Warning: I'm not pulling any punches with these, as they're SCRAP FILES. This is my raw, personal edits and not screened for much other than my own inner grammar nazi. You can expect just about anything, and I know there are a few scenes of mature and violent content. Some of it harsh. So, be warned.

Premise: Ok, some of you may know what Whateley and Crystalhall mean, so this may sound a bit familiar at places. For those that don't – think X-Men with a dash of WTF, a side of more wide scale gender-fuckery, and a lot of… well a lot of other things. Anyway, this isn't a crossover, so much as me poking around at an idea, and deciding it wasn't quite to my liking, and putting it away.

—

Secondary Education

–

There were a lot of things wrong with the current situation, and very few right. Nicole Ross knew this quite well, and despite being 'only' a teacher at a specialized academy in America, still felt she was the best suited to handle what was happening. At least, in a very narrow sense. Ducking behind a wall and into an alleyway, she forced herself to look nonchalant, as yet another patrol of three armed, ill-tempered, and overworked field agent-slash-soldiers trooped by, followed by a fourth in powder-blue power armor. Some things, however, she wasn't quite the best for. Combat, for instance.

"What I get for focusing on a purely research-based career after graduating from Whateley, rather than taking those classes, I guess," she muttered quietly, pulling her collar up while keeping a surreptitious ear on the passing foot traffic, in case the bothersome patrol doubled back.

Shaking her head at her own amateurish cloak-and-dagger leanings, she pushed off the wall and continued on toward her goal. "That lot back home wouldn't have sent me if they weren't sure this was a real lead. Just have to find her before the MCO does, and I'm set. I hope," she added as an afterthought, remembering the last time she'd considered a job to be a cakewalk.

That time had lost her the mentor she was busy visiting Japan on a fake ID to track down. The MCO – Mutant Commission Office – had been a part of that incident too, though only as background noise in the bigger picture, really. Still, the internationally-sanctioned blue boogeymen of non-baseline people the world over weren't to be trifled with. Getting out of Japan ASAP was high on her list of priorities.

Once she was pretty sure that she'd not be seen by anyone relevant, Nicole pulled out a device that looked like a cross between a dustbuster and a tablet computer, and continued on her way, following the cranky bleeps the thing made as she walked. Under her breath, she swore that when she got home, she'd work a little harder to impress upon Brentwood the concept of subtlety. "Because this thing ain't it," she muttered, her southern accent making a brief appearance as the academy teacher stalked down the sidewalk, ignoring the sidelong looks she was getting.

It wouldn't matter, soon. She was only a few dozen yards away from her target, and had already made arrangements to get the hell out of Japan before the MCO began making up for lost time. "Don't know whether to thank that little brat over in Minato or curse her. On the one hand, that psionic blanket pretty much turned an entire ward into a bunch of animatronic zombies, but on the other, the MCO office ended up in a 'Groundhog's Day' loop." Chuckling to herself, Nicole turned the corner, only to stop as her device gave a wheezing hiccup and final blip.

"Alright... well. I think I know who I'm here for," the woman muttered, eyes wide and blinking as she watched a trio of what looked like high school students walking by. The three girls were deep in conversation, allowing her to discreetly follow along, on the other side of the street and listen in to their chatter.

"...and there's no way I'm letting you have them."

—

"This is so fucked up."

Though it wasn't much of a retreat or bolt-hole to hide in, Ranma sat in a familiar brooding spot, under a bridge near an almost dry canal, some distance from the Tendo home and Furinkan High School. Anyone who bothered could find her, but at the moment, she didn't much care. All she wanted was a place to gather her thoughts for a moment, and try to piece together the madness that had become her life.

The latter part of that thought was the most telling part. "Damn it all," she cursed, throwing the camp kettle aside where the remainder of the hot water she'd been boiling spilled, leaving a muddy trail from the canal bank down to the stunted, filthy ditch below. The reason for her violence was clear, as the red hair she'd been sporting refused to shift to black, the petite female form stubbornly remaining despite her efforts. She'd tried twice before, but thought... thought maybe, somehow...

Ranma shook her head hard. She might not be the most educated person in the world, but she wasn't stupid. There was no denying it – she was stuck in her cursed form, again.

