The sky is iron-grey and gloomy; thunder crackles through the air. A
single trumpet sounds a solitary fanfare, and bongo drums kick in as the
theme swells into its first movement. We zoom in on a young pigtailed man
in a red silk shirt, running along the top of a fence, his eyes blazing
in anger. As he reaches the end of the fence, he hops down to face a
doorway. His eyes narrow as he looks at the sign; then he shakes his head
and walks through, his face set in grim lines.
Two men stand inside the dojo -- a balding man with glasses and a white
kerchief tied over his head, and a slightly younger man with a moustache
and dark brown hair reaching to his shoulders. Both jump back, startled,
as the door slams open and the young man walks in. He glares at them for
a moment, and starts pacing back and forth, shouting at them. His tirade
is punctuated by further bursts of thunder, each one causing the older
men to jump. With a final curse, he tosses something at their feet and
stalks back out of the dojo. A gust of wind blows a spray of rain into
his face; his outline, silhouetted in the doorway by a bolt of lightning,
seems to shudder and shrink. The doors slam shut behind him.
We cut to an interior bedroom, where the young man finishes pouring a
kettle of hot water over himself. He starts hastily grabbing things and
stuffing them into a backpack; he stops as he picks up a map of China,
and studies it for a moment before stuffing it into the pack. In the
hallway outside, a tall man in a dark blue kendo outfit comes up to the
door and smiles, before holding a device up to the keyhole and pressing a
button. Gas spews into the room with a hissing noise; the young man
staggers around dizzily before collapsing onto his futon. Fade to black.
Ranma stirs groggily on his futon before staggering up and going to the
window... where he falls back in shock, because it's not the Tendo Dojo
out there...
"Wha... Where am I?!?" Ranma's voice demands.
"In the Otaku Village," an old woman's voice responds.
"What d'you want?"
"Commitment."
"Whose side are you on?" Ranma demands angrily.
"That would be telling. We want... Commitment."
The image of a teenage black-haired girl flashes before us, flanked by
her older sisters.
"*Commitment*."
Another image, this time of a cooking cart rumbling off into the
distance, with a young boy hanging off the back end.
"*COMMITMENT!*"
A final image, of a pair of bonbori flashing through the air, and a girl
falling off a tree-trunk bridge.
"You ain't gonna get it," Ranma's voice states flatly.
A shot of black roses, exploding with a puff of gas.
"By hook or by crook... we will."
"Who are you?"
"I am Number 2."
"Who's Number 1?"
"You are Number 1/2."
"I ain't no number! I'm a free man!"
The woman's voice breaks into amused, mocking laughter...
F I G H T F O R A L L
A Ranma 1/2 - Prisoner crossover by Travis Butler
Ranma 1/2 is the creation of Rumiko Takahashi; the Prisoner is the
creation of Patrick McGoohan. Nothing more than sincere flattery is
intended by this parody, of course. Be seeing you!
--------------------------
Ranma rubbed his eyes blearily, groaning as he rolled off his futon and
stood up. With a sigh, he shook his head, straightened his t-shirt and
shorts, and pulled open the panel door leading to his living room.
"Ah, good morning, Number 1/2."
Ranma facefaulted as a withered old woman looked up from her seat on his
couch. "Wha..." The woman levered herself off the couch with her tall
wooden staff, then used it to pogo-hop over to him. He backed off as she
peered into his eyes.
"No need for that," she said, looking vaguely put out. "We just have some
things to discuss," she continued, tapping the penny-farthing "2" badge
on her chest, "and I thought it would save time to talk over breakfast."
She motioned him over to his kitchen table, where a bouncy young lady was
just laying out the last of a set of serving dishes.
Sniffing suspiciously, Ranma moved over to the table and lifted one of
the covers. His face lit up, and he sat down and began shoveling food
into his mouth. Number 2 looked at him and shook her head, then sat down
and joined him. The young lady pulled the covers off the rest of the
dishes, then went into his bedroom to clean.
"Hey, this stuff is really good," Ranma said appreciatively. "What is it?"
"International cuisine," Number 2 said, pursing her lips in satisfaction.
"The best."
"Chinese?" Ranma said, looking up, the suspicious look back on his face.
She shot him a quelling look. "International." Her lips curved back into
a smile. "It's always a good thing to broaden the mind, wouldn't you say?
And our residents grow to appreciate it, after a while."
Ranma smirked. "But I ain't gonna be here that long... am I?" He shot her
a challenging look.
