had once been his car, wondered if it was safe to emerge. This man in particular did not like to hide, to wait for the exacting toll that death would bring. His opinions and his job reflected that. He was, arguably, the best composer that the world had seen in generations, and was proud of the fact. He worked for one of the largest, most visible companies in Japan, one that had international renown. His name and work was known to people across the globe that had heard his music and idolized him, though they would never see his face.
In his line of business, one had to have an exceptional sense of hearing. Thus, pressed up against the seat of his overturned, American-built Ford Taurus, it was the only way he could tell of the happenings of the outside word. There had been one explosion, followed by a string of them and, finally, one huge one that sounded like it had been very near. Afterwards, silence. A long and agonizing silence that told him that, though there was no more destruction, there was nobody else around to notice.
Finally, restless, he pushed open the passenger side doorway and peeked out. The stench that immediately assailed him almost made him vomit, and the sight that assailed his eyes did the rest. Once he had recovered, he bared himself and rose from the wreckage of the American car, standing proud and tall, like a character from the games he wrote music for.
The city was a wasteland, the incinerated and boiled-alive dead littering the streets, making it look like a war zone. This was not that far from the truth, the man supposed, looking at the ruins of the Hawaii headquarters of Squaresoft. Suddenly, movement caught his eye, and he turned to see a small, semi-humanoid form walking into the surf. The sun glinted off its angled head, and the man immediately recognized the source of the destruction of the city. He'd seen the shark-like monster earlier, just before it fired a blue ball that had blasted his car to wreckage. Now, as he watched, the creature dove into the water, it's fin sticking out of the water as it surged away from shore, angling towards the setting sun.
The man thought about this for a few moments, his thinking processes dulled by the horrific damage that surrounded him. Suddenly, he remembered what lay, from here, in the west, where the sun set. He snatched his cellular phone out of his pocket and hit the speed dial labeled '1' in Japanese. Some bored-sounding young girl answered it, and he cursed at her until she transferred him to the head of staffing, which was the best he could get without providing verification information that he couldn't remember.
"Shin Kagami, head of staffing," a crisp male voice answered in Japanese.
"Put me through to Hironobu Sakaguchi, now!" the man practically yelled into the phone, speaking Japanese as well.
"The CEO? I'm sorry, sir, but I don't think that I can do that," the man replied, obviously miffed.
"This is Nobuo Uematsu, Gods damn you, and if you don't put me through to Hironobu NOW, by all the powers in the Heavens, I'll have your job!" the man roared, losing what calm he had retained. The line was immediately filled with the sounds of years-old muzak as he was transferred. Finally, a bored-sounding man picked up the line.
"Sakaguchi," he said simply. Nobuo liked Hironobu for his frankness and lack of patronization. Naturally, this only applied to his own company. As far as anybody else was concerned, he was as false a man as was ever born.
"Hiro, it's me, Nobuo," Nobuo said, reining in his temper and speaking in a normal tone of voice.
"Nobuo, so you've made it to Hawaii," Hironobu replied, his tone immediately brightening. Nobuo had no idea why Hiro liked him; few enough people did. Though he was brilliant, he was a hard man to work for, and this alienated many of his co-workers. "How is the work on the Tactics project coming?"
"Couldn't say, Hiro. The building's been flattened," Nobuo said bluntly.
"What?" Hiro returned, alarm seeping into his voice.
"When I got here, some kind of metal monster came out of the ocean, leveled the city, and left. As far as I can tell, I'm the only survivor," Nobuo explained.
"Nobuo, you're not making any sense," Hiro said, even though he knew that Nobuo was a no-nonsense kind of guy. He'd never made a joke, as far as Hiro knew, and would never even think of staging a practical joke, especially one of this magnitude. "Now, what came out of the ocean?"
"Some kind of metal monster, or maybe a robot. I don't know. I only got a glance at it before it blew up my car. It blew up the rest of the city, building by building, then left. I saw it go back into the sea, headed westward," Nobuo explained, calming himself again.
"Westward?" Hiro answered, his voice a little uncertain. Nobuo knew that the man had caught on to what this meant.
"Yes, westward, toward Tokyo!"
* * * * * *
Nabiki pulled away from the basement's doorway and leaned against the wall next to it. Her mind was racing , set alight by Dr. Light's suggestion about Jakob's Law.
she wondered.
"So," she heard Ranma say. Quieting her thoughts, she pressed her ear to the crack in the doorway so that she could listen more clearly. "Is there anything we can do to pull them back apart?" Ranma asked.
"I'm afraid not," Dr. Light answered, sounding truly regretful. "If things don't right themselves on their own, there's nothing that we can do about it."
"Damn," Ranma cursed softly, almost beneath Nabiki's ability to hear. Neither one of the two said anything for a long time after that. Nabiki sank to sit on the floor, her ear still pressed to the doorjamb. "So," Ranma finally said. "What do we do now?"
"Live, I suppose," Dr. Light replied. "As long as the Virus didn't make it into this world, there shouldn't be any real problems."
"What virus?" Ranma asked.
"Don't worry about it, Ranma. It's probably nothing that you'll have to worry about," Dr. Light answered.
"Whatever, Doc," Ranma sighed, obviously miffed. Dr. Light seemed not to hear him, and silence descended upon the duo once again. "What did robots do in your world, doc?" he asked after a while.
"Do you mean robots or Reploids, Ranma?" Dr. Light asked.
"Is there a difference?" Ranma asked.
"Very much so," Dr. Light said. "Robots, though they may possess sentience, are bound by specific codes of conduct that, no matter how much they may want to, they cannot violate. They must do what a human orders them to and, once given orders, cannot deviate from the specified task until it is completed. Reploids, on the other hand, can and do think completely for themselves. They accept orders if they want to, when they want to, and may ignore them at any time. They are unbound by the laws which govern robots, and follow only their own conscience. I believe that one person once described them as being 'humans in a metal body'."
"So I'm a Reploid, right?" Ranma asked.
"I should certainly hope so. After all, I designed you," Dr. Light joked. Ranma granted the bad joke a snort.
"So, what did Reploids do in your world?" Ranma asked.
"All sorts of things. Many were purchased by law enforcement agencies, and became police. Some were built to be scientists, and made some truly great discoveries. Others worked as secretaries, and other businesspeople," Dr. Light elaborated. "In the beginning, due to the great expense involved in creating them, a Reploid was only built to do a certain job, and mass produced with a predisposition towards that kind of work. However, as my original technology was refined, the costs involved dropped, and foundations were established for the sole purpose of building original, well-rounded Reploids to simply live and work, as a productive member of society. Soon, the only mass-produced models were fighters and doctors, as most people found that Reploids were just like any other person, once you got past the body."
As these Reploids matured, they found themselves desiring to join the workforce, to make something out of their existence. Many returned to the factories where they were built to have new, more appropriate bodies built for them. Those that became Generals in an army, for example, needed stronger, more lethal constructs than those that became diplomats, who had their own needs. Since most were intelligent enough to know how they themselves worked, many chose to design their own bodies. Needlessly to say, this brought both great versatility and great diversity. There wasn't a walk of life that one Reploid or another didn't call his or her own. In short, they did everything," Dr. Light summed up.
"You like to talk, don't you?" Ranma asked sardonically. Dr. Light chuckled in response.
"I suppose that I do," he agreed.
* * * * * *
Above the icy plains of northern Siberia, a gleaming metal figure seemed to float through the air on soundless, motionless wings, searching for some un-nameable object. The dreadnought, for this construct truly feared nothing, moved slowly, as though he had all the time in the world. Indeed, he had all the time he needed. Those that knew he existed were loyal to him, would soon be as such, or dead.
He was powerful; no doubt about that. He stood well over six feet tall, every inch of that devoted in some way to destruction. His lower arms, gleaming silver cylinders that tapered to a point at the elbow, had enough strength to crush a car like it was a pop can, and enough hidden firepower to incinerate that car and everything in a good radius around it. His upper arms, armored with nine silver bands each, further amplified his already staggering strength, and housed the powerful generators that powered the weapons in his arms. His chest was silver with purple inlay that wove in and around his whole upper chest, giving it the illusion of depth and waviness. The bottom of his breastplate, terminating above where a human's abdominal muscles would be, was a thick purple band that started where each nipple would be, were he human, and wrapped around his back. The front part, where his pectorals might be, was hinged, and housed even more hidden weaponry. Even he knew which robot had inspired his main body, but he held no resentment. He knew a good design when he saw one, and even more so when he inhabited one. The only aberrations were the twin rods jutting from his back, each glowing with blue energy. They were three and a half feet long each, and stood at a forty-five degree angle to his back.