She knew the reason of course. It had been dangled in front of her face for the last few days, and she'd been vying desperately for it the entire time. "A wishing sword. I can't believe it. I just can't... ugh!" Kicking her campfire apart, the sullen young woman slumped down with her back to the bridge's support nearby, ignoring the sounds of traffic above. "I don't even know what he wished for, and that idiot can't even keep his head grounded long enough to tell me, without spouting off some crap or trying to get his damn hands on me."

Glaring to the side, the young woman's eyes fell on the culprit for her situation, that being a finely wrought but otherwise unassuming katana. After all the work and humiliation in buttering up Tatewaki Kuno – one of the many unwanted admirers she'd picked up since getting her curse to become female when splashed with cold water – the idiot had made his final wish in secret. She'd been so close, even able to get the blade to herself a few times, but there was some kind of lock on the thing; the current bearer of the blade, and first to make a wish, was the only one who could do so till their wishes were used up. She'd hoped desperately that like those stories of other wish-granting objects, that once the current master had expended their wishes, she could swoop in and get her own, but things weren't to be so simple, for her. True, the sword could grant wishes, but it could not undo them.

Which lead to her current situation – hiding from those that would be looking for not only her, but the sword. What confused her was the lack of pursuit. Usually, the second things started getting strange, it was like the idiots in Nerima just popped out of the woodwork, but this time... it was like something had changed. Something massive.

Ranma shivered at that thought. She could practically smell the magic earlier on waking, and it was thick, like morning fog, clinging to everything for the brief moment she'd paid it attention, before evaporating like dew at noon, like her disturbing dreams. Dew that smelled of Jusenkyo's unique tang, and the acquired bitterness she related to magic, having run across it again, and again, and again.

She was beginning to wonder if her curse had more to do with butting heads with a supposedly imaginary force, than her brief dunk in one of the Pools of Sorrow. And those dreams... it had been exhausting, living out what had felt like a lifetime, broken like a mirror and badly taped together. There had been no order, no cohesion to it, despite how vivid the dream had been.

Her dark musings on her nightmares were put aside, as the tell-tale sound of shoes crunching along cracked stone reached her ears. Snapping out a hand, Ranma gathered the damned wishing sword to her, in preparation to put some distance between herself and the intruder, when she realized something. The footsteps, the cadence, even the kind of shoe – she didn't know them.

"Hello? I know you're there. I just want to talk to you."

Ranma bit her tongue, surprise painting her features for a moment. The voice was unfamiliar, and most curious, they weren't speaking Japanese. It was a clearly American accent, one so thick it made her 'I' sound more like 'Ah', along with a drawl that could practically be called a purr. Against all her current instincts and obeying a nearly physical need to see the speaker she didn't really understand at that moment, Ranma paused, watching warily as a woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties shuffled down the incline that lead to the small shelf that her current hide dwelled on. Blinking at the change in lighting, the woman pushed a fall of brown hair aside, revealing startlingly blue-green eyes. "Oh, there you are."

As the woman picked her way across the washed up and tangled masses of refuse and dried mud that made up the bridge's natural blind, she introduced herself. "Sorry to intrude, but I'm working on something of a rushed schedule. Name's Nicole Ross; you're Ranma Saotome, aren't you?"

The redhead nodded hesitantly, getting a bright smile in return. A smile that tugged at something fundamental within her, that she swatted away in favor of wary caution. "Great – you look just like the records said. Which is part of the problem, from your point of view."

Ranma shook her head hard, before focusing on the woman, blue eyes hard despite her clear confusion. She wasn't in the mood for this right now, and her tone showed that clearly. "Alright, hang on. I got your name, but who are you? Why are you looking for me, and what did you mean by that?"

"In order," the woman who'd named herself Nicole began immediately, stalling the redhead's rising temper, "I'm a teacher at a university in America, I'm looking for you because so are other people, and they aren't so nice, and as for the last bit... well. You'd have to see it to believe me, but that's kind of a given, honestly."

Now with more questions than she started with, Ranma growled and pushed herself to standing, stalking up to the woman while keeping the sword partially obscured by her body. "What do you mean, see it to believe it? And I don't really care who you are – why are you looking for me? This got anything to do with Pops and his engagement crap?"

