[Editor's Preface: Welcome back for another chapter of Pencils! In
this chapter, we say hello to our newest member, Jorge Pratt, and the
insanity continues to develop. This may read as a somewhat slow
chapter for some; chapter three is going to see a major increase in
the action. 

Observant readers may have noticed that so far, Pencils has been
occuring in two different timeframes. If anyone was wondering,
there's a reason for that. Readers who can figure that one out get a
free cookie. ^_^

Comments and criticism are welcome and should be directed to the
addresses listed at the end of the fic. The Disclaimer is still in
effect.]

=======================================================


Somewhere in Tokyo, Rumiko Takahashi was sifting through a rather
perplexing pile of fan mail - if one could call it that, considering
the general tone of the letters - about changes made in a series she
thought she had ended years ago.  She picked up a copy of volume 37
of Ranma 1/2...

...and gaped in amazement at the sight.  At the Ucchan, all of a
sudden, were two girls, a guy, and a kid running the okonomiyaki
shop. This was like some bad American sitcom!  She *knew* she hadn't
done this.  Well, her publisher was going to get a rather nasty call
about this alteration.

As she dialed the number, she decided to rifle through her portfolio,
just to prove to herself that these gaijin running the Ucchan were
*not* her own invention.  If it came to legal proceedings, after all,
her original artwork would prove an invaluable exhibit of the
publishers' tampering.

Only... they were there, too.  Drawn right onto the matte boards. She
was still staring at 'her' work when the publisher answered.

"Moshi moshi?"

"...Masaka..."  Click.

The publisher of Shonen Sunday stared at the phone in his hand with
befuddlement.  What prank caller would have his number?


=======================================================

 		  Pencil Trace Productions presents....


	          P        E        N        C        I        L        S


		             Written by and Starring:

     	   	   The Eternal Lost Lurker     JD Farber
		   Rob Barba     Libby Thomas        Zen
		   Ukyou Kuonji     Flashman    Mercutio
 			       and Jorge Pratt

=======================================================

			   CHAPTER TWO

[Long Island, New York - 98.10.07]

"Why has this unit been activated?" Juno asked, turning his
close-eyed stare at Christian, "Do you wish for this area to be
reinitialized?"

Christian's blood ran cold.  Having finished the game, he knew what
Juno meant by "reinitialization".  Christian tried to say no, but his
fear made his mouth become dry and useless.  A quick look to his left
told him that Chibi-Serenity was having the same problem.

"I can only surmise," Juno said, "due to my reactivation in this
unfamiliar subsystem, that I am needed to reinitialize the planet."

Flying up and through the ceiling, breaking through to the roof, Juno
went up to an altitude of three miles, his silhouette visible against
the pale moon, and scanned the surface of the planet. "Running
units:" he commented, "Over 30 trillion.  Far too many.  This
subsystem should have been reinitialized many cycles ago.  Was there
a program error?"

He looked up to the sky and activated his internal beacon, which
would summon the space station Eden and allow it to reinitialize the
program.  His outward expression of bliss didn't change, but he
internally grew worried as he discovered that there was no Eden.  Had
it been destroyed somehow?

Flying back down in front of the frozen Christian, the shivering
Servbots and the moaning Chibi-Serenity, Juno asked, "It appears as
if I have made a slight miscalculation.  My connection to Eden has
been terminated on the receiving end.  I wish to inquire as to how
Eden was deactivated.  Tell me and I may spare your functions when
this program is reinitialized."

For a full minute, there was no reply, as everyone was too frightened
to speak.  Juno raised one of his hands, and energy began to crackle
on his fingertips.  A rainbow-colored energy blade blasted from his
hand and struck Cujo, who had hidden under the table, splitting the
dog in half.
	
There was no blood. The air was filled with the smell of burnt fur
and flesh.

"CUJOOO!" Christian cried.

Chibi-Serenity passed out in shock.

Juno said, "Perhaps a more aggressive method of loading will assist
your response times."

Christian yelled the first thing that came off the top of his head,
"It was knocked down in a freak ion storm!"