His 'stomach' was a model in simplicity; four bands of thick silvery metal wrapped around his midsection, the top one disappearing beneath his breastplate and the bottom vanishing beneath his pelvic juncture. The bands were thick, needing to protect the thunderously powerful fusion generator that generated the massive amounts of power that he needed to function in a fight. The amount of energy that the generator produced at full capacity could be used to power a small town. Even still, he needed the auxiliaries in his arms to supplement that, as the weapons he favored required a truly bestial amount of power them.
The pelvic juncture, too, was simple in design, but far more complex in its function. The semi-triangular construct was fairly lightly armored, compared to the rest of him, but housed the power buffers that protected him from his own power surges. Though it was somewhat of a weak point, destroying the buffers would result in an explosion that would annihilate whatever managed to do so. Though it would mean the destruction of his body, the robot was not concerned. He had a backup copy of himself.
His upper legs were armored like his arms, in banded silver, thirteen gleaming rings armoring his powerful legs from almost any conventional attack. His lower legs widened into boots, the smooth silver bordered by purple on the edges. They housed dash jets that could propel him to a land speed of over thirty-five miles per hour. They also contained the antigravity generators that would allow him to do so without ever touching the ground. His feet were small, just large enough to provide him with solid footing. They had sturdy rubber grips on the bottom for traction, and a large hole in the middle for his jets.
Truly, though, the most dangerous part of the robot was his head. It housed the brain of a man/monster that had both the desire and the capability to slaughter any and everything that crossed his path. Modeled, in what had become a tradition for him, after a human's head, it was designed to be the most menacing face that his builder could imagine. It was completely bald, the light colored psudo-skin reflecting light as if it were real skin. His jaw was large, and square, and his ears were fairly small. His nose was, if anything, a bit large and regal-looking, in the sense of the regality of a warlord of a great army. He was large lipped, those lips locked into a near-permanent sneer over his pristinely white teeth. One look into his eyes, however, would dispel any impressions of the robot's humanity. They were perfectly round gems, the deep crimson color of drying human blood. They were matched by a vertical slashes of deepest purple that extended from his mid-forehead to the middle of his cheeks. In the center of his forehead was a round ruby, similar to those in his eyes, set in silver.
After a time, it seemed that the war machine had finally found what it was searching for, and began a steady descent. Indeed, a speck of purple marred the pristine whiteness of the tundra, far ahead of the flying machine. As they drew nearer one another, its features came into focus, for it watched and approached the flyer as carefully as the flyer himself did.
Its design was much simpler than the flying robot's. Its head was lupine, pointed sheets of purple-painted metal giving the it appearance of a wolf. It's shoulders and breastplate, a single piece, were heavy, and purple bordered with light blue. Its arms were silver from the shoulder to the elbow, where they once again became jagged, hairlike sheets of purple metal that terminated in three-inch-long claws. The arms themselves were longer than usual, hanging almost to the robot's knees. His legs were simple affairs, lightly built and highly mobile. Though fairly thick, the jagged purple metal that they were composed of, built in the same fashion as its lower arms and head, were amazingly lightweight and ended in razor sharp three-inch-long claws, like his hands. Overall, he had a feral look to him, the look of a hunter waiting to pounce.
Soon, the silver robot landed in front of the purple. Now that they stand side by side, it is obvious that the purple one is much shorter than the silver, standing somewhere around five and a half feet. For a moment, the two looked at each other, examining one another for weakness. Suddenly, the purple robot knelt at the silver one's feet.
"My Lord, it is good to see that you are still in existence in this world. So many of our comrades have vanished in the past few weeks," the robot said reverently, his voice a surprisingly deep tenor.
"Get up. We don't have time for this kind of thing any more," the silver robot commanded. "Address me as Sigma. You are one of the few that survived. That doesn't make you worth the parts you're built out of, but you and a handful of others are all that I've got. What's your name and designation?" The purple robot rose, but kept his eyes downcast.
"I am Arctic Wolf, Lord Sigma, a scout. My commander commended me three times for decision making in the heat of battle, and four for excellence in reconnaissance," the purple robot said.
"Who was your commander?" Sigma asked, one part of his forehead where his eyebrow would be cocked, a bit surprised.
"I served under Blizzard Buffalo during the third insurrection, shortly after I was Infected, and did not receive a permanent assignment after that. All my commendations are from Lord Buffalo," Arctic Wolf explained.
"Impressive. Buffalo didn't like giving out awards," Sigma mused.
"Thank you, sir," Arctic nodded.
"I wasn't pleased when you called me out here. I was investigating something that may prove extremely important in the coming war," Sigma said, almost as if Arctic Wolf hadn't even spoken. His voice, though always sneering, sounded positively hateful while saying this, and Arctic Wolf cringed, fearing Sigma's temper. "However, you may be exactly what I need," he continued, and Arctic risked a hopeful look upwards. "Someone or something has been destroying Reploids in Tokyo. So far, the only times that that's happened were when humans were threatened. Go there and find out what it is."
"You think that it might be..." Arctic trailed off, fear growing inside of him. There were few things that a Reploid feared almost as much as Sigma, and two of them were X and Zero, the living, breathing Grim Reapers of Maverick society.
"X or Zero? Maybe. I'm not taking any chances. I would've won the first war if I hadn't underestimated them. I lost the second and third because Doppler and the X Hunters couldn't build a decent Reploid to save their lives. This time, though, I've got real power backing me," Sigma finished. "Inferno Phoenix and Typhoon Dragon have already gone Maverick, and Mine Boar will soon join them."
"Three of the Hunter High Command," Arctic breathed, in awe. "What about Riptide Shark? If the other three made it, he will have too."
"With three of the four and myself, there shouldn't be any problems. Besides, I have a stockpile of the Virus. If possible, I'll recruit him," Sigma explained. "Now get to Tokyo. I expect your first report there in two days. Keep me waiting and I will personally dismember you, piece by piece. Just because you're one of the Masters doesn't put you above my wrath." Stunned, Arctic Wolf could only stare at Sigma.
"A... A Master? Lord, are you sure?" Arctic stammered. Sigma turned away from him before answering.
"Blizzard Buffalo was one of the few things that Doppler did right. If Buffalo thought enough of you to commend you seven times, then you should be good enough. Just remember," Sigma warned, the rods on his back glowing red and beginning to roar. "Everyone else has proven themselves to me; you have not. Make one mistake and it'll be your last. With those ominous words, he blasted skyward, foregoing his usual silent flight for the speed that his fully powered flight could give him.
Arctic wolf stood, silent, in the crater of melting snow that his master had left behind, still stunned. Finally, he turned and began to run in a southeasterly direction. As he did so, he dropped to all fours, his long arms matching his legs perfectly. Slowly, as things began to settle in, he began to grin ferally. Eagerly, he ran towards the coast; Tokyo was a long way away, and he planned to make his first report early.
* * * * * *
"Umm... Doc?" Ranma ventured after a few minutes.
"Yes?" the Doctor replied.
"I was just wondering... just how much like people are Reploids?" Ranma asked.
"What do you mean?" Dr. Light asked in turn, confused.
"Emotionally. Like, could one fall in love, or dream, or something, you know, the stuff that makes people people," Ranma explained.
"Of course," Dr. Light answered. "Love was as common among Reploids as it was among humans. There were even a few cases where a Reploid fell in love with a human, and vice versa. Dreaming was also common among Reploids, though not as common as human dreaming. Usually, a Reploid didn't start dreaming until years after it had been manufactured. In other words, once it's personality core had stabilized. Do you understand?"
"I think so, Doc," Ranma answered, thoughtful.
"Why did you ask?" Dr. Light asked.
"Huh? Oh, umm... just curious, I guess," Ranma said, his hand behind his head.
"Seriously, Ranma. If it's a secret, I promise that I won't tell anyone," Dr. Light promised.
"Well... okay," Ranma agreed. "Before the Apocalypse and whatnot, me and my Pop were on a really long training journey to master my family's school of martial arts. We ended up at a place called Jusenkyo."
"Jusenkyo?" Dr. Light cut him off. "How interesting."
"You've heard of Jusenkyo?" Ranma asked, surprised.
"I have. In fact, it was one of the most intriguing finds of my time," Dr. Light admitted. "Unfortunately, that find ended what had been a dynasty of beliefs for the people that lived in the area."
"What do you mean?" Ranma asked.