The American favored her with a bemused grin. "Full of questions, aren't you? Alright, well... I'll answer what I can, but we need to get moving. The nasties will be out soon, with all the reports of this part of town being what they are, and we don't want to be in the middle of it," she said, her expression falling. "We beat them in Juuban, but there just aren't enough of us."

Ranma was quickly losing her patience for half answers and cryptic replies. "Nasty what? Middle of where? Enough of who?"

"The answer to most of your questions is easy, but we don't have time, and here's not the best place to talk about it," Nicole muttered as she dragged Ranma out from under the bridge, more by force of keeping close enough to hear her reply, than anything else. Overhead, three powder-blue aircraft in a strange design flew in formation, breaking some distance away to ground in different places in the more central locations of Nerima. To the gawking redhead, she sighed. "C'mon. We need to get somewhere safe. The MCO isn't going to make getting you out of here easy."

Rather than argue, Ranma nodded faintly, walking beside the young woman as she stomped and trudged the way back to the street. The reason, had she been asked, was simple enough. With her vision being as sharp as it was, she'd seen the soldiers in the craft, and what they were holding. Each was practically festooned with guns and weapons, not to mention the ships themselves, which had enough guns to make a military otaku blush. And behind them, glimpsed through the window, she'd just picked out something she'd only seen in an anime. Power armor.

Each of the ships had an emblem proclaiming them part of this 'MCO' the Ross woman had mentioned. Even as good as she was, Ranma had no illusions on being capable of taking down everyone from one of those ships, without help. Maybe she could, but for all her training, she'd never faced down bullets before, much less a small contingent of people armed with them. If she had to deal with this MCO organization, she needed to know who and what they were. It was time to get some information, and luckily for her, for once, she was following a source of it back to the roads of Nerima right now that probably wouldn't charge an arm and a leg for it.

–

The cafe Nicole had chosen was in the more metropolitan part of Nerima, where it bordered the nearby wards closer to central Tokyo. The self-proclaimed American teacher had sworn fit to make a sailor blush on seeing a patrol of blue-suited men with MCO badges in their way, but that hadn't lasted long. Despite the warnings she'd muttered earlier, the men trooped by them without pausing, though Ranma was startled when they stopped someone next to them.

In the soldier's hand, was her picture. Despite being right beside the armed group, and being in clear sight of the woman who was being quizzed, she and Nicole passed by without garnering a glance. Nicole stifled Ranma's incredulous look with a severe one of her own, all-but dragging her into the cafe they were now picking a table to sit at.

Once they were situated, which oddly involved the American pulling something that looked like a walkie-talkie from her jacket and fiddling with the dials, Nicole slumped with a sigh. "Alright, I know you've got questions, but first, listen up.

"You probably don't know what the MCO is, do you?" Getting a terse shake of Ranma's head in reply, the brunette muttered about overpowered gems and blondes for some reason. "Alright, here's the short version, then. The MCO – or Mutant Commission Office – is a worldwide regulatory body, with legal ability to police and detain all superhuman and supernatural persons determined by each country's charter with them. In Japan, this usually means anyone considered non-baseline committing felony acts. There's more to it, but the details aren't important right now. Do you understand what I'm saying, so far?"

Empirically, Ranma did. That is to say, the words had meanings, that she had constructed like a puzzle, to grasp the overall point of the Ross woman's little speech. It was the point itself of that speech that confused the redhead, however. "Mutants? Like on the television?"

Nicole favored Ranma with a tight, humorless smile. "That depends. Do you mean the news, or the cartoons?"

That answer put the martial artist off her temper, leaving her blinking for a moment. "Er..."

"Don't worry, I understand. Let me explain part of the problem.

"A year ago, a vastly powerful psychic artifact – meaning, mind affecting predominantly – was bonded to a young woman in a neighboring ward of Tokyo. This was just before your arrival back in the country, and if I'm not mistaken, your travels rarely let you catch up on local and world events, correct?" Seeing Ranma nod bemusedly, the young woman went on. "Well, that artifact caused something like mass hypnosis, though the devil's in the details here. Best to go with the simpler comparison. Anyway, the bottom line is, due to that artifact, Tokyo has been more or less functioning in a parody of normal life for nearly a year and a half."