The Servbots began nodding in agreement.

Juno's unchanging expression gave away none of his emotions as he
nodded and, without a further word, flew back up through the holes he
had made, and then off into the night.

After a couple minutes, the crickets hesitantly returned to their
chirping. Christian said, "25.  15.  Go up to my room, go through my
magazines and find G-Fan issue #32.  12.  16.  Make a grave for my
dog in the backyard."

Servbot #3 asked, "What are you going to do, Master Car?"

Christian picked up the unconscious form of Chibi-Serenity and
deposited her onto the couch.  He stroked the young girl's hair and
said, as he pointed to the TV, "I'm going to pray that this is all a
dream."

On the television, the news had come on.

//This is John Johnson for Channel Six News,// the reporter exclaimed
as something exploded behind and below him, //reporting to you live,
where the sudden appearance of what can only be described as giant
robots inside the sewer and subway systems of the entire city of New
York have, so far, resulted in the death of over 20 people and
wounding hundreds more.

//Reports also tell us that these mysterious automatons also seem to
be taking over malls, movie theaters, auditoriums and stadiums,
including the world famous Madison Square Garden.//

The image shifted from John Johnson's face to pictures taken from
security cameras inside Madison Square Garden, subway stations and
malls. Some of them showed pictures of small round robots with single
glowing eyes and four useless stumps for legs, although they seemed
to move around with some kind of jet propulsion.  Some images were of
seven foot tall monsters, with wedge shaped heads and single eyes in
the center.  They had large pincers for arms and some of them seemed
to be disappearing and reappearing behind an invisibility field of
some kind.  Another shot showed a large, spider-legged robot
patrolling what Christian recognized as the center court of the
Smithhaven Mall.  One shot was of a large, circular, tank like robot
that had a Gatling gun on its underbelly and a "flip top" design on
top.

John Johnson's voice continued, //So far, the robots have not left
the indoor areas and have violently prohibited anyone and anything
from entering their domains.  Ten minutes ago, Mayor Giuliani
released a statement...//

"They're not GOING to go outside," Christian muttered, "They're just
going to keep people out."

"Huh?" Servbot #18 asked, "Why, Master Car?"

Christian looked down at the small robot and replied, "Don't tell me
you've never heard of a Reaverbot!  They don't have their little
caves and refractors to protect in this world, so I guess their
programs are compensating."

"How'd they get here?" #18 asked.

"I'm betting they crossed over when Juno showed up.  Excuse me for a
second."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm gonna write an E-mail... I want to find out if this is real or
if I'm going crazy."

As Christian dialed up his Prodigy account, he thought, "Thank God
mom and dad are in Mexico."


=======================================================

[Southeast Texas - 98.10.07]

Backing into the corner of the small room, Ayanami Rei grabbed a
shinai which was leaning against the wall next to the futon, keeping
a wary eye on the center of the room.

The gaijin she'd been conversing with after her unexplained arrival
here was currently standing in the center of the room, completely
consumed by green fire. He was apparently still alive, as his screams
were the only sound in the room. The flames, strangely enough,
weren't spreading to the furniture or the carpet. 

Rei tried to think of a way to help...what had he called himself?
Raakaa?, but she could see nothing in the room that might help, or
even figure out what was causing the problem. For all she knew,
Raakaa himself was causing it, and had lied about being one of the
Apostles. 

Raakaa had begun to stagger towards one of the two doors on the
opposite side of the room, when he suddenly collapsed and went
silent. Still on her guard, Rei took a cautious step closer to
investigate. Strangely, the flames seem to have contracted, as though
the body within had lost a great deal of mass.

Suddenly, Raakaa began screaming again, although it was a different
sort of scream. The pitch was different, for one, and it wasn't a
scream of pain or fear. It sounded almost like a growl, or a war cry.
The fire-wreathed form shot up from the ground, and Rei could
determine a definite change in size and shape. If this was an
Apostle, she realized, she was as good as dead, with naught but a
bamboo sword to defend herself. 