"Everyone thought that the springs were magical in nature," Dr. Light explained. "However, under careful testing, it was found, much to our surprise, that the water was, in fact, a genetic symbiont. That's why a person 'cursed' in one spring can't become 'cursed' by another; the symbiont already has control and kills any intrusion upon it's host," Dr. Light explained. Ranma, stunned, stood silent for a moment.
"Could you cure it?" he asked.
"Given the proper facilities, yes. However, many tools necessary for the operation won't be invented for decades, and I don't have their schematics in my files. I'm sorry," Dr. Light apologized.
"It's okay," Ranma said, sounding dejected. He said nothing after that, looking dejected.
"You were telling me about your training trip?" Dr. Light prompted.
"Oh, yeah. Well, we got to Jusenkyo, and me and my Pop were fighting there. Great place for aerial combat. Anyway, I knocked him into the spring of drowned panda. He spazzed and went after the guide, 'cuz he hadn't listened to the poor guy's warnings earlier. I was still on top of one of the poles. Suddenly, this weird feeling started in my stomach, like there was something in it tryin' to get out. It really hurt, and I lost my balance and fell into the spring of drowned girl," Ranma said.
"So you become female with the application of cold water?" Dr. Light asked.
"Uhh... yeah," Ranma agreed, after figuring out what the Doctor had said. "Well, after that, my Pop forbid me from doing martial arts, 'cuz I was both half-human and I was female when I was. Martial arts is all I really know, so..."
"You want me to talk to him about your situation as a Reploid?" Dr. Light supplied. Ranma looked up, a hopeful half-smile on his face.
"Would ya? I've been trying to talk some sense into him for weeks. Maybe he'll listen to someone who actually knows that they're talking about." Ranma asked.
"I'd be more than happy to, Ranma," Dr. Light agreed. "However, I'd suggest that you wait until Akane is repaired."
"No, really?" Ranma asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Geez, Doc, just when I started to think you were smart or somethin'..."
* * * * * *
"No, no, no!" Inferno Phoenix exclaimed, smashing a fist on the steel tabletop that stood in front of him. Atop it lay the half-assembled shell of a Reploid.
"What's wrong?" Typhoon Dragon asked from his position in the corner.
"It's not going to work," Phoenix answered, annoyed. "His legs are too short, and if I make them any longer, they'll be unweildy."
"He can't run fast enough, then?" Typhoon asked, lumbering over.
"Exactly," Phoenix agreed, calming himself.
"What about his turbine? With the repulsors, he should be able to use that," Typhoon proposed.
"No good. I couldn't get decent materials for the repulsors, so he's only got a very general control of his height. The only way for him to be sure to be within striking range is to have them at their lowest setting. That means he'll only be a few inches above the ground," Phoenix said, shaking his head.
"Meaning that an errant rock could cost him a leg," Typhoon finished. "What about a temporal acceleration bubble?"
"A Mark I accelerator would be too big, and I haven't got a diamond of sufficient size for a Mark II," Phoenix negated.
"How big of a diamond do you need?" Typhoon asked.
"Big. At least twenty carats, and absolutely flawless at that. I need it for a lens to project the bubble. Anything less sturdy would fragment in seconds under the pressure," Phoenix answered. There was a hiss, and a small panel hidden in Typhoon Dragon's chest slid open. He reached in and pulled something out.
"Will this work?" he asked, holding an immense cut diamond out to his comrade.
"My God," Phoenix breathed, taking it carefully. "This must be at least fifty carats. Where did you manage to dig this up?"
"I found it in the treasury of the Musk, after I annihilated them. It is an ancient treasure, predating even their dynasty. I believe it is called 'The Dragon's Eye'," Typhoon explained.
"It's flawless," Phoenix said, as if he hadn't heard the words of the giant next to him. "Well, who says nothing good ever comes from a human, eh, Herb?" Typhoon was silent for a long moment.
"You will not call me by that name again. Just as I would not presume to call you 'Saffron', I expect the same courtesy of you. You may use the gem for your creation; I have no wish for it's return now," Typhoon sneered, then turned and retreated to his corner. Phoenix was about to apologize, but decided against doing so. The Virus changed many things about a Reploid, but some, like Typhoon's inability to accept apologies, were immutable and unchangeable. Grinning, he returned to his work, pulling components from the metallic hedgehog's chest so that he would have room for the accelerator.
* * * * * *
Slowly, Akane opened her eyes, the world coming into focus. Squarish clumps of blue, brown, and gray came together to resolve into Ranma's face, looking anxious and hopeful.
"Akane?" he asked, worry in his voice. "Are you all right?"
"I'm..." Akane managed, taking stock of herself. "Okay...," she said, with no small amount of surprise. "I don't get it. I should be trashed right now."
"Yeah, you were. Thanks to Doc Light, though, you're gonna be all right. He's almost done fixin' ya up; that's why you can't move," Ranma said, his relief apparent in his speech.
"Who?" Akane asked.
"Dr. Light. He's this computer program in a big blue capsule that found you. He's a really great scientist, and I think he's figured out what happened with the Apocalypse," Ranma explained.
"Really? Where is he?" Akane asked, intruiged.
"You're inside of me, so to speak," an elderly voice answered. "I've put you inside of myself so that I could repair you.
"Huh?" Akane asked, confused.
"You're propped up inside the capsule so that the Doc can work on you," Ranma explained.
"Oh," Akane replied, looking around. The inside of the capsule was a mass of jumbled wires and silver cables. On the top of the thing was a huge lens, with eight squarish lens-like windows placed around it. She couldn't see the bottom, since her feet were on top of it. Suddenly, she gave a lurch as one particularly large cable slid free from the back of her neck, a small, light grappler arm softly putting her long, black hair back into place.
"There, that does it," Dr. Light said. "You should be able to walk now." Even as he was saying just that, Akane had stepped from the capsule, and was flexing her arm, testing it's mobility. Finding it to her satisfaction, she turned and bowed deeply to the capsule.
"Thank you, Doctor. I owe you a lot," she said formally. Dr. Light's hologram popped up on the pad where she'd been standing, giving the two Reploids their first look at the aged doctor.
"Consider the debt repaid," he replied, bowing equally as low as Akane did. "Just the chance to study your construction from the inside out was enough for me." Almost as one, they both rose. Ranma just smiled through the whole thing.
"In any case," Dr. Light said, "About what it seems you have termed the 'Apocalypse.' I believe that, quite simply, it is an instance of Jakob's Law, which is... well, was more of a theory. Anyways, it states that-"
"Natural disasters are caused by friction between parallel planes of existence," Akane cut him off. "We talked about it in science a few weeks before the Apocalypse. This guy Jakob had just published it, so we were discussing it in class."
"Well, I'm glad that I don't have to explain," Dr. Light said. "It was hard enough to get Ranma to understand."
"You mean that he was right?" Akane asked, more than a little surprised.
"Surprisingly, yes. Though he himself suspected that his theory was false, he published it, in the hopes that his name would endure through the scientific ages. Imagine his surprise when, when he was on his deathbed, it was proven!" Dr. Light said, chuckling. Akane, conversely, was silent, thoughtful.
"There's nothing that we can do about this, is there?" she asked.
"About the planar meld? No. Unless things fix themselves, we're stuck," Dr. Light agreed.
"Doc? I'm gonna go get my Pop, all right?" Ranma suddenly said.
"That would be fine," Dr. Light said.
"I'll come with," Akane declared.
"Actually, Akane, I need you to stay down here tonight. I kinda told Nabiki that you were spending the night at Saryu's house, and if she finds out about Doc Light here...," Ranma trailed off.
"She'll sell him to the highest bidder," Akane finished. "You seem to know her pretty well, for only having lived here a couple of days."
"Let's just say that I think she's been taking pictures of me," Ranma said.
"What makes you think that?" Akane asked. Ranma walked over to his backpack, which he'd dropped by the stairs. He pulled a small square of paper from it and tossed it to Akane. She looked at it, then immediately looked away, blushing.
"Oh... my...," she muttered. "How'd she get this?"
"I think that she's got a remote controlled camera rigged in the bathroom," Ranma explained. "Haven't been able to find it yet, but I'm looking. In any case, I'm gonna go get Pop. Why don't you hide somewhere, so that he doesn't see you and screw everything up."
"All right," Akane said, moving to kneel behind a few old cardboard boxes that held party decorations. Ranma, meanwhile, climbed the steps leading to the main floor. When he opened the door, the hallway was empty; Nabiki had padded away when Ranma started to talk about coming up.