Ranma's skepticism shone through in her tone, "And no one noticed this?"

"For the most part, no," Nicole replied, shrugging. "You have to understand, that part of the problem was that people were compelled to act normal, other than a few key things. Those were mostly tied up with particulars that the MCO and Japanese government would be responsible for."

"So red tape, bureaucracy, and politics made it so no one else noticed Tokyo getting... hypnotized, you said?"

The twenty-something woman chuckled quietly. "As silly as it sounds, yes. The local branches of the MCO were making the usual reports out, which was what they should be doing, while actually taking no action, lost in a little girl's dream. The government itself was in a similar state – and this is the best part – but working more efficiently, as it followed the imperative to function as it should be doing."

Shaking her head slowly, Ranma blinked at the woman in bemusement. "Alright, that's all well and good I guess, but what does that have to do with me?"

Nicole conceded the point with a slight wince. "Quite a lot, actually. You see, normally, the things that have been going on in Nerima would have the local branch of the MCO crawling around like flies on roadkill. The property destruction, injuries, blatant strangeness... those are like massive red flags, and they're not the sort to overlook them.

"But, that psionic blanket made it so they more or less didn't exist. Like many other small changes. Without it, however..." The woman made her point as she nodded toward the doors of the cafe, where outside another group of three blue-uniformed soldiers trooped by with pinched expressions of distaste. "They're responding to something recent, and working to make up for lost time."

Suddenly, the bottom dropped out of Ranma's stomach. "Wait, they're here because of me?"

With a quiet laugh, Nicole shook her head. "Not just you. Though, you'd be the feather in the cap of whoever was running this field operation. No, they're here to process and contain the mutants and supernaturals in the area, starting with the illegal Chinese nationals that have set up shop in Nerima. That sort of thing makes the locals nervous, after all."

Thoughts about the Joketsuzoku soured Ranma's mood significantly. "I see. But you've been talking about mutants... and I'm not mutant. I mean I look normal, and everything."

There was a beat before the American laughed, a merry, chiming sound that seemed to not escape the bounds of their table, despite the volume. Ranma found that rather odd, and could only blame the odd bit of technological whatever between them for that fact. "Now, I see I've got my work cut out for me. I'm not saying for absolute certain you are a mutant, but regardless, you break the baseline limits without even trying. I know – I've seen you fight. And besides that – I'm a mutant. We don't all stick out so much, you know."

Nicole continued, ignoring the blatant curiosity Ranma was showing at her admission. "That's what matters to the MCO. Mutant or not, they just want to keep the peace, as defined by the 'normal' human viewpoint. The problem comes from the fact they're here to contain fighters. Potentially dangerous, destructive fighters."

That empty fear in Ranma's gut swelled and gnawed. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that if you don't want to be carted out of Nerima in a suppression harness, or shot full of very large holes, it's best to get out now, and quickly," the woman explained bluntly. "Everyone knows you, and knows what part you have in things. Now that the wool's off the eyes, so to speak, this place is too hot to stay in. And more than anyone else, you need to get out."

The petite redhead throttled down her anxiety, a cold weight settling through her veins as her thoughts drifted toward those she'd called family so recently. That same family that had been acting so unlike themselves since her curse had locked, and not in a way she'd expected. Something she'd initially blamed on Kuno's wish. Now however, she had doubts. "Could this psychic... thing have reached here? Messed with people this far away?"

The gaze Nicole spared her had Ranma's hackles rising. As a martial artist, she'd dealt with being gazed on with a thousand different emotions, but pity... pity nearly made her see red and black and bloody. "I don't think so," the American replied in her southern purr. "You're talking about your curse, right?"

"How did you know?"

"Like I said, I'm a mutant. That means a lot of different things, to different people... but for me, it's about chances. Probabilities, and how to bend them, see them for what they are." Nicole fished around in her purse for a moment as Ranma digested that, presenting a folder with some old, official documents carefully ensconced inside. "Your family's been acting like you've been a girl all your life, haven't they?"

Flinching, the redhead snatched up the folders, looking inside to dismiss the woman's words. What she saw had her mouth going dry, and eyes growing huge. "...what is this?"