The flames began to dissipate, revealing the transformed being
within. Rei was prepared for something hideous, bizarre, and
unspeakable...

...and therefore blinked at what was revealed as the burning emerald
shroud faded from existence. What had been an overweight,
unhealthy-looking gaijin a few minutes ago, was now a shorter,
slender young man, perhaps in his late teens. His skin was the same
general shade as before, fair without any real tan. Sharp, piercing
blue eyes peered out from beneath an imposing brow, framed by long,
straight bangs of pale grey hair which, in the dim sunlight filtering
through the one small window in the room, seemed to have a slight
lavender tint. He wore dark, baggy trousers, held up by a brown
leather belt and tucked into heavily padded grey boots; he also wore
a black t-shirt, over which was worn a blue jacket, probably denim by
the look of it. 

Rei stared at him for a moment as he stood there, seemingly frozen in
place. Finally, he blinked, and began shaking his head as though to
clear it. "who...what are you?" Rei asked. 

The young man blinked as he reached up to tug at his bangs, bringing
the hair in front of his face and squinting at it. He then glanced
down at his hands, examining them as though he'd never seen them
before. "Good question," he said as he fell to the floor. 


=======================================================

[Mexico City, Mexico - 98.10.07]

Meet the ITESM, the Technological Institute of Advanced Studies of
Monterrey, more commonly known as "the Tec," for short. A place where
electronics laboratories were paces away from photography workshops;
where psychologists and industrial engineers worked side by side;
where the youngest high-school freshmen made everlasting friendships
with senior college students. A homey university, where almost
everyone you meet could be your best friend, and where technology met
art in its most sublime form.

It had a pretty good cafeteria, too.

In such a place, even extraordinary events were considered usual
fare. Students running, left and right, trying to catch up with the
frantic advances in their courses. Accountants trying to figure out
how much that new building was going to cost. Teachers damning
everything to hell as their brand new laptops decided to implode and
take months of quizzes and exams with them. Otaku shrieking at the
announcement of new showings from the local anime clubs. All this and
more was daily occurrence at the Tec.

However, to see a young Asian woman jump out of a drawing was NOT a
daily occurrence, and even less to see such jumping out originating
in a drawing made by one of your classmates.

During Calculus 3, at that.

All of a sudden, thirty-six pairs of eyes were focused on the newest
addition to their class, paying no attention to the piece of paper
behind her which, for some reason, seemed to be ablaze with crimson
flames. The girl herself would have attracted a great deal of
attention even if she hadn't appeared out of nowhere, though. She was
young, no older than 21, and had a mane of scarlet hair that was
slowly fading into a more believable brown. She was about five feet
and five inches tall, and her figure, despite being hidden underneath
a long-sleeved white blouse and dark blue trousers, was already
making the few females in the class simmer with jealousy (the males'
reaction, thankfully, still consisted of staring at her in shock
while their brains tried to figure out what was happening.) Her face,
though bright and clear, betrayed her heritage; those with the
fastest minds in the class identified her as Japanese.

But her eyes, which were blue like the sea during the night, revealed
that she was as surprised to be here as everyone else was about
seeing her. Perhaps even as surprised as the young man that sat at
the desk behind her, on whose notepad the blazing sheet of paper lay.

"Na... nanda?" she stammered, her eyes looking around frantically.
"Koko wa... Ra-Raeru-chan? Ome wa doko da?"

As her questions received no reply, she headed for the small balcony
at the back of the classroom. The shock of the students quickly
became catatonia when they saw her body shed a bright white aura. She
then flew out the window like a shooting star on amphetamines.

After two or three minutes of silence, the teacher cleared his
throat, and said, with the voice of chihuahua that hasn't seen a
toilet in years, "So, um, anyone wants to come to the front and solve
this example?"

Needless to say, the students were *not* of the mind of solving any
partial derivatives for the rest of the day. Or the rest of the
semester, for that matter. What they had seen today would not be
easily forgotten.