"Well, now, Number 1/2... that depends on you, doesn't it?"
"Huh?"
"There's this small matter of your engagements, you see." Number 2 pursed
her lips judiciously. "There are certain... parties... who would like
this matter cleared up, once and for all. Frankly, I don't see why you
don't just choose one of them and get it over with." She smiled
encouragingly. "I'm sure that once this minor detail is cleared up, we
could see our way clear to... well, at least a greatly improved position
here." She shrugged. "Possibly even occasional visits to the rest of the
world."
Ranma gave her a "Yeah, right" look. "I'm going *home*. You ain't gonna
stop me."
"This *is* your home, Number 1/2," she said calmly. "I really don't see
why you're making such a fuss over it. You'll come to like it here,
before long. Everyone does."
"I ain't everyone!"
Number 2 shook her head. "That much, at least, we could tell," she
muttered.
"Now I'd like to get dressed, *if* it ain't against the rules or
somethin'!" Ranma snatched the last crumb off a plate, and stormed back
into his bedroom, slamming the panel shut behind him. After a moment, a
muffled shout came through the panel, followed by a feminine squeal. The
panel slammed open, and the bouncy serving girl found herself being
hustled out of the room in a most undignified fashion. "And *stay* out!"
Ranma shouted after her, slamming the panel shut again.
A few minutes later, he stamped back out, dressed in a blue-grey shirt
and black pants. "Hey! What'd you goons do with my clothes?"
"Really, Number 1/2," Number 2 said. "Those old clothes of yours weren't
the thing at all. These are much more socially harmonious."
Ranma's face reddened. "Socially harmonious?! Why, you old --"
His voice was cut off by the staccato rattle of a drum through the
window. A moment later, it was joined by the brassy blare of a tuba, as a
distant band struck up a cheery marching tune. Ranma went over to the
window and looked out curiously.
"Ah, I see the parade has started," Number 2 said in a pleased voice, as
she joined Ranma at the window.
"Parade?"
"Yes, to mark the start of the annual Martial-Arts competition."
Ranma's head snapped around to look at Number 2. "Huh?"
"Every year," she explained patiently, "the Village has a Martial-Arts
Competition -- a tournament, of sorts. After all, we all know how much
Anime owes to martial-arts."
Ranma nodded slowly, not taking his eyes off her face.
"So, to show our appreciation, we hold an annual competition. And the
winner becomes the honorary Number 2."
"Honorary?"
Number 2 nodded. "For a day, the winner *is* Number 2. He -- or she,
we've had some exceptional women here in the past..." Number 2 stopped
for a moment, her eyes lost in thought. Then she shook her head and
continued. "Anyway, for a day, the winner runs the Village. Everything."
"Uh-huh," Ranma said sarcastically. "Like a good little puppet dancin' on
your strings."
"Oh, no, we all take it very seriously. It's a tremendous
responsibility... and a great honor. It changes people's lives."
Ranma met her eyes, trying to look cynically uninterested.
Number 2 snapped her fingers. "I know! Why don't *you* enter the
competition this year, Number 1/2? I'm sure we'll all be *delighted* at
the chance to see a martial artist of your caliber perform."
Ranma froze in sudden thought. *If I win, I'll be in charge for a day,
and I can break outa here... but she's gotta know that, and she's wantin'
me to enter! What's she playing at?*
"Well, there's no need to make up your mind right now," Number 2 said,
and smiled to herself as Ranma came out of his trance. "Come along, and
we'll visit the opening ceremonies." She pogo-hopped to the door, which
opened automatically for her; Ranma followed her, thinking furiously.
--------------------------
The Great Square of the Village was packed with cheering people, waving
streamers, tossing balloons, and in general acting like a bunch of
students let out on holiday. The cheering intensified as Number 2 climbed
up the stairs to the balcony overlooking the square, followed by Ranma.
As they reached the top, Number 2 motioned Ranma to follow her off to the
side, making way for the master of ceremonies.
With a sunny smile, that august personage climbed up the stairs, waving
to the crowd. She was a raven-haired beauty, though the lines of her face
hinted at a strong inner personality; her badge had a bright yellow chick
behind the number 5a. Her husband, a thin, slightly nondescript man with
brown hair and a hopeful expression, followed a step behind her, carrying
their young daughter. The roaring of the crowd died as she stepped to the
podium.
"Citizens of the Village!" Her words were greeted by a renewed cheer from
the crowd. "I stand here before you to pay tribute to one of the great
traditions of Anime, the heart and soul of our community!" Her voice
rolled across the audience, carrying to the farthest reaches of the
square. She held up her hand for silence, as the crowd cheered again.