"Proof of a world gone wrong," the American explained. "I've seen the past you remember, but what you hold in your hands is the history the world now knows."

Birth certificates, stamped and familiar but wrong, school records, identity documents, even the few sparse doctor's notes from the hospital and Tofu that had been made. All ringing quite easily with authenticity, yet all declaring Ranma having been female on each and every one. "How...? What?"

The American woman leaned on her elbows, cradling her chin in her hands. "I see possibilities. I can twist them, usually making the absolute least possible thing happen. Like us being able to walk by a MCO patrol in broad daylight, when they have a photo of you in hand."

Well, Ranma thought to herself, that explained that, at least.

"It's why my handle is Longshot. I could show you the usual way I explain it, with a deck of cards. I'd have you check it, you'd see it was normal, but when I pulled off a card from the deck in your hands, they'd all be the ace of spades." The twenty-something woman shrugged. "But, right now, the important thing is you. How did you end up in the middle of this kind of thing? What can you think of that could cause it."

In answer, Ranma hauled up the battered sheathe concealing a blade that looked as if it had come fresh from a forge, in contrast. Neither wondered at the redhead's ability to simply tote the weapon around without notice, for differing reasons. Still, now that it was pointed out, Nicole had to wonder at why the young woman she had been sent to speak with carried it with her. "It's... nice," she offered blandly, raising a brow. "For a sword."

"A local idiot ended up with it. It grants – or at least granted – wishes."

"Wishes," Nicole stated with that same bland tone, and a slow blink.

Ranma shrugged in response. "he had one left, and I didn't get to hear what it was. Based on what I can guess, being that this was Kuno, he probably botched it wishing something for his 'beloved pigtailed goddess'."

Nicole paled, her blue-green eyes wide and staring as her breath grew faint, shallow, and sharp. Ranma found herself bemused to have noted those things, so easily. "And he would have used that wording? If he had made a wish regarding you?"

Nodding, Ranma considered the woman's reaction with narrowed eyes. It was clear she had some idea what was going on, and had just found a missing piece that made it all make sense – in a way she didn't like at all. "He would have, the raving lunatic. Why? Why does it matter?"

"Law of Intent," the American muttered, letting her face fall into her hands.

–

August 19th

3:00PM

Los Angeles International Airport

The red-haired girl wearing old, ratty, worn clothes with a large travel-stained pack looked up as the sound of footsteps tickled at her brooding fugue, causing her to look up at the approaching small horde of people bearing down on her. A moment's flash of fear was quickly replaced by cold resolve, until the figures came clearly into view through the cluttered obstacle course that was the airport gate's waiting area. With an almost inaudible sigh, the petite figure slumped back in her seat, face turned down to study her hands intently. Despite her attention and change in focus, the tension didn't leave her frame, leaving her coiled and ready to spring into motion at any moment.

One set of practiced eyes took in that fact, causing their owner to sigh gustily. Around her, the troop of teenagers – some newly minted, some upwards of sixteen or seventeen by appearance – walked hesitantly, eyes roaming as they held their luggage in nervous, sometimes tense fingers. It took them just a few moments to draw up to the same aisle that the redhead had staked as her own, where she paused. "Alright, kids," she beckoned with a voice honed from a few years performing this duty annually, just in a different locale. "I want everyone to pick a seat on this row," she indicated the set of seats that the redhead occupied, and the one across from it. "I know some of you are jet-lagged to hell and back, but you've got about an hour left before the flight out to the campus. Everyone in this group is 'in the know' so to speak, and will be your classmates for the next few years." Clapping her hands, the twenty-something woman offered the assembled soon-to-be students a smile, and expectant look.

Most took the hint and started making their own little nests, much like the girl that had preceded them, building virtual walls around themselves out of possessions, memories, and space. Those that straggled behind or weren't listening followed suit just to do so, and not make waves. The woman sighed again, shaking her head minutely. "Alright. You've got an hour like I said. This gate is closed to normal traffic, so you're free to talk but keep any oddness to yourselves. America is pretty lax, but freaking the mundanes will get you in deep shit. Understood?"