There was one student who would not forget this occurrance at all,
though. Namely, the one from whose drawing the girl had sprouted. As
the remainder of the class toiled on, he kept staring down at his
notebook, wondering what in the world had just happened...

And why was the picture itself colored red?

At last, Calc 3 ended. Still at a loss for words, the young man
collected what was left of his wits and left the classroom, trying to
remember what he might have done to cause this... "event" to
happen...


Three days earlier...


It was Sunday night, and a light drizzle bathed the concrete jungle
of Mexico City. People scurried to and fro, already looking for
shelter from the downpour that was sure to come. To Jorge Pratt,
though, rain was always welcome.

Better known by his Internet colleagues as Zef, for Zephyr, he stood
out in the crowd only because he was the only one not fleeing from
the rain. He was average in height and build, though somewhat
athletic thanks to the Taijiquan training he received at school.
Seawater-green eyes peered out from beneath thick eyebrows, which
gave him the appearance of a cat. Dressed in what he called his
"uniform," namely black trousers and a navy-blue collarless shirt, he
also carried a long brown box, which was slung over his shoulder by
means of a makeshift strap.

It's not that he *wanted* to catch a cold. It was just that he had
always liked rain. That, coupled with the lightheadedness he was now
prey to, helped put a smile on his face as he walked towards the bus
stop. Yes, he *could* have taken a car, but with the traffic and
gridlock that just a little shower could create in Mexico City, he
preferred not to be the one at the wheel.

Besides, it *was* Sunday night. And just like every Sunday night, he
was just starting the long way home after a date with Aline.

Taking that into consideration, maybe lightheadedness was too tame a
word. Make that Kasumi-like obliviousness.

As he waited for the bus to arrive, he noticed that the drizzle had
slowly grown into a more menacing rainstorm. Shrugging, he decided
that maybe he should wait inside one of the stores along the
street--it's one thing to appreciate the cool sensation of a frail
curtain of water falling on your face, but to be pounded by raindrops
the size of ping-pong balls is quite another.

Drenched, Zef walked into a nearby shop, named "Lumen." It was rather
large, and it specialized in art materials. There were many families
there; he guessed they were making last-minute shopping for their
children's school stuffs, even though classes had started a month
earlier. There were also people browsing through the square-meter
paper catalogues, or gawking at the computer displays.

Seeing that it would take quite a while before the storm calmed down,
Zef thought that it was as good a time as any to catch up on the
fanart he was supposedly going to put up on his webpage--when he
finally got around to subscribing to another provider, that is. While
he thought about what to work on this time, he looked around for the
pen and pencils counter, at the same time looking for how much change
he had left in his pockets. He finally came up with the equivalent of
three dollars when he found the counter.

Looking over the selection, he quickly picked a regular pencil, a
black pen, and a unique mechanical pencil, colored red with gold
inlays. He was surprised at the price: roughly the equivalent of
fifty American cents. Taking the items, he also bought a pair of
simple bond paper sheets and a clear plastic board, then headed
outside.

Waiting for the rain to die down, Zef remained beneath the store's
awning as he got ready to draw. He placed one of the sheets on the
plastic board and tapped on it with the wooden pencil as he tried to
think of what picture to make. Usually, he would take a used sheet of
paper to draw the rough sketch, with which he would work until he
thought the picture was finished. Then he would retrace it on the
same sheet with black ink, and finally, when all the details were
ready, he would trace the entire picture on a clean sheet, preferably
using sharpened pencils so that the sketch's rough lines could be
translated into traces void of smudges or eraser marks.

He finally set to work, inspired by a scene from his own fanfiction
series. It was a picture of Ranko, the main protagonist of his Song
of the Phoenix saga, facing off against the main villain, a demon
named Dyspherum.

"I really have to work more on that story..." he thought. "Here I'm
making pictures of Dyspherum already and I haven't even written her
into the plot yet..." But those thoughts were quickly put aside as he
continued to draw. He was surprised at the ease with which the
picture appeared on the paper, especially the subjects' faces --then
again, both characters were supposed to be identical to each other
save one thing: where he would carefully shade Ranko's eyes, he only
had to draw Dyspherum's as dark voids.