"And, to pay tribute, to the way our community has cleansed and purified
that tradition!"
Back in the corner with Number 2, Ranma gave her a questioning look.
"Sadly, as glorious as it is, the tradition of martial-arts has often
been fueled by the belligerent emotions." She looked down for a moment,
before looking back out at the crowd. "We all carry a spark of those
emotions within us. Anger. Fear. Hatred. Jealousy. And many of us have
let that spark rage out of control, breaking the harmony of the
community." She stopped again, her face reddening in embarrassment; her
husband reached up to give her an encouraging pat on the shoulder. "But
here, in this competition, in this Village, we have changed this! Through
our community, through this competition, we have given all of us a chance
to excel, and appreciate each others' excellence! We have *taken* that
jealousy, and turned it into love, and respect! Taken that anger, and
changed it to admiration!"
"Yeah," Ranma muttered to himself as the crowd cheered again. "Like she'd
never met A--"
"In closing," the MC said, breaking off his thought, "I want to thank you
all for coming, and welcome you all to a competition that is surely a
competition in name only -- for we all know that our only true
competitior is ourselves." She bowed, as the crowd whistled and clapped.
"And now, I give you our respected elder... Number 2!" She backed away
from the podium as she gestured to Number 2, retreating to stand next to
her husband.
Number 2 pogo-hopped up to the podium. "Thank you, Number 5a," she said,
bowing to the MC, as the crowd began cheering again. "I would like to
second her welcome to this competition," she added, turning back to the
crowd, "and I look forward to seeing many stellar performances here this
week. On that note..." She stopped, and beckoned to Ranma, who stared
back blankly. She beckoned again, a little impatiently, and he shook
himself and came over to the podium. "Number 1/2 is a new member of our
community, but I'm sure many of you have already heard about his
remarkable skills in this arena. I can assure you, I'm looking forward to
his performance just as much as you are, if he chooses to compete here. I
give you... Number 1/2!" The crowd roared deafeningly, making its earlier
efforts sound like a librarian's cheer.
Ranma blinked as Number 2 pushed him up to the mike, then cleared his
throat and swallowed. The crowd went quiet. "I... Well, like all of you,
I was sent here because... because I didn't follow the rules." His voice,
shaky at first, firmed up. "Because I wouldn't do what they wanted me to
do!"
The crowd began cheering again.
"Ah, *that's* the thing to give 'em," Number 2 whispered to Ranma,
smiling sardonically.
"So I got sent here," Ranma said. "Because I wouldn't be a good little
boy. Like you." He paused, and then shouted. "LIKE YOU!" His voice
dropped again, the words coming out hard, fast, and angry. "Good little
boys and girls. Some of you givin' in and doin' what you're told, talkin'
about community and bein' all lovey-dovey. Some of you wafflin' too much
to make up your minds WHAT you're DOIN'!"
Silence spread across the crowd. A young man blushed and ducked his head,
the rat-tail at the base of his short black hair waving in the breeze;
the two women flanking him -- one with long purple hair, the other with
spiky teal-green hair -- took firm possession of his arms and snuggled in.
"Keep going," Number 2 whispered encouragingly. "They're loving it."
"Well, I ain't like that!" Ranma shouted, glaring at the crowd. "I'm
independent, and NO ONE tells me what to do! I'm gonna go out there, I'm
gonna enter this contest, and I'm gonna show you how a *real* man fights!"
Number 2 nodded to him, then took the mike. "A true man of character, and
one worthy of respect. Let us all give Number 1/2 a big round of
applause!"
The crowd roared again, until Number 2 raised her hand.
"In fact," she said, "it reminds me of my younger days, back when I
competed here." She paused for a moment. "I think I'll come back to the
arena this year, and give you young folk a bit of a challenge." She
clapped Ranma on the shoulder. "And may the best one win!"
Part of the crowd began chanting "Number 2, Number 2," and waving huge
placards with Number 2's face on them. Not to be outdone, another part of
the crowd began chanting "One-half! One-half!" and waving equally large
signs with Ranma's face on them. Ranma just stared, not quite sure *what*
was going on.
--------------------------
The next morning, Ranma woke up, rubbed his eyes blearily, and rolled off
the futon. He grabbed his bathrobe and yawned, half-heartedly pulling it
on. With another yawn that threatened to split his face, he pulled open
the panel to his bedroom and entered the living room.