A host of nods answered her, the use of harsh language and tone driving her point home. She may have been a teacher, but that didn't mean she was Mary Bloody Poppins. Still, she needed to set a precedent, and check on the flight status, the checked luggage for the students, staff, herself, and a thousand tiny details that she simply couldn't delegate. Turning her gaze to the taciturn redhead, she raised a brow, getting a tired nod in response. "Ranma," she indicated the petite young woman that had been there before them all, "will be in charge until boarding. Meaning she's the boss, and you better listen."

A burly young man with the look of someone with a foul temper snorted, favoring the much smaller young woman with a derisive look before turning back to her. "Her? Why not someone who can back it up?"

The twenty-something woman smiled at that. "Because she can. Do you think I'd put someone in charge that couldn't handle it, knowing all the files of everyone here, Derrick? Now I have to run – Ranma, nothing permanent. We can just strap them in for the flight, but we're spread too thin to have our own medic. Despite me petitioning for one."

"Yeah, whatever Nicole," the redhead groused, leaning her head back till it cracked against the plexiglass divider that sat between the seats behind her, ignoring the impact entirely.

Stifling a snort of amusement, Nicole Ross, freshman coordinator for Fairview Academy turned on her heel and made her way back toward the terminal, thinking about how nice it will be to be back home at the school.

–

The milling students spread out, minus a few exceptions. Notable of those was a very pretty blonde girl with strikingly blue eyes that settled in a seat beside the surly redhead, meeting no one's eyes and making no effort to start conversation, though the group's interim minder offered her a quick, whispered word. The two seemed to share a mood, despite being some of the most striking people present. There were a few other small groups forming up, along the usual lines that teens tended to draw around themselves, following some mysterious ancient pattern that had stumped scholars for aeons.

Derrick and two of the more athletic looking young men were conversing quietly among themselves, shooting a few of the other assorted teens sneering, superior looks. Strangely enough, for what should have been practiced, snobbish personalities, the three seemed unused to such behavior, like they were new to it.

A mousy, black-haired teen with a backpack that nearly dwarfed him struck up a conversation with a girl across from him, pointing at some of the odds and ends she had poking out of the pockets of a rather beleaguered vest. The two were joined by another pair, though the girl with the shoulder-length gray hair that had been pulled along by an excited brunette seemed hesitant, if not downright wary.

A trio of girls in fashionable clothing and minimal carry-on luggage and a family resemblance that seemed uncanny were quietly conversing with one another, while discreetly keeping an eye on those around them. The three were blonde and pale to a member, and guaranteed to be a nightmare to tell apart later, provided the three interacted at all with anyone else. They seemed to drift about the area, though if one had the perception to notice, they never came within three feet of another person other than themselves unless they couldn't help it.

Once everyone present had settled, the redhead looked up and did a quick headcount. That done and matching the information she'd been given by Nicole some hours earlier, Ranma tiredly stood to bring attention to herself. "Alright, I'm not much for public speaking, so quiet down. I don't want to have to do this twice."

Seeing she had everyone's attention, more or less, the petite girl in the worn clothing continued. "From what I was told, Nicole or whoever's coordinating the freshmen usually does this, but seeing as she's running understaffed, I got roped into playing teacher's aide. Trust me, I'm thrilled."

There were a few snickers to punctuate her bland tone, as the redhead ran a hand through her hair with a sigh. "Alright, a little expansion on the ground rules from earlier. While we have about an hour of free time here, without the risk of someone listening in or seeing anything too strange, on the plane it's strictly red flag. Meaning, no talk of mutants, magic, super-advanced science, or anything else outside the normal. The stewardesses and flight staff are not in the know, and the last thing anyone wants is to cause a mid-flight panic, or get the lot of us put under suspicion of being terrorists." She offered the subdued group a nasty smile. "Or worse, because they will find out eventually, mutant terrorists."

Ranma was gratified to see a nearly group-wide shudder pass through the new students. She didn't really like scaring them, but a little fear and a strong sense of self-preservation would do them some benefit. No mutant or unnatural human wanted to run afoul of MCO and their dubious reputation, and the fast track to being on those lists was to be irresponsible with one's powers. That was a lesson she'd learned the hard way.

"The official meet-and-greet won't happen till you're all sorted into your dorms, when we arrive. She didn't tell me how those were sorted out, however," Ranma lied, shrugging noncommittally. "So, for at least the next two hours, you may want to mingle around. You're going to be spending the next few years with each other, in classes or otherwise, so try to be friendly. You never know, after all."

