First of all, this has nothing to do with the Revenge Wars.  This is 
simply the only way I can envision this author winning against Ranma, 
Akane, and Ukyo.  This is not going to be happy.

<snip fic>

You're right, that wasn't very happy at all. ^_^

Well, as I was looking at these parts, it seemed the main character was a
little quick to go completely insane, so, without futher ado...

PXDN

--------

	"So this is subtle revenge..." I muttered to myself.
	The decision could wait, I thought to myself before I went to sleep again.
 I have all the time in the world.

***

	I had a dream that night, laying on the surface of my prison.  I was home
again, and everything was normal.  No revenge, no straitjacket, my life mine
again.  I could do what I wanted again, without fear or paranoia; a future
waiting.  Suddenly, it shattered around me, the image turning suddenly horrid
when my dream surrogate spilled his drink on himself, and changed.
	I never found out what I transformed into, because I awoke from the
nightmare screaming.  As I lay panting for the stale air around me, I noticed
a sour odor, and I clearly knew where it came from.
	"No..."  I muttered, "I won't let them win!"  A dragged myself up on my
feet, a hard task considering the straitjacket, and stumbled over to the
Jusenkyo bucket, still in its place.  I kicked that accursed water source
across the room, letting the liquid spread across the room.  Utterly
exhausted from even that small action, I stumbled back to my original
position, away from the water now half spread out across the room.
	The bucket came back the night after, completely full, and a note attached
to it stating, "Nice try, -Love, Ucchan."  I think I started to sob after
that, but I'm not sure.

***

	"Why am I here?"  I kept asking the evaluators whenever they interviewed me.
 "I haven't done anything, and I'm not insane."
	They would often respond with psychiatric jargon designed to make a poor
soul think that he is insane, so they could make even more money.  Sometimes,
they would actually respond in English.
	The drugs weren't helping that much.  Every day, it was a battery of the
stuff: anti-depressants, stimulants, and manufacturers-know-what kinds of
medicine designed to "heal" the disturbed mind.  But, what does it do to the
one who was perfectly sane?
	It continued for an endless time.  No one told me what time it was, or the
date.  The only thing I could tell was day or night, via the sliver of a
window in my cell.  Food was delivered through a slot in the door.  I idly
wondered to myself if the scenes of sanitariums in the movies were really
true, the ones where inmates play table tennis all day, and actually receive
decent treatment.
	I guess not.

***

	A few days later, or maybe a few seconds later, I realized that nothing
would change.  No matter what I could do, it wouldn't matter.  For a time,
that water lured me to it, a quick, possibly easy way out.  The trio had said
the reason they didn't use it before was because I would have adapted to it.
	They couldn't have been more wrong.  I feared it, feared its power, its
symbolism, its utter presence.  The curse of Jusenkyo did more than merely
change your form, depending on what you believed.  It would change your
outlook, your life, everything.  It stemmed from that initial change, and it
would spread like a plague, infecting your soul until it was permanently
altered, twisted beyond recognition.
	Other constitutions would have been able to take that stress, truly adapted
to it, but not me.  Whatever willpower I had those days was gone and less
than dust.  It was an impossible path, and couldn't be considered in any way.
	Only time could be chosen.  More time to wait, plan, and ponder.