Nevertheless, although the faces were easily drawn, the shape of
Dyspherum's body eluded him. Ranko's had turned out exactly like he
had wanted it, but the posture of the demon's body was difficult to
work with. The feet were somewhat out of proportions, as were the
arms in relation with the legs.

After several more attempts, and a couple of accidents with the
pencil's eraser, he decided to give it a rest. Realizing that the
rain had diminished enough, Zef quickly retraced Ranko with the black
pen, then placed both sheets of paper underneath the board to protect
them from the remaining raindrops. Afterwards, he headed back to the
street and was pleased to find the bus already waiting at its stop.

He continued to try to fix Dyspherum's picture during the bus ride,
but for some reason, whenever he changed one thing, another, more
glaring mistake appeared. Then the eraser at the end of the regular
pencil ran out. Sighing, Zef took out the mechanical pencil he had
just bought and turned it around, so that its own eraser could
continue the job. The instrument was barely half an inch away from
the picture when he stopped.

He looked at the picture of Ranko, already finished and waiting to be
traced into its final form, and then at Dyspherum's, with a hand and
a wing missing but otherwise passable --not as good as Ranko's but
not bad enough to demand immediate correction-- and finally decided
to conclude his work with his favorite redhead before doing any more
sketching on Dyspherum.

Cautiously, thankful that there were no speedbumps or potholes in the
bus' path, Zef traced Ranko's picture on the clean sheet. The black
ink was strong enough to be seen easily through the paper, so the
final draft was quickly becoming a perfect duplicate of the original.
Still, the mistakes made on Dyspherum still nagged at him. Soon, even
though Ranko was only halfway completed, he ended up going back to
the demon's picture.

He couldn't have picked a worse time.

Just as he was beginning to place the lead of the pencil upon the
sketch, he suddenly lurched forward as the bus stopped abruptly. The
pencil stabbed at the sketch, Zef's body pressing against the end
that held the eraser and causing the lead to pop back into the
barrel--not to mention, causing Zef to curse slightly in pain. But as
the momentum continued to push him and the pencil forward, the metal
barrel scratched against the sheet, tearing away nearly a centimeter
of paper right where Dyspherum's missing hand would be.

When Zef noticed what had happened, he frowned and swore, "Oh,
damn..." With a sigh, he shook his head and folded the paper in half,
then split the damaged part, which still had Dyspherum's picture,
from the one containing Ranko's; the half that was unscathed was
still good enough to deserve saving, and he could always draw
Dyspherum independently and trace her on the clean sheet afterwards.

Crumpling the torn half of the sheet into a ball, Zef came down from
the bus and tossed the garbage into a nearby bin. Fortunately, the
vehicle had stopped just behind the other bus that could take him
home; Zef climbed aboard and sighed again.

Next time, no more drawing while on the bus, he thought to himself.

And the paper in the garbage basket suddenly started to shake.

******

It was Wednesday, which meant that there was a Calc class today.

Zef sat at his desk, oblivious to the teacher as he continued to
spout subjects already covered by earlier courses. At least that was
a good thing about Calc 3: since you had already been through it
thanks to other classes, there was plenty of time to work on things
other than math.

Calc 3 was Zef's equivalent of an Art class.

Even though he was already taking a Painting workshop at the Tec, Zef
knew most of his best drawings and sketches, which he would often
translate into pastels and charcoal paintings at said workshop, were
done in classes like Physics and Calc. And ever since Sunday, he had
had this strongest urge to finish that picture of Ranko he had been
working on...


=======================================================

[Honolulu, Hawaii - 98.10.03]

"Look, I'd like to, but I'm afraid that I'm tied up at the
moment...no, it's because I have to go to a PTA meeting for Ai's
school.  They apparently want to meet the parents of all the new
students coming from other countries, and since I fill the parent
requirement, I have to go.  Otherwise....  Jill, you might want to
ask Rick.  He might be able to help you on that...I'm sure he would.
Sorry I couldn't be of any more assistance.  Yeah.  See ya."  Rob
hung up the phone and sighed.  Jill Ramos had just divorced her
husband, and had declared Rebound Season openon every available male
in the MILPERS office; it was apparently his turn to be hunted.  

