"Hiya, all.

"Yes, I'm still writing that Lodoss fanfic (when I've time, anyway), but I
decided that I wanted to write a Ranma sadfic, too, for some reason.

"No, I don't actually know the reason...but you guys know how it is, yeah?
When the muse strikes...well, there's really not much you can do.

"Anyway, this's my first time where I'm writing something that's written
intent on bringing about the sadness emotion.  In writing an
epic-proportioned story, of course some parts are going to be sad...but the
events that start this thing out are specifically written to do that.  Got
it?  Sad.  Be sad, ya hear?? :)

"I need some opinions on this thing, though.  As the subject says, 'Ice,'
so far, is definitely, definitely, definitely just a preliminary version.
The reason I'm sending out this tiny bit of writing, though, is to get an
opinion on it.  Is the way I'm presenting this any good?

"Thanks a lot for your help.  By the way, this takes place shortly after
Ryoga's learned his two shishi houkoudans.  Enjoy."

Ice
(c) 04/01/1998

    "You're new, then, eh?"
    The brisk question was posed by a sharp-eyed man in a neat policeman's
uniform, seeming nonchalant as he fixed his attention on the road ahead of
them, not even bothering to glance towards who he was speaking to.  I
nodded anyway, respectfully; I had the feeling that somehow he was watching
me even though he attention was obviously elsewhere.
    "Yes, sir."
    My sharp-eyed superior, an older man with a neatly cut goatee and long
black hair tied back into lazy ponytail, gave a sardonic smirk at my polite
tone.  "Well, then," he said in his bland, gravelly voice, "you'll be
wanting to know a few things about the area around here, won't you, rookie?"
    I resisted urge to shrug uncaringly, which might have been considered
rude, and merely nodded.  "Yes, sir."
    "Thought so."  I felt I could detect a sliver of amusement in his gruff
tone, but I didn't say anything.  "Well, rookie, I think you've been
assigned to one of the most dangerous and boring places to patrol in the
entire country."
    I blinked.  "Dangerous and boring?  At the same time?"
    He glanced over at me amusedly.  "Didn't you study up on this area at
-all- before you were assigned for patrol duty here?"
    Suddenly feeling quite embarrassed, I responded in a low voice that I
had not.  He grinned.
    "Didn't think so.  To be honest, neither did I."  At this, I admit I
felt a certain amount of relief.  "Still, you probably should have.  This
area is quite unusual.  Would seem as if it's a normal enough neighborhood
with the normal crime rates and all that other nonsense, though, even if
you had studied it."
    I nodded.  "I figured it was about the same all over Tokyo, and that
would include this area, the Nerima District.  But you said this area was
unusual...what's wrong with it?"
    He shrugged.  "Well, there's nothing really wrong with the area
itself...I mean, the temperature's pretty agreeable and the food around
here's great.  Some of the best in the city, actually."  He shook his head.
 "It's the residents of the area that are strange."
    I felt a pang of alarm.  "Mafia?"  But why, if the Mafia was present in
the district, would the crime rates be so normal?
    To my relief, his reponse showed my alarm was unfounded.  "Nothing like
that, rookie."  He paused.  "See, there's a lot of martial artists that
live around here.  Fighters, you know."
    "Martial artists?"  I responded, confused.  "So what's the problem?  I
mean, no matter how good a fighter someone is, a bullet'll take them down,
right?"
    "Yeah, that's what I thought when I first came here, too."  He sighed,
recounting events of some time ago.  "I was ordered to investigate
anonymous reports of someone causing heavy destruction of the buildings on
the western outskirts of the area.  Said that several sturdy buildings, all
residential areas, had been destroyed by blasts, and that they suspected
terrorist bombings."
    After a brief pause, I urged him to continue.  "But it wasn't, was it,
sir?"
    He chuckled.  "No.  No, it wasn't.  When I went to check it out, there
were two young men fighting there - martial artists, you know.  Say, have
you ever played Street Fighter two?"
    I looked at him, puzzled.  "Yes...when I was younger, sir...but I don't
see..."
    "You remember the hadoken fireballs that those guys in the karate gis
would toss?"  He continued.  "Well, that's what these two were doing - only
about ten times as massive.  There were huge blue and yellow blasts of
energy flying around the whole area that they were in, wantonly knocking
down trees, houses, and whatever else stood in their way."
    I wanted to gape in disbelief, but something about my superior's voice
told me that he wasn't lying.  But the whole idea was still ludicrous -
people shooting power blasts and blowing up houses?
    Rooting for a more believable answer, I asked, "So what did you do, sir?"
    He shrugged.  "What -could- I do?  I ordered them to stop or I'd shoot.
 They didn't so I did."
    "And?"
    "And the bullets were vaporized by stray energy from the blasts."
    I sat there for a moment, disgesting this information.  Bullets,
disintegrated by energy blasts.  Yeah, right.  They should get this guy
some psychiatric help, pronto.  Of course I don't believe anything he's
saying.  It's stupid.  He can't prove it.  There's no way that what he's
saying - that cops are useless against some outdated martial arts - is
true.  Right?
    I looked over to my superior, Kenji Senzaki, and took in his stern
expression and hard-set jaw, and had the sinking feeling that my question
would be answered soon enough.