One of the kids hanging around the backpack-toter chimed up at that, "What do you mean?"

Ranma favored the gray-haired girl with a shrug. "Some people will need help in this or that class, you may end up roommates, or share a dorm with someone here, and I hear there are team activities. No point in making a bad impression right off the start, right?"

"That really something a teacher's aide should be saying?" One of Derrick's clique pointed out, to a few muffled snickers.

Whatever reaction he'd expected, Ranma laughing wasn't it. "Yeah. Don't worry – this is a one-time situation. I can pretty much guarantee you'll mostly find me in detention or something when I'm not in classes, once we get to Fairview. Apparently, I'm trouble."

That caused the snickering and what whispered rumor-passing that was going on to die a quick death, to the redhead's wry amusement. One of the triplets fixed Ranma with a look, to which the young woman raised a brow and nodded. The center triplet took a step forward, and spoke, "Why did Ms. Ross choose you to be in charge, if you're trouble, as you say?"

"The answer's kind of boring, really," Ranma admitted, her Japanese accent showing through her words thickly for a moment. "Everyone here's on a sponsorship of sorts, right?" She took a moment to meet the eyes of those waiting with her, before nodding. "Someone's paid your way, either family, your government, or some mysterious benefactor. Nicole knew my sponsor, so we spent some time catching up, and she asked if I'd help out since she was short of help. That's pretty much it."

"So you're the teacher's pet, already," Derrick remarked.

"Seriously doubt it, Derrick – it was Derrick, right?" the petite young woman countered, not waiting for the young man to confirm. "Nicole's part of the advanced maths and sciences department. I doubt I'll even have any of her classes.

"There were some other things she mentioned that I guess she's not going to have time to tell you, but those are mostly common sense. Don't tell anyone anything unless you don't mind it getting around, don't start fights, don't argue with the staff. The usual." Offering the rest of the soon-to-be students a shrug, she turned lapsed into silence, looking out one of the windows, running the length of the gate.

The twenty-five teens drifted into quiet chatter, with a few small islands of quiet. Among those were the triplets, one or two loners who preferred the company of their personal music players, Ranma, and the blonde girl sitting beside her. Spattering laughter cropped up now and then, though for the most part, it seemed that the spirits of the teens were dim.

Nearly half an hour later their minder returned, looking cross and harried, as she stalked to where an oblivious Ranma was quietly snoring, her head leaned back against the transparent divider behind her seat. Shaking her head, Nicole nudged the girl, waking her up, as the sound of an aircraft approaching the gate rumbled through the area. "Alright, everyone," she called out over the sudden din of the teens rousing themselves from their waiting fugue, "get your stuff together and gather up – we're boarding in five."

One of the girls putting away a hand-held game system called out over the noise, "Is the plane early?"

Nicole shook her head as she helped one of the teens get his things packed back up, ignoring his grumbling to be easy with his things as she shoved them into his duffel with speed. "No, change of plans from the top. We're taking a chartered flight. Ranma? Help me here?"

The teacher's sense of urgency seemed to infect the teens, as everyone moved a bit faster from that point. Ranma did a round of those straggling behind, with a few others pitching in here and there as they picked up on their escort's haste. By the time the group was boarding the twin-engine charter plane, the group was practically running, the divisive lines from earlier forgotten as they pulled one another along, helping when someone stumbled under their luggage.

Settling aboard the plane which had barely allowed them all to board before beginning to taxi, the teens watched as their two minders got into a hushed argument, near the front seats. The anxiety permeating the air rose to a boiling point, as Ranma pointed out toward the airport, which was passing by their windows slowly. "...and they're just going to call in some crap to try and get us grounded or delayed again. You know how those bastards work, Nicky."

"They can't ground us with nothing," the teacher asserted, folding her arms with a cross look on her face. "And don't call me Nicky."

Ranma winced, then shook her head hard. "Whatever, look. I'm just saying we need to be ready for the worst—"

"And I'm saying you're being paranoid!" Nicole snapped, whipping a finger forward to poke the shorter teen in the chest. "No one is out to get you or Serena. You are safe here. Relax."