* * * * * *
"Hey, Pop," Ranma called, walking into the living room. His father was playing a game of Go with Soun, and did not look up at his son's summons. "Pop, I gotta talk to ya," Ranma repeated.
"Then talk," Genma growled.
"Jeez, what's your problem?" Ranma sneered. "Anyway, I want you to meet somebody. I think that he might have something pretty interesting to say about my curse."
"I don't care," Genma replied, moving a tile.
"C'mon, Pop. You made this a matter of Giri, and I think that I've found an answer. Gimme a chance," Ranma asked. Finally, Genma looked up from the board. "As a matter of honor," Ranma added.
"Fine, boy, but this had better be worth it. I'll talk to this...," Genma paused.
"Dr. Light," Ranma supplied.
"... Dr. Light when I finish my game," Genma agreed.
"Great! Meet me in the basement when you're ready," Ranma said, then left. Meanwhile, Genma sat and simmered, displeasure rising to cloud his face.
"What is the matter, old friend?" Soun asked, seeing Genma's expression.
"That boy... he's caused me so much trouble...," Genma trailed off.
"What do you mean, Saotome?" Soun asked.
"He's already been dubbed a 'bot lover' in his girl form. No matter who I try to arrange an omiai with, they all refuse. If this keeps up, Ranma'll be the end of the Saotome line," Genma explained. Soun nodded, having had his own problems in finding a match for his own daughters.
"A martial artist's path is frought with peril," he agreed sagely. Genma nodded.
"Too true, Soun. Too true..." Genma stated. Then, he pushed himself to his feet, moving a tile on the board. "Still, if this is anything less than a cure, the boy will pay, and dearly. That's game, by the way, Soun," Genma declared, making his way to the basement door. Soun, surprised, looked at the game board and found it to be so.
* * * * * *
Genma descended the stairs leading to the Tendo basement neither quickly nor slowly. He wanted to resolve this idiocy as much as his son did. On the other hand, his life and what little was left of his honor were at stake in making Ranma male again, or al least human. No matter what, he had decided, he would satisfy honor this one time. Failure would mean supreme, ultimate, and complete dishonor. And a chance to grow... more intimately acquainted with his wife's katana.
His son waited at the bottom of the stairwell, a hopeful expression on his face. Genma mentally snorted; the chances that the boy had found a cure were slim to none. Once he found that there was no realistic chance of finding a male fiancee for Ranma, Genma had practically moved into the local library, poring over every text that might even possibly have a hint of a solution to Ranma's... problem. The boy himself, of course, remained ignorant to his father's efforts. Regardless, there had been nothing in the library.
"All right, Pop," Ranma said, leading the overweight martial artist over to what seemed to be a huge, misshapen cylinder. It had a number of cables and bulges on the top and bottom, while the rest was simply smooth glass.
"What's this?" Genma asked gruffly. The capsule looked extremely technologically advanced, an aspect which he'd not considered in the search for a cure. His hopes lifted slightly.
"I am Doctor Thomas Light," the thing spoke. Genma, surprised, took a step back, while the glass slid down. On the pad in the middle, a grayish hologram of an aged scientist resolved, then bowed respectfully to Genma. Stiffly, Genma returned the courtesy. "You must be Genma Saotome," the hologram spoke.
"I am. Who are you?" Genma returned gruffly.
"As I said, I am Doctor Thomas Light. I am the scientist that invented the Reploids, and Ranma has asked me to speak on his behalf," Dr. Light explained.
"What's a Reploid?" Genma asked.
"A robot that can think and act for itself. Essentially-," Dr. Light began.
"What Ranma is, right?" Genma asked, cutting him off.
"Yes. Now, as I was saying-" Dr. Light answered, but was again cut off.
"Can you make him human again?" Genma asked.
"Human?" Dr. Light asked, confused. "But he's been to Jusenkyo. All he needs to become human again is a little cold water."
"I mean full time. If he's not completely human, or at least male half of the time, he is no good to me," Genma stated flatly.
"What you're asking is impossible, Mr. Saotome. We simply don't have the technology yet. In a few decades, maybe, but not now," Dr. Light said, shaking his head.
"Then why did you want to see me?" Genma asked, his voice cold and gruff.
"I believe that the sentence you passed on Ranma for his curse is unjust. Reploids are humans, by all standards that matter. The only difference between them and humans is the fact that their bodies are made up of circuits and metal, instead of flesh and bone," Dr. Light explained.
"He is a robot. When he isn't, he's a woman. Now...," Genma trailed off, his face coloring with rage. "He resorts to machines and lies to gain his freedom? Oh, the shame."
"He is human!" Dr. Light shouted, having finally lost his temper. "And he deserves much more than what you've given him! I've known him for hours, and he has already gained a great deal of respect from me; more, I suspect, than you give him after knowing him for his entire life. Your son is not weak, Mr. Saotome. You are, because you don't have the strength to stand with him," Dr. Light accused. Genma suffered silently through the tirade, his face darkening to a shade of red usually only seen on apples. By the end, he was shaking with anger.
"You side with this... machine?" Genma spat, turning to his son. Ranma, stunned at the display of emotion on both sides, merely nodded. Somehow, this seemed to calm Genma, because he stopped trembling, and his face resumed it's normal color.
"Very well, then," Genma said, his voice calm. "Ranma, as head of the Saotome clan, I revoke the oath of Giri that I forced you to undertake. You may practice martial arts as often as you choose. However, you will never be the heir to the Saotome school of martial arts." Ranma's heart, or where it should have been, leapt for joy, but another part of him was cold, and he knew that that wasn't the end of things.
"Why can't I be the heir?" Ranma asked. "I'm already better than you are, Pop." Genma didn't answer, but turned and walked to the stairs, his steps slow and deliberate. "Pop, why?" Ranma repeated. Genma, at the base of the stairs, paused. Finally, he spoke without turning to face his son.
"The heir to the Saotome school of Anything Goes martial arts must be a Saotome," Genma stated flatly, without a hint of emotion. "As of now, Ranma, I officially disown you from the Saotome clan. You are unwelcome in my presence. I will return home to my wife, in the hopes that she and I can produce a true heir to our school. Never darken our doorstep." Ranma, shocked, stood with his mouth hanging wide open as Genma ascended the stairs out of the basement. The door at the top opened, then closed, leaving Ranma alone with Dr. Light and Akane. Nobody said anything; they were all too stunned. After a minute, Ranma fell to his knees, then to all fours, the strikes of his metal body against the concrete floor booming loudly in the silent room.
***Author's Notes***
Ha! I did it right!!! ::Sigh:: That feels good. In any case, I have to admit that this is quite a turn of events. It wasn't in my original plan, but as soon as I thought of it, I decided to do a little revising. So, now Ranma's without a family and, depending on Soun's reaction, quite possibly out of a home. What will happen? Who knows?! (me). Anyways, I hope you liked it. If you did, drop me a line. If you didn't, drop me a line and tell me what I can improve. Remember, no response is the worst kind of response. Even if you tell me that it sucked, it lets me know that there are still people out there that are reading my stuff, and that's why I'm writing this thing. I remain, as always,
~Flash
-Flashfyre5@aol.com
Megaman X character designs belong to Capcom. I'm just borrowing 'em, guys. I'll have 'em power washed before I bring 'em back. Yeah, yeah, I'll even hot wax 'em. Ranma characters belong to Rumiko Takahashi. I'm just borrowing 'em, Rumiko-san. I'll have 'em power washed before I return 'em. Yeah, yeah, I'll even hot wax 'em. There's a character design that I borrowed from the Sonic anime, but that should be it. He'll be waxed and washed too.
Flashfyre5 Presents
A Flaming Amarant production
In association with Digital Wizardry Studios, Minnesota
The Opening Bet
Chapter Five: The Virus
" " = speech
[ ] = panda board
= thought
/ / = written
* * * * * *
I inhale slowly, savoring the scent of burning flesh. The pungent scent of roasting human is quite unlike any other, a rare and intoxicating perfume that is to be savored on those occasions that one is fortunate enough to indulge themselves, either by action or chance. Suddenly, a skyscraper in front of me, ringed by palm trees and bushes, explodes with a thunderous explosion. The shock wave from the blast would be enough to send any person unfortunate enough to be nearby tumbling away like a rag doll. I should know. I set the charges that caused the explosion. How important can a company called 'Square' be, anyway? I stroll casually up to the still-warm rubble of the skyscraper that had dominated this part of the little island that I now walk upon until just recently. The perfume is so intense that it's staggering, especially with my sense of smell. I only wish that I could concentrate the smell and bottle it, that I might wear this scent as a testament to my glory.