"Ni-hao!"
"What th--" Ranma jumped back three feet, before recognizing the bouncy
serving girl from yesterday. His shock quickly changed to anger. "What
the *hell* are you doing here? I told you yesterday to get *out*!"
The girl nodded and giggled, showing no signs of moving. Before Ranma
could bodily evict her, the phone started ringing. He went over to pick
it up.
"Ah, good morning, Number 1/2," the voice on the phone said. He spun
round, to see Number 2's image forming on the TV screen. "And how are you
doing today?"
Ranma spoke slowly, measuring out and biting off each word. "What...
is... this... *girl*... doin'... here? I told you people before, I don't
want no maid!"
"Oh, didn't I tell you, Number 1/2? Number 44's your new assistant."
"*What*?"
"Your assistant. All of the competitors have one -- to help you keep
track of your schedule, take care of little errands for you, bring drinks
and towels, that sort of thing."
One could almost see the steam rising out of Ranma's ears. "I ain't no
baby. I don't need no nursemaid. I... don't... want... no... assistant.
Clear?"
"Part of the rules, Number 1/2," Number 2 said airily. "Don't worry about
it, I'm sure you'll get along just fine."
"But she doesn't even speak Japanese!"
"Oh, is that all it is? Number 44 speaks Chinese; she's rather new here,
I'm afraid." She broke off, and spoke to Number 44 in Chinese; the girl
giggled again, and nodded enthusiastically. "I wouldn't worry about it;
she understands her duties and is very eager to carry them out." She
nodded to herself. "I look forward to joining you for the first rounds;
the ceremonial demonstration by last year's winner, followed by the
Reading of the Rules, will be at 8:30 in the arena. Be seeing you!" The
TV went dark, and the phone went dead.
"What the... HEY!" He pounded on the phone for a minute, before giving up
and dropping it back on the counter. Frowning, he stamped back to his
bedroom, cursing as he went. He turned back at the door, and glared at
Number 44. "And I don't need you followin' me in here again, neither!"
She giggled, nodded happily, and started towards him; he shot her an
incredulous look, cursed again, and slammed the panel shut in her face.
She stared at the panel for a moment, shrugged, and went into the kitchen
to fix breakfast.
--------------------------
As Ranma and Number 44 headed down the street to the arena, they were
intercepted by an odd-looking pair -- a slightly short, cute young woman
with shoulder-length, wavy brown hair and round glasses; and an oddly
thin, pale, young man with a camera. The woman held up her hand to stop
the pair. "Excuse me... can I speak with you for a moment?" she asked.
"Who are you?" Ranma demanded.
"Oh, pardon me, Number 1/2," the young woman said. "I'm Number 9, and
this is my colleague, Number 13." The slightly creepy man nodded to
Ranma. "We work for the... local newspaper, the Tally Ho. It's been some
time since we've had a competitor of your caliber in the tournament, and
we'd like to bring your story to the viewers. If we could ask you a few
questions?"
"Huh? Well... alright. Go ahead."
"Thank you. First, what do you think of the martial artists in the
Village?"
"No comment."
"'Am very impressed with the quality of the martial artists here,'"
Number 9 muttered as she wrote in her notebook.
"*Smile*!" Number 13 said in a cheery voice, as he snapped a photograph.
Ranma glared at him.
"Thank you," Number 9 said normally. "And what do you think of the
training facilities here?"
"No comment."
"Smile!"
"'Has a definite soft spot for the local facilities,'" Number 9 muttered.
"'They have a quaint charm that grows on one.' And what do you plan to do
if you win the contest?"
"Smile!"
"Take a break," Ranma said airily. "Go to the beach, write a few
letters..."
"'No comment,'" Number 9 muttered.
--------------------------
As Ranma and Number 44 entered the main square, a vendor was calling out.
"Papers! Special Tournament Edition! Get your Tally Ho here!" Beside him,
a second person was turning the crank on a machine, printing copies as
citizens came up to the booth. Ranma walked up to the booth and snatched
a paper. The headline jumped out at him:
"NUMBER 1/2 ENTERS TOURNAMENT! Contestant gives views on Martial-Arts in
the Village."
Below the headline was a large picture of Ranma, followed by about a
half-page's worth of story. As he skimmed through the story, his
expression got darker and darker... Finally, he growled, clenched the
paper in one fist, and stalked down the street, muttering blackly. Number
44 tagged along behind him.