Murphy proved he was ready, willing, and able to take a statement like that, and turn it into a massive cosmic joke at a moment's provocation. The first sign that things were not going to go as smoothly as the teacher claimed became clear as the plane cleared the airport's shadow, emerging onto the miles of tarmac that served the facility. There, waiting like a vulture in the desert, hovered a powder-blue, blocky, menacing form that any mutant or human awake for fifteen minutes in the last thirty years would recognize. An MCO drop and assault ship, powered by an antigrav coil and capable of variable air attack and with an onboard compliment of trained personnel hand picked and polished to be the nightmare of mutants around the world. As if sensing the smaller aircraft's intent, the dropship cantered around a few degrees to allow its main weapons to have full angle of attack on the commercial plane, then sat down with a heavy 'whumph' of taxed suspension sleds across two of the nearest runways.

The reason for the ship's heavy posture became clear, when three full suits of powered armor were disgorged from the sides of the vehicle along with a full platoon of MCO combat support soldiers, ranging from suppression to tactical.

Ranma watched the small but lethal display with a rising rage that caused her jaw to clench, and her breathing to start coming in deep, rapid bellows. Nicole missed that detail as she paled, shaking her head in disbelief, "Not a goddamn word, Ranma. Not a word."

"Was going to take a raincheck anyway," Ranma muttered, eyes scanning over the forces arrayed against them. "Damn it. It just had to be the MCO, didn't it? Get the pilot on the horn, tell them to get this thing off the ground, now."

By this time, the din from the students was rising, those present that had fears of anti-mutant prejudice suddenly feeling the threat such organizations represented in stark detail. Those new to their situation looked on in bewildered anxiety, clearly understanding what whatever was about to happen, it wasn't good. They were quickly brought into the fold as their companions whispered horror stories of prejudice, 'disappeared' mutants, and violence care of those clearly waiting for them.

Nicole looked at the redhead she'd brought to America from Japan incredulously. "What? We can't take off with them waiting out there to gun us down!"

"Not going to have to worry about that," Ranma growled, before snapping her burning glare to the occupants of the passenger cabin. More specifically, a particular blonde occupant. "Us— Serena," she barked, drawing the listless blue eyes away from the gathering storm to herself. "You stay with Nicky. Do not get off this plane to come after me."

The rest of those witnessing the rising debacle stared as it became clear what a mutant their age that they'd just met was planning. Some paled, a few shook their heads, but all felt a grudging respect for the kind of mettle it had to take to even consider what Ranma was clearly thinking of.

Not slow by any reckoning, Nicole Ross spun the petite young woman around with an expression of pure incredulity. "Are you crazy? You can't handle them by yourself – and you shouldn't even be thinking about it! Making trouble with the MCO is—"

Ranma didn't take the time to argue the point, instead choosing to frog-march the squawking and protesting teacher up towards the cockpit, while explaining, "Livewire, do us all a favor and shut up. I'll meet you in Colorado. Just get Serena, yourself, and the other kids the hell out of here."

"Damn it, you can't—"

"Can, will, and am going to," Ranma countered, shoving the woman into the cockpit before closing the door, doing something with a nearby metal pipe that fouled the handle. Back in the passenger cabin, she nodded to Derrick. "Let her out after takeoff."

"Uh... sure."

Ranma then turned to Serena, the blonde she'd spent most of the wait sitting beside. "Stay put. I'll see you later."

With that, she shouldered open the door to the craft, being sure to send it slamming shut hard enough behind her to latch itself shut once more. She just hoped someone checked to make sure – a decompressing cabin was not going to make that flight comfortable for the people she'd left behind.

She put those thoughts out of her mind as she turned to the Mutant Commission Office forces arrayed before her, cutting off the plane from the sky. The black rage rose up again, and this time, she didn't put up so much as a token resistance, reveling in the power that spiked through her with a nearly orgasmic sense of release. Only her anger and focus kept the moment from turning ugly, as the first of the MCO's number began their assault, launching a few smoking gas grenades her way.

AN: Ultimately, I didn't know what I wanted to do with this. It wasn't something planned out with an end, so much as a middle, and a possible start. Part of the inspiration I will be using in another fic, however.