Admittedly, he probably could have gotten away with it, but three
things got in the way of that.  One: he wasn't interested in the type
of woman who was willing to throw herself at any guy, and Jill Ramos
fit that bill--it was why she was getting divorced.  Number two, was
that he was Ai's guardian, and that meant he had to be a role model;
sleeping around and cheating on his fianc�e was hardly a good
example. Lastly, he loved his someday-to-be wife with a passion that
was normally only found in expensive Hollywood films.  He would
rather be placed on the firing line with the entire selection of
Naval artillery firing than even consider cheating on Kimiko, much
less actually doing so.

((There's only a limited number of women that I'll be putting my arms
around,)) he thought wryly, ((and only one where that will be meant
in a romantic sense.))

So, it came to him as a shock that someone chose that exact second to
put their arms around HIM.  Well, not really.  He just happened to
walk right into a person that was walking right towards him.  Said
person was the female of the species, with long violet hair that was
CLEARLY not in the range of normal pigmentation.  She had an athletic
build to her, though her size (slightly over 5 foot 1) gave her the
petite, china doll look.  She had violet hair, the kind that was
probably originally another shade, but had undergone a hair dying
process.  All she wore was a form fitting biosuit that seemed to have
that sprayed-on look.  It hadn't quite dawned on Rob that someone
else was in the house, someone not on the list of current residents.
And then she looked at him.  With eyes that glowed.  Twin lasers,
they radiated a light that was beyond unnatural.  "Dare?"  the girl
spoke in a dull, disinterested monotone, the Japanese intonation
precise and crisp, yet still devoid of any emotion or intellect.

"Onamae wa Robaato Baaba,  Dozo yoroshiku," he replied, not sure why
the panic button hadn't been hit yet.  Most people, when confronted
with strangers in their house with eyes like Chernobyl, tended to hit
that panic button pretty quick and bail the hell out as soon as
possible.  Not Rob. Maybe it was the result of six months of playing
human target in the Bosnian theatre.  Maybe it was the fact that this
was his home.  Maybe it was just the terminal stupidity prevalent in
the mind of any Sailor.  In any case, he was standing there, having
an odd conversation with ol' Nuclear Eyes.

"Doko...doko ni imasu ka?" the woman went on, still looking at him
with those eyes that looked oddly reminiscent of Imperial laser
cannons from 'Star Wars'.

"Hawaii desu."  At this point, Rob's brain decided that if panic was
going to set in, confusion would make for an excellent sparring
partner.  "Um..." Without realizing it, he slipped back into English.

"Excuse me, miss, but can I help you?"  It was, to say the least,
mind-numbing that he should react in this way.  But then again,
usually anything with glowing eyes tended not to be normal in the
first place.

He decided to say no more as a blast of emerald electricity cascaded
up and down her, electrocuting her.  Leaping back a couple of feet,
he heard her scream in pain as the green arcs of lightning cascaded
up and down her body, each arc racing up and down the length of her
body, both caressing her like any lover and torturing her as any
demon. As Rob watched the scene, his mind was strangely detached,
years of Naval training trying to assert itself and come up with
some--any--logical explanation for what was transpiring. ((Let's
see...there's no fire, so she's not a Class C...no electrical source,
so I can't re--WHAT THE HELL AM I THINKING?!?!?!?  THERE'S A STRANGE
WOMAN GOING MICROWAVE IN MY HOUSE AND ALL I CAN THINK OF IS
THAT?!?!?!?!?!))

As confusion and panic finally decided to make their long-awaited
appearance, Rob stared in shock as the electrical storm died down and
the woman slumped to the floor.  From what he could see, she'd at
least stopped twitching. Waiting a second or two more to prevent any
other arcs and sparks, he then approached her, turning her to begin
CPR.  As he looked at her, it vaguely dawned on her that she was
kinda cute, especially since her eyes were closed, and looked very
adorable in repose.