--------------------------
Ranma stamped into the arena, still shooting black looks at Number 44,
who showed no signs of listening to his constant pleas to "Leave me
*alone*!" Number 2 looked up from a group gathered around the scorers'
table, and motioned for him to join them. With a frown, he did so.
"Ah, there you are, Number 1/2," Number 2 said. She gave him a stern
look. "And late, I see. I saw the note in your file, but I wasn't sure
whether to believe it until now."
"Hey, it ain't *my* fault!" he replied angrily. "Do y'know how hard it is
to find hot water around here?"
Number 2 looked faintly skeptical. "Well, that's as may be. You missed
the ceremonial demonstration. Not a very good first impression to make,
but one must be lenient to give new members time to adapt to the ways of
the community."
"I ain't no member of this community!" he shot back indignantly. "I'm the
heir to the Anything-Goes School of Martial Arts, and the only community
*I* have any loyalty --"
"Be silent!" Number 2 commanded. "There is a limit to our forbearance,
even to new members of the community." She turned to face the rest of the
group. "Allow me to introduce Number 1/2. Despite his... unorthodox..
views, he is in fact a splendidly skilled practitioner of the art; and,
once he settles down and learns his place in the community, I have no
doubt that he will become a valuable addition." She nodded to Ranma.
"Number 1/2?"
Ranma looked at one of the contestants, who was wearing a rather odd
emblem on her gi. "What School do you belong to?" he asked.
"School?" The young woman looked slightly puzzled. "We have no need for
schools here; we did away with them ages ago."
"What? But --" He broke off for a moment, as a white light from the
ceiling bored into his face.
"In the outside world, of course, one understands the regrettable need to
band together in schools," Number 2 broke in as the light switched off.
"To preserve and transmit knowledge, it can be necessary. But here, in
our Village, there is no need for such a clumsy system, and we can leave
them behind like the cliques they are."
"No need?" Ranma shook his head in disbelief. "What about tradition? What
about fellowship? What about loyalty? What about courage? What about
justice? What about love, what about hate? What about right?! What about
WRONG--"
"Stop!" shouted Number 2. At Ranma's questioning look, she added, "Wrong
show."
"Oops." Ranma said sheepishly. "Sorry."
"Hmmm." Number 2 looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "Very well."
The light stabbed down at Ranma again, and he froze as he stared into it.
"Nevertheless," Number 2 continued, "you have committed a severe breach
of etiquette. I believe you chose to enter the competition in good faith;
however, one cannot allow this kind of thing to continue." She looked up
at the judges' table. "Prepare him for first-level processing."
Ranma stared unblinking into the light. As he stood there, the simple
blue color began to change, threads rising out of the stream of photons
and falling again, weaving themselves into complex shapes, and then into
pictures. Eyecatch sequence after eyecatch sequence flashed before his
eyes, slowly at first, then faster and faster until they blurred. He
began swaying on his feet, sinking into the ground, the floor rising up
to meet him, then closing over him. Blackness.
--------------------------
Number 1/2 staggered down the corridor, bouncing off the walls as he
tried to stay upright. Finally, he half-stumbled, half-fell into a
brightly-lit room, with a desk facing the doorway. The man sitting behind
the desk jumped out to catch him before he could finish the fall, then
supported him over to the desk; with the press of a button, a
medical-looking chair rose out of the floor, facing the desk, and the man
lowered him carefully into it.
Ranma looked up at the man, slightly puzzled and more than a little
groggy. Tall, relatively thin, dressed in loose blue pants and shirt;
brown hair, and round spectacles covering mild-looking eyes. He felt a
brief flow of trust for the man, before cutting it off again.
"Ah, you must be Number 1/2," the man said cheerfully. "I'm Number 27.
Such a pleasure to meet you." He reached out to shake hands; Ranma
followed through mechanically. "Would you like some tea?"
"Whn... tea?"
"Yes, of course -- while we're talking, you see. It gives a focus, and
helps pass the time." He set a cup in Ranma's hand, and picked one up
himself. "And, of course, it's the duty of a host to entertain his
guests."
"Host?" Ranma's speech was still coming out slurred. "Guest? Ain't no
guest, 'M a --"
"Oh, but you are my guest, you see," Number 27 said, reaching out to
clasp his shoulder. "I'm here to help you, just as you're here to be
helped. It's what we do here, after all." He sat down on the edge of the
desk. "Are you afraid of being helped?" He stared into Ranma's face. "Ah,
good. You're being honest. That's important, here. You can't open up
unless you're honest -- and we can't help you unless you open up."