Finally, I open my eyes, which I'd had screwed shut for the explosion. My eyes are more than a little sensitive, and such a flash of light would surely destroy them. No matter. The sight of the semi-molten rubble is almost as intoxicating as the scent of this place. I pivot on my left foot, the heavy boot scraping loudly on the rubble-strewn concrete, and look around at my handiwork. Not a single building remains standing in this once-great city, nor a single human left alive, as far as I can tell. As wonderful as the perfume of death is, it deadens my nose to other scents, and though gazing upon the blasted rubble of these pathetic human constructs is like seeing the gates of Heaven itself, it provides many hidey-holes that a human could hide in. It is of no matter. Should one survive, it would only serve to heighten my glory.
I sigh, knowing that my time here is up. As wonderful as this place now is, there are other places that I have to gift with my presence. Slowly, savoring every last minute on the now-dead city of Honolulu, I walk to the ocean, and dive in. My legs disengage, and fold into my body, and my twin water turbine engines kick in. They function much the same way as a jet engine does for a fighter, but these are made to work underwater. I relax and allow the powerful engines propel me toward my next target, which lies halfway across the Pacific. At my best speed, not more than two days away.
Not nearly soon enough.
* * * * * *
The man, huddled in the wreckage of what had once been his car, wondered if it was safe to emerge. This man in particular did not like to hide, to wait for the exacting toll that death would bring. His opinions and his job reflected that. He was, arguably, the best composer that the world had seen in generations, and was proud of the fact. He worked for one of the largest, most visible companies in Japan, one that had international renown. His name and work was known to people across the globe that had heard his music and idolized him, though they would never see his face.
In his line of business, one had to have an exceptional sense of hearing. Thus, pressed up against the seat of his overturned, American-built Ford Taurus, it was the only way he could tell of the happenings of the outside word. There had been one explosion, followed by a string of them and, finally, one huge one that sounded like it had been very near. Afterwards, silence. A long and agonizing silence that told him that, though there was no more destruction, there was nobody else around to notice.
Finally, restless, he pushed open the passenger side doorway and peeked out. The stench that immediately assailed him almost made him vomit, and the sight that assailed his eyes did the rest. Once he had recovered, he bared himself and rose from the wreckage of the American car, standing proud and tall, like a character from the games he wrote music for.
The city was a wasteland, the incinerated and boiled-alive dead littering the streets, making it look like a war zone. This was not that far from the truth, the man supposed, looking at the ruins of the Hawaii headquarters of Squaresoft. Suddenly, movement caught his eye, and he turned to see a small, semi-humanoid form walking into the surf. The sun glinted off its angled head, and the man immediately recognized the source of the destruction of the city. He'd seen the shark-like monster earlier, just before it fired a blue ball that had blasted his car to wreckage. Now, as he watched, the creature dove into the water, it's fin sticking out of the water as it surged away from shore, angling towards the setting sun.
The man thought about this for a few moments, his thinking processes dulled by the horrific damage that surrounded him. Suddenly, he remembered what lay, from here, in the west, where the sun set. He snatched his cellular phone out of his pocket and hit the speed dial labeled '1' in Japanese. Some bored-sounding young girl answered it, and he cursed at her until she transferred him to the head of staffing, which was the best he could get without providing verification information that he couldn't remember.
"Shin Kagami, head of staffing," a crisp male voice answered in Japanese.
"Put me through to Hironobu Sakaguchi, now!" the man practically yelled into the phone, speaking Japanese as well.
"The CEO? I'm sorry, sir, but I don't think that I can do that," the man replied, obviously miffed.
"This is Nobuo Uematsu, Gods damn you, and if you don't put me through to Hironobu NOW, by all the powers in the Heavens, I'll have your job!" the man roared, losing what calm he had retained. The line was immediately filled with the sounds of years-old muzak as he was transferred. Finally, a bored-sounding man picked up the line.
"Sakaguchi," he said simply. Nobuo liked Hironobu for his frankness and lack of patronization. Naturally, this only applied to his own company. As far as anybody else was concerned, he was as false a man as was ever born.
"Hiro, it's me, Nobuo," Nobuo said, reining in his temper and speaking in a normal tone of voice.
"Nobuo, so you've made it to Hawaii," Hironobu replied, his tone immediately brightening. Nobuo had no idea why Hiro liked him; few enough people did. Though he was brilliant, he was a hard man to work for, and this alienated many of his co-workers. "How is the work on the Tactics project coming?"
"Couldn't say, Hiro. The building's been flattened," Nobuo said bluntly.
"What?" Hiro returned, alarm seeping into his voice.
"When I got here, some kind of metal monster came out of the ocean, leveled the city, and left. As far as I can tell, I'm the only survivor," Nobuo explained.
"Nobuo, you're not making any sense," Hiro said, even though he knew that Nobuo was a no-nonsense kind of guy. He'd never made a joke, as far as Hiro knew, and would never even think of staging a practical joke, especially one of this magnitude. "Now, what came out of the ocean?"
"Some kind of metal monster, or maybe a robot. I don't know. I only got a glance at it before it blew up my car. It blew up the rest of the city, building by building, then left. I saw it go back into the sea, headed westward," Nobuo explained, calming himself again.
"Westward?" Hiro answered, his voice a little uncertain. Nobuo knew that the man had caught on to what this meant.
"Yes, westward, toward Tokyo!"
* * * * * *
Nabiki pulled away from the basement's doorway and leaned against the wall next to it. Her mind was racing , set alight by Dr. Light's suggestion about Jakob's Law.
she wondered.
"So," she heard Ranma say. Quieting her thoughts, she pressed her ear to the crack in the doorway so that she could listen more clearly. "Is there anything we can do to pull them back apart?" Ranma asked.
"I'm afraid not," Dr. Light answered, sounding truly regretful. "If things don't right themselves on their own, there's nothing that we can do about it."
"Damn," Ranma cursed softly, almost beneath Nabiki's ability to hear. Neither one of the two said anything for a long time after that. Nabiki sank to sit on the floor, her ear still pressed to the doorjamb. "So," Ranma finally said. "What do we do now?"
"Live, I suppose," Dr. Light replied. "As long as the Virus didn't make it into this world, there shouldn't be any real problems."
"What virus?" Ranma asked.
"Don't worry about it, Ranma. It's probably nothing that you'll have to worry about," Dr. Light answered.
"Whatever, Doc," Ranma sighed, obviously miffed. Dr. Light seemed not to hear him, and silence descended upon the duo once again. "What did robots do in your world, doc?" he asked after a while.
"Do you mean robots or Reploids, Ranma?" Dr. Light asked.
"Is there a difference?" Ranma asked.
"Very much so," Dr. Light said. "Robots, though they may possess sentience, are bound by specific codes of conduct that, no matter how much they may want to, they cannot violate. They must do what a human orders them to and, once given orders, cannot deviate from the specified task until it is completed. Reploids, on the other hand, can and do think completely for themselves. They accept orders if they want to, when they want to, and may ignore them at any time. They are unbound by the laws which govern robots, and follow only their own conscience. I believe that one person once described them as being 'humans in a metal body'."
"So I'm a Reploid, right?" Ranma asked.
"I should certainly hope so. After all, I designed you," Dr. Light joked. Ranma granted the bad joke a snort.
"So, what did Reploids do in your world?" Ranma asked.
"All sorts of things. Many were purchased by law enforcement agencies, and became police. Some were built to be scientists, and made some truly great discoveries. Others worked as secretaries, and other businesspeople," Dr. Light elaborated. "In the beginning, due to the great expense involved in creating them, a Reploid was only built to do a certain job, and mass produced with a predisposition towards that kind of work. However, as my original technology was refined, the costs involved dropped, and foundations were established for the sole purpose of building original, well-rounded Reploids to simply live and work, as a productive member of society. Soon, the only mass-produced models were fighters and doctors, as most people found that Reploids were just like any other person, once you got past the body."
As these Reploids matured, they found themselves desiring to join the workforce, to make something out of their existence. Many returned to the factories where they were built to have new, more appropriate bodies built for them. Those that became Generals in an army, for example, needed stronger, more lethal constructs than those that became diplomats, who had their own needs. Since most were intelligent enough to know how they themselves worked, many chose to design their own bodies. Needlessly to say, this brought both great versatility and great diversity. There wasn't a walk of life that one Reploid or another didn't call his or her own. In short, they did everything," Dr. Light summed up.
