Is this a Ranma fic? Hmm. Good question. It isn't. It's an original story.

This has its roots in much older Chinese martial arts novels. The idea was
just too whimsical to pass, so I wrote it. By the way, this story is
copyrighted.

C&C welcomed. Can you C&C a spamfic?

Copyright (c) Chad Yang 1998.

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Cologne's Joke,
or Pandora's Box

by Chad Yang

"Today, child, I will tell you of the greatest weapon in the world. The man
who made it created a legend, a legend that, as of right now, has not yet
ended. The weapon still exists, and it causes havoc everywhere." "What is
this 'weapon?' Is it . . . a sword?" "No." "A spear?" "No." "What is it,
grandmother?" "It is a box." "A box?" "Yes, a box." "How could it be a box?
Boxes are not sharp cannot be held in combat. How can a box harm someone?"
"I'll tell you the legend, child. Long, long ago . . ."

The tall, muscular, men surrounded the inn in hundreds, all of them carrying
torches. The rays of light bore down upon their faces, revealing their anger.
This anger, though, was not directed at the inn; rather, the men stared at
each other as if considering the strength of competition. In a sense, this
was true. One man, standing in front of the others stepped forward. "We are
here to claim the Legendary Box. We will destroy those who come in our way. I
trust that you won't be destroyed?" On the opposite side, another man stepped
out. "Speak for yourselves. We will get the Box!" Behind him, fifty or so
voices shouted in unison: "YES!" "Charge!" And two groups clashed. Battle
shouts sounded in the air, and there was the clanging of metal against metal.
The torches hit cloth when they fell, the clothes of the warriors who had
fallen, and their bodies burned, a thick stench rising in the air. The battle
raged onward, blood pouring as if spilled, and one by one, they all fell. The
last one standing dropped to his knees, head faint from the loss of blood,
and then he too could no longer stand. He dropped forward, face hitting the
ground.

The innkeeper yawned as he opened the door. Another day, another customer.
Smiling, he stepped outside into the sunshine. "Ah, what a wonderful . . ."
And he realized there was something horribly wrong. For one, there was the
stench of burnt flesh. The dead bodies lying around certainly didn't make it
look like a good day for business. He changed his mind and stepped back in .
. . just to find himself face-to-face with one of the customers that'd come
in the night before. "Um, good morning . . . now is not a good time to leave,
sir," said the innkeeper, sweating a little. The old gentleman with the box
sighed. "Let me guess. There are a bunch of dead bodies outside and you don't
want to ruin your reputation by letting me see them." "How . . . how did you
know?" "It's happened before." "Why are they dead?" The old man sighed again.
"Sometimes I wish I'd never made this box." And he proceeded out the door,
carefully stepping over the bodies. The innkeeper stared.

"And he passed the story on to his children, and them to their children, and
so the legend continues to this day. He wasn't the only one though. Many
others have seen the legendary weapon, and thousands have died. Let it be
known child. This is the legend of the greatest weapon in the world." "Um, I
don't get it." "What don't you get?" "The old man didn't actually attack
anyone with the box, so how is it a great weapon?" "Ah, but that is the
genius of it. The less one has to move in order to kill, the better the
weapon. If that is true, this is, by far, the greatest weapon in the world!"
"But what if it kills . . . the wrong person?" "It won't, for only a fool
would be killed by a box."