Ranma sat unsteadily in the chair, watching him -- or staring off into
space. It was hard to tell. With a stuttery motion, he brought the cup of
tea to his lips and drained it in one gulp.
Number 27 came over and took the cup out of his hands. "Good, very good.
We can start, now." He flicked another switch on the desk, and Number 1/2
stiffened... then slumped back, limply. The lights dimmed as a
complicated machine rose out of the floor. A machine very reminiscent of
those built by a certain short redhead... no. Let's not go *there*.
"It's a very simple system, you see," Number 27 said. "The truth test. It
helps you strip away all the things you use to hide from yourself. No
excuses, no illusions. No fooling." He switched on the machine; red and
green lights blinked, and the machine settled down to a steady hum. "Now,
then. Why did you enter the competition?"
Number 1/2 sat staring into space. The red light on the machine pulsed,
accompanied by a low throbbing tone.
"Now, that's a lie," Number 27 said. "You shouldn't do that, you know; it
only hurts you in the long run. Why did you enter the competition?"
The machine emitted a high, clear tone this time, accompanied by a bright
green light. "Ah, that's better," Number 27 said. "You're beginning to
accept things, and that makes our job easier. You thought you could help
the people here by winning the competition?"
A slight tic started in Number 1/2's cheek. The machine emitted another
pure tone, and a second green bulb lit.
"Good, very good," Number 27 said encouragingly. "A break-out...
disabling the security systems when you had your day as Number 2, yes?"
The red light flashed again, followed by the low, throbbing tone.
Number 27 shook his head reprovingly. "Come, come, Number 1/2," he said.
"There's really no need for this. Tell me again... was that your plan?"
A third green bulb lit. Number 1/2 began trembling slightly.
"Very good. But you realize your mistake now, don't you?"
Four green lights flashed on the machine's panel.
"And yet, you know... you still feel the need to help, isn't that so?"
The high, pure tone began warbling. Number 1/2's muscles began twitching
in sympathy.
"And you know the best way to help them, don't you?"
Pulse... pulse... pulse... the green lights began flickering, faster and
faster. The red light joined them, speeding up rapidly until they were
flickering in unison, until they blurred together, as the tones blurred
together...
The lights cut out, along with the tones. Number 1/2 fell back in his
chair, limp as a rag doll. Then a new strength seemed to collect within
him, pulling him up out of the chair. Number 27 went over to watch,
expectantly.
"You... you're Number 27, right?"
Number 27 nodded, pleased.
"Thank you... thank you very much for your help." Number 1/2's movements,
twitchy at first, began to smooth out.
"It was a pleasure... as always, Number 1/2."
"I'm -- I'm entered in the competition. You'll come to cheer me on?"
"Of course, Number 1/2," Number 27 said gently. "I'll enjoy it, I'm sure."
Number 1/2 smiled (a little oddly), turned around, and marched out. At
the door, he stopped, turned back, and saluted Number 27 jerkily. "Be
seeing you!"
"And you," Number 27 responded cheerfully. He pulled out a sticker marked
"1/2", and put it on as Number 1/2 marched out the door.
--------------------------
The following days went by in a daze. Images came, of standing in the
arena, facing an opponent. But why was the opponent tall, brown-haired,
male, and angry one moment -- and short, black-haired, and female the
next? Where did the fellow with all the tea spoons come from? And why did
he feel so odd when the redheaded girl -- about the same age as him, and
slightly shorter -- faced him and refused to fight, forfeiting the match?
Number 44 sat next to him, supporting him with an arm around his
shoulders while murmuring softly in Chinese. That felt right, somehow. Or
did it? He sipped the glass she held for him, thinking, his eyes
wandering around his living room. A word came to him. "Arien?"
"Arien?" Number 44 stiffened in shock. "Arien?!" Her face lit up in
delight. "Arien!" She glomped onto him, hugging him like another
appendage.
Something came loose inside Ranma. He broke free of her embrace and
stumbled towards the door, his strides evening out as he found his
balance. As the door opened, he stopped in shock, watching as the crowd
outside began waving signs and shouting "One-half! One-half!" He shot a
panicked look behind him, seeing Number 44 coming his way; then he jumped
to one side, vaulted over the fence, and took off for the hills with
great, loping strides.