"You like to talk, don't you?" Ranma asked sardonically. Dr. Light chuckled in response.
"I suppose that I do," he agreed.
* * * * * *
Above the icy plains of northern Siberia, a gleaming metal figure seemed to float through the air on soundless, motionless wings, searching for some un-nameable object. The dreadnought, for this construct truly feared nothing, moved slowly, as though he had all the time in the world. Indeed, he had all the time he needed. Those that knew he existed were loyal to him, would soon be as such, or dead.
He was powerful; no doubt about that. He stood well over six feet tall, every inch of that devoted in some way to destruction. His lower arms, gleaming silver cylinders that tapered to a point at the elbow, had enough strength to crush a car like it was a pop can, and enough hidden firepower to incinerate that car and everything in a good radius around it. His upper arms, armored with nine silver bands each, further amplified his already staggering strength, and housed the powerful generators that powered the weapons in his arms. His chest was silver with purple inlay that wove in and around his whole upper chest, giving it the illusion of depth and waviness. The bottom of his breastplate, terminating above where a human's abdominal muscles would be, was a thick purple band that started where each nipple would be, were he human, and wrapped around his back. The front part, where his pectorals might be, was hinged, and housed even more hidden weaponry. Even he knew which robot had inspired his main body, but he held no resentment. He knew a good design when he saw one, and even more so when he inhabited one. The only aberrations were the twin rods jutting from his back, each glowing with blue energy. They were three and a half feet long each, and stood at a forty-five degree angle to his back.
His 'stomach' was a model in simplicity; four bands of thick silvery metal wrapped around his midsection, the top one disappearing beneath his breastplate and the bottom vanishing beneath his pelvic juncture. The bands were thick, needing to protect the thunderously powerful fusion generator that generated the massive amounts of power that he needed to function in a fight. The amount of energy that the generator produced at full capacity could be used to power a small town. Even still, he needed the auxiliaries in his arms to supplement that, as the weapons he favored required a truly bestial amount of power them.
The pelvic juncture, too, was simple in design, but far more complex in its function. The semi-triangular construct was fairly lightly armored, compared to the rest of him, but housed the power buffers that protected him from his own power surges. Though it was somewhat of a weak point, destroying the buffers would result in an explosion that would annihilate whatever managed to do so. Though it would mean the destruction of his body, the robot was not concerned. He had a backup copy of himself.
His upper legs were armored like his arms, in banded silver, thirteen gleaming rings armoring his powerful legs from almost any conventional attack. His lower legs widened into boots, the smooth silver bordered by purple on the edges. They housed dash jets that could propel him to a land speed of over thirty-five miles per hour. They also contained the antigravity generators that would allow him to do so without ever touching the ground. His feet were small, just large enough to provide him with solid footing. They had sturdy rubber grips on the bottom for traction, and a large hole in the middle for his jets.
Truly, though, the most dangerous part of the robot was his head. It housed the brain of a man/monster that had both the desire and the capability to slaughter any and everything that crossed his path. Modeled, in what had become a tradition for him, after a human's head, it was designed to be the most menacing face that his builder could imagine. It was completely bald, the light colored psudo-skin reflecting light as if it were real skin. His jaw was large, and square, and his ears were fairly small. His nose was, if anything, a bit large and regal-looking, in the sense of the regality of a warlord of a great army. He was large lipped, those lips locked into a near-permanent sneer over his pristinely white teeth. One look into his eyes, however, would dispel any impressions of the robot's humanity. They were perfectly round gems, the deep crimson color of drying human blood. They were matched by a vertical slashes of deepest purple that extended from his mid-forehead to the middle of his cheeks. In the center of his forehead was a round ruby, similar to those in his eyes, set in silver.
After a time, it seemed that the war machine had finally found what it was searching for, and began a steady descent. Indeed, a speck of purple marred the pristine whiteness of the tundra, far ahead of the flying machine. As they drew nearer one another, its features came into focus, for it watched and approached the flyer as carefully as the flyer himself did.
Its design was much simpler than the flying robot's. Its head was lupine, pointed sheets of purple-painted metal giving the it appearance of a wolf. It's shoulders and breastplate, a single piece, were heavy, and purple bordered with light blue. Its arms were silver from the shoulder to the elbow, where they once again became jagged, hairlike sheets of purple metal that terminated in three-inch-long claws. The arms themselves were longer than usual, hanging almost to the robot's knees. His legs were simple affairs, lightly built and highly mobile. Though fairly thick, the jagged purple metal that they were composed of, built in the same fashion as its lower arms and head, were amazingly lightweight and ended in razor sharp three-inch-long claws, like his hands. Overall, he had a feral look to him, the look of a hunter waiting to pounce.
Soon, the silver robot landed in front of the purple. Now that they stand side by side, it is obvious that the purple one is much shorter than the silver, standing somewhere around five and a half feet. For a moment, the two looked at each other, examining one another for weakness. Suddenly, the purple robot knelt at the silver one's feet.
"My Lord, it is good to see that you are still in existence in this world. So many of our comrades have vanished in the past few weeks," the robot said reverently, his voice a surprisingly deep tenor.
"Get up. We don't have time for this kind of thing any more," the silver robot commanded. "Address me as Sigma. You are one of the few that survived. That doesn't make you worth the parts you're built out of, but you and a handful of others are all that I've got. What's your name and designation?" The purple robot rose, but kept his eyes downcast.
"I am Arctic Wolf, Lord Sigma, a scout. My commander commended me three times for decision making in the heat of battle, and four for excellence in reconnaissance," the purple robot said.
"Who was your commander?" Sigma asked, one part of his forehead where his eyebrow would be cocked, a bit surprised.
"I served under Blizzard Buffalo during the third insurrection, shortly after I was Infected, and did not receive a permanent assignment after that. All my commendations are from Lord Buffalo," Arctic Wolf explained.
"Impressive. Buffalo didn't like giving out awards," Sigma mused.
"Thank you, sir," Arctic nodded.
"I wasn't pleased when you called me out here. I was investigating something that may prove extremely important in the coming war," Sigma said, almost as if Arctic Wolf hadn't even spoken. His voice, though always sneering, sounded positively hateful while saying this, and Arctic Wolf cringed, fearing Sigma's temper. "However, you may be exactly what I need," he continued, and Arctic risked a hopeful look upwards. "Someone or something has been destroying Reploids in Tokyo. So far, the only times that that's happened were when humans were threatened. Go there and find out what it is."
"You think that it might be..." Arctic trailed off, fear growing inside of him. There were few things that a Reploid feared almost as much as Sigma, and two of them were X and Zero, the living, breathing Grim Reapers of Maverick society.
"X or Zero? Maybe. I'm not taking any chances. I would've won the first war if I hadn't underestimated them. I lost the second and third because Doppler and the X Hunters couldn't build a decent Reploid to save their lives. This time, though, I've got real power backing me," Sigma finished. "Inferno Phoenix and Typhoon Dragon have already gone Maverick, and Mine Boar will soon join them."
"Three of the Hunter High Command," Arctic breathed, in awe. "What about Riptide Shark? If the other three made it, he will have too."
"With three of the four and myself, there shouldn't be any problems. Besides, I have a stockpile of the Virus. If possible, I'll recruit him," Sigma explained. "Now get to Tokyo. I expect your first report there in two days. Keep me waiting and I will personally dismember you, piece by piece. Just because you're one of the Masters doesn't put you above my wrath." Stunned, Arctic Wolf could only stare at Sigma.
"A... A Master? Lord, are you sure?" Arctic stammered. Sigma turned away from him before answering.
"Blizzard Buffalo was one of the few things that Doppler did right. If Buffalo thought enough of you to commend you seven times, then you should be good enough. Just remember," Sigma warned, the rods on his back glowing red and beginning to roar. "Everyone else has proven themselves to me; you have not. Make one mistake and it'll be your last. With those ominous words, he blasted skyward, foregoing his usual silent flight for the speed that his fully powered flight could give him.
Arctic wolf stood, silent, in the crater of melting snow that his master had left behind, still stunned. Finally, he turned and began to run in a southeasterly direction. As he did so, he dropped to all fours, his long arms matching his legs perfectly. Slowly, as things began to settle in, he began to grin ferally. Eagerly, he ran towards the coast; Tokyo was a long way away, and he planned to make his first report early.
* * * * * *
"Umm... Doc?" Ranma ventured after a few minutes.
"Yes?" the Doctor replied.
"I was just wondering... just how much like people are Reploids?" Ranma asked.