    Sato Kenaki awoke early that morning - unfortunately, not of his own
volition.
    Usually, he was jarred out of sleep by the annoying ringing of his
alarm, but since he had become accustomed to it, he had finally stopped
wishing that he kept a hammer by the bed to smash the irritation and go
back to sleep.  (He'd actually done that once, though he would never have
admitted to anyone.  His wife -had- been a mite curious, though, as to just
what had happened to the old alarm, but she had let the issue drop at
length.)  However, today, the sound that startled him out of limbo was no
alarm clock ringing.
    It sounded to his groggy mind like...explosions.  Yes, that was it,
explosions.
    He yawned loudly.  "I need to stop eating those late-night snacks," he
muttered sourly.  "Explosions...yeesh."
    Clambering noisily out of bed with much creaking of
forty-something-year-old bones and groaning, he glanced over at the clock
hanging on a nail protruding from the wall.
    It read, "3:54 A.M."
    "Bah, too early to be getting up..." he grumbled, sitting back down in
bed.  Besides, it was obviously still night out, which outruled the
possibility of his teenage daughter messing with the clocks again.  (Well,
it didn't necessarily outrule it...it just meant that it didn't really
matter whether or not she had.)
    He fell back into bed, already half-asleep.  "It'll be nice to be
getting back to sleep, I guess..."
    As he closed his eyes, there was a deafening roar all around and the
floor seemed to fall away around him.  Then there was another roar, and
Sato slowly opened his eyes, realizing only then that he was falling
through the air from his third-story apartment, and that he was going to die. 
    His last terrified memory of life was a screaming burst of brilliant
yellow light flaring down all around him, and the terrific heat and power
searing his eyes and grinding his bones to dust.
    And though he couldn't hear it, a tortured battle cry flew through the
air with the blast.
    "Shishi houkoudan!"
Hunter Kid
http://www.serve.com/guilds/ranma/
guilds@mail.serve.com

open hk.sig

    The older man, Genma, snorted.  "Believe me, boy.  The Conerians aren't
the brightest bunch around, but they know a Pravok name when they hear one.
 One whisper of our real names to them, and we're goners."  He made a
gesture of a sword slicing through a neck, which was enough to quell any of
Ryoga's complaints.
    "Fine, fine," Ryoga consented with a sigh.  "I still think it's sort of
a dishonorable thing to do, hiding our identities and all."
    Genma smirked.  "Better dishonorable than dead, boy.  You'd best
remember that."
					 	-from Song of the Lute, chapter 1
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