He could hear Number 2's voice in the distance, shouting something about
"throwing everything away," but the pounding note in his brain drowned
her out. There, up that street, through that gap between houses, then
over the fence and slide down the hill onto the beach. The stone boat
loomed up ahead of him. Then a white ball appeared, far off down the
beach. Bouncing slightly, and growing bigger. He swerved to avoid it; the
ball swerved to follow him. Gritting his teeth, he dived for the water,
shuddering as the change swept over her, swimming strongly for the open
sea. Then there was a roaring sound, the huge white ball was there, in
front of her, on top of her, engulfing her --
Number 2 watched as Rover pulled Number 1/2 back to shore, floating on
her back, eyes glazed, muttering to herself. The muttering became audible
as she approached the shore: "The glory of the group is the glory of the
one... by acting in community we achieve greatness... share and enjoy..."
The body was pulled up on the beach as Number 2 watched. With a sigh, she
held her hand out to one of her assistants. There was a hiss, and a cloud
of steam. Then they loaded him onto the waiting ambulance and took him
back to his house.
--------------------------
The next day dawned, clear and sunny. Last day of the competition. Number
1/2 rose, showered, and came out of the bathroom in his pants; Number 44
held his blue-grey shirt for him as he shrugged it on. The mirror
beckoned him, and he looked, appearing highly satisfied with his
appearance. He ate a quiet breakfast, prepared with care by Number 44,
and followed after her as she led the way to the arena. He stopped
suddenly when he saw the person standing in the center of the ring.
"Yes, it's me," Number 2 said, with an amused chuckle in her voice. "Did
you really think it would come down to anything but the two of us, in the
ring, together?"
Number 1/2 stared at her. After waiting for a few moments, she shrugged.
"Well, if that's all you have to say, shall we begin?" At his nod, she
sprang at him, vaulting off the end of her staff. Number 1/2 dodged to
one side, raising an arm to try and divert her leap...
The fight that followed was generally agreed to be one of the most
stunning encounters in the Village's history. Special attack followed
special attack, often too quickly for the untrained observer to follow...
but many of those observers looked gratefully at the plexiglass shields,
hastily erected around the edge of the ring. Ki spillover could be nasty.
When it came, the end flashed by too quickly for even the experienced
observer to follow. Number 2 swung at Number 1/2, leaving no opening they
could see... but Number 1/2 saw *something*, reacted, and suddenly Number
2 was on her back on the mat, looking up her staff at Number 1/2.
"Well, boy, you've done it," said Number 2. Number 1/2 stepped aside,
letting her get up. "Nobody's given me that much trouble in 50 years.
Congratulations."
"I'm... sorry," Number 1/2 said, twitching a little as tension flowed
into his body. "S-sorry."
Number 2 smiled back up at him. "Oh, no need to worry about it. It
happens. Give way to the young, and all that." She took his hand, and
began leading him out of the ring. "You're Number 2 now, you know!" They
stopped, and she removed the badge from her blouse and pinned it on him.
"Come along with me, and I'll show you the ropes..." They walked up the
hill to the Green Dome, Number 44 tagging along behind.
--------------------------
"There's not very much to it, really," the former Number 2 said as they
entered the building. "The door's through there, you know the way... If
you need to do something, just press a button. Be seeing you!" She turned
around and left the building.
Number 44 went to the door, and pulled him after her into the control
room. He moved like a sleepwalker. They went to the center desk together,
her strides almost bouncing, his vague and undirected. She looked down at
the desk, then looked back up at him, her face shining with enthusiasm.
With her press of a button, Number 2's bowl-chair rose out of the floor.
Exclaiming in delighted (and unintelligible) Chinese, she pushed him over
and sat him down in the chair. He sat there for a moment, bemused, before
she pulled him back to the desk. She punched another button, and a
guest-chair rose up out of another trapdoor in the floor. With a slightly
jerky enthusiasm, he began pushing buttons as well. Chairs rose and slid
back down, a very fine liquor cabinet opened, and a wardrobe filled with
sailor suits slid out of a wall.
Finally, the large viewscreen covering one wall came on, showing the
exterior of his house. Number 44 squealed in delight, and began punching
buttons until she found an image of Number 1/2's face. He stared dazedly
at the screen, until a bright light came on, accompanied by a pinging
sound. He swiveled jerkily to face the light. With each ping, he
stiffened a bit more, until he stood ramrod straight and staring into
space like a zombie. Number 44 walked over to him, all the bouncy
innocence gone from her face; it was sober, almost frightening. She
pulled the "2" badge off his shirt with a contemptuous flourish.
She lead him over to the screen, which was now showing a swirling light
pattern. He stood, watching it, more like a zombie than ever. She held
him there for a few moments, then turned him around to face her.