"What do you mean?" Dr. Light asked in turn, confused.
"Emotionally. Like, could one fall in love, or dream, or something, you know, the stuff that makes people people," Ranma explained.
"Of course," Dr. Light answered. "Love was as common among Reploids as it was among humans. There were even a few cases where a Reploid fell in love with a human, and vice versa. Dreaming was also common among Reploids, though not as common as human dreaming. Usually, a Reploid didn't start dreaming until years after it had been manufactured. In other words, once it's personality core had stabilized. Do you understand?"
"I think so, Doc," Ranma answered, thoughtful.
"Why did you ask?" Dr. Light asked.
"Huh? Oh, umm... just curious, I guess," Ranma said, his hand behind his head.
"Seriously, Ranma. If it's a secret, I promise that I won't tell anyone," Dr. Light promised.
"Well... okay," Ranma agreed. "Before the Apocalypse and whatnot, me and my Pop were on a really long training journey to master my family's school of martial arts. We ended up at a place called Jusenkyo."
"Jusenkyo?" Dr. Light cut him off. "How interesting."
"You've heard of Jusenkyo?" Ranma asked, surprised.
"I have. In fact, it was one of the most intriguing finds of my time," Dr. Light admitted. "Unfortunately, that find ended what had been a dynasty of beliefs for the people that lived in the area."
"What do you mean?" Ranma asked.
"Everyone thought that the springs were magical in nature," Dr. Light explained. "However, under careful testing, it was found, much to our surprise, that the water was, in fact, a genetic symbiont. That's why a person 'cursed' in one spring can't become 'cursed' by another; the symbiont already has control and kills any intrusion upon it's host," Dr. Light explained. Ranma, stunned, stood silent for a moment.
"Could you cure it?" he asked.
"Given the proper facilities, yes. However, many tools necessary for the operation won't be invented for decades, and I don't have their schematics in my files. I'm sorry," Dr. Light apologized.
"It's okay," Ranma said, sounding dejected. He said nothing after that, looking dejected.
"You were telling me about your training trip?" Dr. Light prompted.
"Oh, yeah. Well, we got to Jusenkyo, and me and my Pop were fighting there. Great place for aerial combat. Anyway, I knocked him into the spring of drowned panda. He spazzed and went after the guide, 'cuz he hadn't listened to the poor guy's warnings earlier. I was still on top of one of the poles. Suddenly, this weird feeling started in my stomach, like there was something in it tryin' to get out. It really hurt, and I lost my balance and fell into the spring of drowned girl," Ranma said.
"So you become female with the application of cold water?" Dr. Light asked.
"Uhh... yeah," Ranma agreed, after figuring out what the Doctor had said. "Well, after that, my Pop forbid me from doing martial arts, 'cuz I was both half-human and I was female when I was. Martial arts is all I really know, so..."
"You want me to talk to him about your situation as a Reploid?" Dr. Light supplied. Ranma looked up, a hopeful half-smile on his face.
"Would ya? I've been trying to talk some sense into him for weeks. Maybe he'll listen to someone who actually knows that they're talking about." Ranma asked.
"I'd be more than happy to, Ranma," Dr. Light agreed. "However, I'd suggest that you wait until Akane is repaired."
"No, really?" Ranma asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Geez, Doc, just when I started to think you were smart or somethin'..."
* * * * * *
"No, no, no!" Inferno Phoenix exclaimed, smashing a fist on the steel tabletop that stood in front of him. Atop it lay the half-assembled shell of a Reploid.
"What's wrong?" Typhoon Dragon asked from his position in the corner.
"It's not going to work," Phoenix answered, annoyed. "His legs are too short, and if I make them any longer, they'll be unweildy."
"He can't run fast enough, then?" Typhoon asked, lumbering over.
"Exactly," Phoenix agreed, calming himself.
"What about his turbine? With the repulsors, he should be able to use that," Typhoon proposed.
"No good. I couldn't get decent materials for the repulsors, so he's only got a very general control of his height. The only way for him to be sure to be within striking range is to have them at their lowest setting. That means he'll only be a few inches above the ground," Phoenix said, shaking his head.
"Meaning that an errant rock could cost him a leg," Typhoon finished. "What about a temporal acceleration bubble?"
"A Mark I accelerator would be too big, and I haven't got a diamond of sufficient size for a Mark II," Phoenix negated.
"How big of a diamond do you need?" Typhoon asked.
"Big. At least twenty carats, and absolutely flawless at that. I need it for a lens to project the bubble. Anything less sturdy would fragment in seconds under the pressure," Phoenix answered. There was a hiss, and a small panel hidden in Typhoon Dragon's chest slid open. He reached in and pulled something out.
"Will this work?" he asked, holding an immense cut diamond out to his comrade.
"My God," Phoenix breathed, taking it carefully. "This must be at least fifty carats. Where did you manage to dig this up?"
"I found it in the treasury of the Musk, after I annihilated them. It is an ancient treasure, predating even their dynasty. I believe it is called 'The Dragon's Eye'," Typhoon explained.
"It's flawless," Phoenix said, as if he hadn't heard the words of the giant next to him. "Well, who says nothing good ever comes from a human, eh, Herb?" Typhoon was silent for a long moment.
"You will not call me by that name again. Just as I would not presume to call you 'Saffron', I expect the same courtesy of you. You may use the gem for your creation; I have no wish for it's return now," Typhoon sneered, then turned and retreated to his corner. Phoenix was about to apologize, but decided against doing so. The Virus changed many things about a Reploid, but some, like Typhoon's inability to accept apologies, were immutable and unchangeable. Grinning, he returned to his work, pulling components from the metallic hedgehog's chest so that he would have room for the accelerator.
* * * * * *
Slowly, Akane opened her eyes, the world coming into focus. Squarish clumps of blue, brown, and gray came together to resolve into Ranma's face, looking anxious and hopeful.
"Akane?" he asked, worry in his voice. "Are you all right?"
"I'm..." Akane managed, taking stock of herself. "Okay...," she said, with no small amount of surprise. "I don't get it. I should be trashed right now."
"Yeah, you were. Thanks to Doc Light, though, you're gonna be all right. He's almost done fixin' ya up; that's why you can't move," Ranma said, his relief apparent in his speech.
"Who?" Akane asked.
"Dr. Light. He's this computer program in a big blue capsule that found you. He's a really great scientist, and I think he's figured out what happened with the Apocalypse," Ranma explained.
"Really? Where is he?" Akane asked, intruiged.
"You're inside of me, so to speak," an elderly voice answered. "I've put you inside of myself so that I could repair you.
"Huh?" Akane asked, confused.
"You're propped up inside the capsule so that the Doc can work on you," Ranma explained.
"Oh," Akane replied, looking around. The inside of the capsule was a mass of jumbled wires and silver cables. On the top of the thing was a huge lens, with eight squarish lens-like windows placed around it. She couldn't see the bottom, since her feet were on top of it. Suddenly, she gave a lurch as one particularly large cable slid free from the back of her neck, a small, light grappler arm softly putting her long, black hair back into place.
"There, that does it," Dr. Light said. "You should be able to walk now." Even as he was saying just that, Akane had stepped from the capsule, and was flexing her arm, testing it's mobility. Finding it to her satisfaction, she turned and bowed deeply to the capsule.
"Thank you, Doctor. I owe you a lot," she said formally. Dr. Light's hologram popped up on the pad where she'd been standing, giving the two Reploids their first look at the aged doctor.
"Consider the debt repaid," he replied, bowing equally as low as Akane did. "Just the chance to study your construction from the inside out was enough for me." Almost as one, they both rose. Ranma just smiled through the whole thing.
"In any case," Dr. Light said, "About what it seems you have termed the 'Apocalypse.' I believe that, quite simply, it is an instance of Jakob's Law, which is... well, was more of a theory. Anyways, it states that-"
"Natural disasters are caused by friction between parallel planes of existence," Akane cut him off. "We talked about it in science a few weeks before the Apocalypse. This guy Jakob had just published it, so we were discussing it in class."
"Well, I'm glad that I don't have to explain," Dr. Light said. "It was hard enough to get Ranma to understand."
"You mean that he was right?" Akane asked, more than a little surprised.
"Surprisingly, yes. Though he himself suspected that his theory was false, he published it, in the hopes that his name would endure through the scientific ages. Imagine his surprise when, when he was on his deathbed, it was proven!" Dr. Light said, chuckling. Akane, conversely, was silent, thoughtful.
"There's nothing that we can do about this, is there?" she asked.