"Tic?" she said. She slapped him. "Tic, tic?" She slapped him again. And
again. After the fifth slap, he began to lose his groggy look; after the
sixth, Ranma seemed to snap to himself, shook himself free, and ran to
the desk. He grabbed one of the phones on the desk, knocking several
others onto the floor, and began punching buttons. "It's our chance!" he
shouted wildly into the phone. "I'm in charge here!" He started pushing
buttons randomly. "I'm shuttin' off all the cameras and the traps..." His
voice rose to a scream. "You're all FREE! FREE TO GO! YOU ARE FREE TO GO!"
Two burly guards rose up out of holes in the floor, and started towards
him.
"YOU ARE FREE TO GO!"
The guards grabbed him; he shook them free and ran through a door...
where he saw a group of odd, pale people wearing sunglasses and sitting
in a circle around a silver platter with a hole in the middle, shimmering
with rainbow hues. The platter began spinning as the guards come into the
room; the group turned to watch as the guards grabbed Ranma, holding him
down by sheer weight. A third guard came into the room and began beating
Ranma, who struggled but couldn't escape. The group turned back to watch
the spinning platter, unperturbed by the disturbance behind them.
With a hum, the door slid back open, and the guards dragged Ranma back
out into the control room. They dumped him on a gurney as Number 44
walked up. She was now wearing the badge of Number 2, and pulled herself
up haughtily as she reached him.
"Have you learned your lesson?" she asked in perfect Japanese.
Ranma stared back in shock.
"Are you ready to make a commitment?" she asked in a sharper tone.
The gurney rattled slightly, as Ranma shivered. He stared up at her,
stubbornly silent.
With a disdainful gesture, she motioned the guards to remove him. She
watched silently on the screen as they took him into his house and
dropped him on the bed. The screen flicked off.
--------------------------
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
This story is based (fairly loosely) on the Prisoner episode "Free for
All." (If you're not familiar with The Prisoner, see below.) I changed
the election contest to a Martial-Arts Competition, since I couldn't see
Ranma running for office. :) I also tried to re-write a lot of the
Prisoner themes in Ranma terms. There were some things I left out, but
overall I'm pretty satisfied.
Thanks to Raphael See for letting me borrow Noriko. Thanks to Raphael,
Mike Loader, Zen, Richard Lawson, John Biles, and Uncle Fester for
prereading services. (Yes, John got his out a couple of days before I
finished mine. I don't mind -- they're pretty different. ^_^)
Did anyone catch the hints I put in about the identity of Number 1?
Another hint: it's a group, not an individual.
WHAT IS THE PRISONER?
Basically, The Prisoner is a British SF series with 17 episodes, from the
late 60's. It's about a British secret agent who resigns from the
service, in a rather emphatic way -- walks into his boss's office,
shouting, and slams the letter of resignation down on his desk, etc. As
he's at home, packing for a trip, someone gasses him through the keyhole,
and he passes out. When he wakes up, he finds himself in a place called
"The Village." It's in an isolated spot, all maps show only the Village
and its environs, and there's no way to contact the outside world. If you
try to escape, you're captured by a big, floating white ball called
Rover. It's a very creepy place. The Village itself is like a storybook
place -- quaint, artistic buildings, rather like a resort. But everyone
has a number, no names; there are various subtle and not-so-subtle forms
of mind control being practiced; and most of the people walk around
happily, as if nothing were wrong... giving each other a peculiar salute,
accompanied with a cheerful "Be seeing you!". The leader of the Village
is Number 2; Number 2's change regularly, often after being defeated by
Number 6.
The main character, Number 6, was brought there because the Village
authorities want to find out why he resigned; who these authorities are
is unknown. He spends the series trying to escape, trying to learn who is
Number 1 (the unseen hand behind the various Number 2's), and defeating
various attempts by the authorities to find out why he resigned.
It's an odd, surreal series, a bit 1984 or Brave New World-ish, but with
its own unique flavor. I'd definitely try watching a couple of the
episodes; some Blockbuster stores may have them, as well as good
specialty stores and possibly art theatres. Very much like looking for
stores that rent Anime. ;>
Travis Butler
(The Professor, formerly of Myth and Magick!, Lawrence, KS;
tbutler@tfs.net, now from the Wandering Powerbook;
<http://www.tfs.net/personal/tbutler/>;
Mac page <http://www.tfs.net/business/tbutler/>)
...Cats are the proof of a higher purpose to the universe.