"About the planar meld? No. Unless things fix themselves, we're stuck," Dr. Light agreed.
"Doc? I'm gonna go get my Pop, all right?" Ranma suddenly said.
"That would be fine," Dr. Light said.
"I'll come with," Akane declared.
"Actually, Akane, I need you to stay down here tonight. I kinda told Nabiki that you were spending the night at Saryu's house, and if she finds out about Doc Light here...," Ranma trailed off.
"She'll sell him to the highest bidder," Akane finished. "You seem to know her pretty well, for only having lived here a couple of days."
"Let's just say that I think she's been taking pictures of me," Ranma said.
"What makes you think that?" Akane asked. Ranma walked over to his backpack, which he'd dropped by the stairs. He pulled a small square of paper from it and tossed it to Akane. She looked at it, then immediately looked away, blushing.
"Oh... my...," she muttered. "How'd she get this?"
"I think that she's got a remote controlled camera rigged in the bathroom," Ranma explained. "Haven't been able to find it yet, but I'm looking. In any case, I'm gonna go get Pop. Why don't you hide somewhere, so that he doesn't see you and screw everything up."
"All right," Akane said, moving to kneel behind a few old cardboard boxes that held party decorations. Ranma, meanwhile, climbed the steps leading to the main floor. When he opened the door, the hallway was empty; Nabiki had padded away when Ranma started to talk about coming up.
* * * * * *
"Hey, Pop," Ranma called, walking into the living room. His father was playing a game of Go with Soun, and did not look up at his son's summons. "Pop, I gotta talk to ya," Ranma repeated.
"Then talk," Genma growled.
"Jeez, what's your problem?" Ranma sneered. "Anyway, I want you to meet somebody. I think that he might have something pretty interesting to say about my curse."
"I don't care," Genma replied, moving a tile.
"C'mon, Pop. You made this a matter of Giri, and I think that I've found an answer. Gimme a chance," Ranma asked. Finally, Genma looked up from the board. "As a matter of honor," Ranma added.
"Fine, boy, but this had better be worth it. I'll talk to this...," Genma paused.
"Dr. Light," Ranma supplied.
"... Dr. Light when I finish my game," Genma agreed.
"Great! Meet me in the basement when you're ready," Ranma said, then left. Meanwhile, Genma sat and simmered, displeasure rising to cloud his face.
"What is the matter, old friend?" Soun asked, seeing Genma's expression.
"That boy... he's caused me so much trouble...," Genma trailed off.
"What do you mean, Saotome?" Soun asked.
"He's already been dubbed a 'bot lover' in his girl form. No matter who I try to arrange an omiai with, they all refuse. If this keeps up, Ranma'll be the end of the Saotome line," Genma explained. Soun nodded, having had his own problems in finding a match for his own daughters.
"A martial artist's path is frought with peril," he agreed sagely. Genma nodded.
"Too true, Soun. Too true..." Genma stated. Then, he pushed himself to his feet, moving a tile on the board. "Still, if this is anything less than a cure, the boy will pay, and dearly. That's game, by the way, Soun," Genma declared, making his way to the basement door. Soun, surprised, looked at the game board and found it to be so.
* * * * * *
Genma descended the stairs leading to the Tendo basement neither quickly nor slowly. He wanted to resolve this idiocy as much as his son did. On the other hand, his life and what little was left of his honor were at stake in making Ranma male again, or al least human. No matter what, he had decided, he would satisfy honor this one time. Failure would mean supreme, ultimate, and complete dishonor. And a chance to grow... more intimately acquainted with his wife's katana.
His son waited at the bottom of the stairwell, a hopeful expression on his face. Genma mentally snorted; the chances that the boy had found a cure were slim to none. Once he found that there was no realistic chance of finding a male fiancee for Ranma, Genma had practically moved into the local library, poring over every text that might even possibly have a hint of a solution to Ranma's... problem. The boy himself, of course, remained ignorant to his father's efforts. Regardless, there had been nothing in the library.
"All right, Pop," Ranma said, leading the overweight martial artist over to what seemed to be a huge, misshapen cylinder. It had a number of cables and bulges on the top and bottom, while the rest was simply smooth glass.
"What's this?" Genma asked gruffly. The capsule looked extremely technologically advanced, an aspect which he'd not considered in the search for a cure. His hopes lifted slightly.
"I am Doctor Thomas Light," the thing spoke. Genma, surprised, took a step back, while the glass slid down. On the pad in the middle, a grayish hologram of an aged scientist resolved, then bowed respectfully to Genma. Stiffly, Genma returned the courtesy. "You must be Genma Saotome," the hologram spoke.
"I am. Who are you?" Genma returned gruffly.
"As I said, I am Doctor Thomas Light. I am the scientist that invented the Reploids, and Ranma has asked me to speak on his behalf," Dr. Light explained.
"What's a Reploid?" Genma asked.
"A robot that can think and act for itself. Essentially-," Dr. Light began.
"What Ranma is, right?" Genma asked, cutting him off.
"Yes. Now, as I was saying-" Dr. Light answered, but was again cut off.
"Can you make him human again?" Genma asked.
"Human?" Dr. Light asked, confused. "But he's been to Jusenkyo. All he needs to become human again is a little cold water."
"I mean full time. If he's not completely human, or at least male half of the time, he is no good to me," Genma stated flatly.
"What you're asking is impossible, Mr. Saotome. We simply don't have the technology yet. In a few decades, maybe, but not now," Dr. Light said, shaking his head.
"Then why did you want to see me?" Genma asked, his voice cold and gruff.
"I believe that the sentence you passed on Ranma for his curse is unjust. Reploids are humans, by all standards that matter. The only difference between them and humans is the fact that their bodies are made up of circuits and metal, instead of flesh and bone," Dr. Light explained.
"He is a robot. When he isn't, he's a woman. Now...," Genma trailed off, his face coloring with rage. "He resorts to machines and lies to gain his freedom? Oh, the shame."
"He is human!" Dr. Light shouted, having finally lost his temper. "And he deserves much more than what you've given him! I've known him for hours, and he has already gained a great deal of respect from me; more, I suspect, than you give him after knowing him for his entire life. Your son is not weak, Mr. Saotome. You are, because you don't have the strength to stand with him," Dr. Light accused. Genma suffered silently through the tirade, his face darkening to a shade of red usually only seen on apples. By the end, he was shaking with anger.
"You side with this... machine?" Genma spat, turning to his son. Ranma, stunned at the display of emotion on both sides, merely nodded. Somehow, this seemed to calm Genma, because he stopped trembling, and his face resumed it's normal color.
"Very well, then," Genma said, his voice calm. "Ranma, as head of the Saotome clan, I revoke the oath of Giri that I forced you to undertake. You may practice martial arts as often as you choose. However, you will never be the heir to the Saotome school of martial arts." Ranma's heart, or where it should have been, leapt for joy, but another part of him was cold, and he knew that that wasn't the end of things.
"Why can't I be the heir?" Ranma asked. "I'm already better than you are, Pop." Genma didn't answer, but turned and walked to the stairs, his steps slow and deliberate. "Pop, why?" Ranma repeated. Genma, at the base of the stairs, paused. Finally, he spoke without turning to face his son.
"The heir to the Saotome school of Anything Goes martial arts must be a Saotome," Genma stated flatly, without a hint of emotion. "As of now, Ranma, I officially disown you from the Saotome clan. You are unwelcome in my presence. I will return home to my wife, in the hopes that she and I can produce a true heir to our school. Never darken our doorstep." Ranma, shocked, stood with his mouth hanging wide open as Genma ascended the stairs out of the basement. The door at the top opened, then closed, leaving Ranma alone with Dr. Light and Akane. Nobody said anything; they were all too stunned. After a minute, Ranma fell to his knees, then to all fours, the strikes of his metal body against the concrete floor booming loudly in the silent room.
***Author's Notes***
Ha! I did it right!!! ::Sigh:: That feels good. In any case, I have to admit that this is quite a turn of events. It wasn't in my original plan, but as soon as I thought of it, I decided to do a little revising. So, now Ranma's without a family and, depending on Soun's reaction, quite possibly out of a home. What will happen? Who knows?! (me). Anyways, I hope you liked it. If you did, drop me a line. If you didn't, drop me a line and tell me what I can improve. Remember, no response is the worst kind of response. Even if you tell me that it sucked, it lets me know that there are still people out there that are reading my stuff, and that's why I'm writing this thing. I remain, as always,
~Flash
-Flashfyre5@aol.com