Then she opened her eyes.  Dazzling emerald orbs, they focused on
him. She began giggling.  And hugged him.  "Hi!" she said, in a
light, airy voice--in English.

If it were possible for the anime clich� of a bead of perspiration to
have formed on Rob's forehead, it would have done so.  Now trying to
break free of this woman's grasp, he commented, "Who are you?  And
what are you doing in my house?"

"Well," she replied, twiddling with her hair, "My name's Lime, and
I'm a marionette."  She giggled again, then continued.  "Well, you're
my owner, now, since you activated me from my embryotank, and...."

"What are you talking about?" Rob replied, unsure of what to do.
"What the hell is an embryotank?"

"It's right over there.  It looks.�"  Lime paused.  "Wait a second.
That's funny.  I just woke up, and yet, I didn't come out of the
embryotank.  That's different."  She pouted in thought, then shrugged
her shoulders, claiming, "Oh well.  Anyway, since you're my owner
now, I--"

"I'm your what?"

"Owner.  You activated me, you own me."  She paused for a second
more, then seemed to speak her thoughts out loud as she muttered,
"Weren't we just speaking Japonesian, earlier?  Wasn't aware I was
programmed for multilingual skills...."  

Deciding that it would be better to reason his way out than to deal
with a woman who survived electroshock therapy, he thought
th--((Waitaminit.  She said her name was Lime.  She said she was a
marionette.  She said.... Naaaah. Couldn't be.  Could it?))  Walking
past Lime, he went into the studio, to check on his trace.  He
expected to see a white paper with a gray image of this android,
seemingly brought to life.  Instead, what he found was a white paper
with a trace that was glowing a pulsating, neon green.  He looked at
the pencil next to it.  The pencil was giving off a green aura
similar to the trace.

"I don't believe it," he said to himself.  "That's gotta be
impossible."

"What's impossible?" Lime asked.

"You just came to life...out of a picture."  Rob slumped to the floor
in disbelief, thinking, ((Oh, this has gotta be one of the better
episodes of 'The Twilight Zone'.))  He sat there for a second,
shaking his head in disbelief.  "This isn't happening.  NO WAY is
this happening."

Lime, as any person would do, moved to his side and said, "Are you
okay? You're not sick, are you?"  She began to check his forehead and
face for signs of fever.  And if the situation was bad enough...

"ONIICHAN?!?!?!?"

"Um, Rob, I trust there's a good reason that a stranger in a
skintight suit is placing her hands all over you?"

...trust the life of a Sailor to always make it worse.


=======================================================

[Somewhere in the central US - 98.10.07]

Ukyou rushed to where her she-male waitress had been thrown from the
vortex. Konatsu didn't appear to have been hurt, thank the Kami, but
he was unconscious all the same from the landing.

Ranma stepped back, still staring in shock at the kunoichi's sudden
arrival. "What the hell *is* this, Ucchan?  What happened to that
girl?  And what's *he* doing here?"

Ukyou looked up at Ranma from where she knelt beside Konatsu.  "Calm
down, Ran-chan.  She was saying something about this pencil here..." 

Once again, she twirled it between her thumb and index finger,
peering intently at its whirling design.  "Something about being
warned never to stub the lead against a picture..."

"Which she just did."

"You got it, sugar.  Looks like that warning was pretty serious."

Ranma stood there, pondering this.  Then, his eyes lit up.  "That
must be what happened to that guy!"

"And his wife and kid, right.  You know, I'd be willing to bet that
that girl did that deliberately; I'll bet she was trying to follow
them."

"Hmm..."  Ranma considered this.  Then... "Well, whadda we do now? We
gotta do something about him, don't we?"  He motioned toward the
still-unconscious Konatsu.

Ukyou stood up.  "I guess for now, we might as well let him sleep it
off." She looked out the picture window; the last red streaks of
sunset had began to fade from the sky.  "Come to that, we might as
well all get some shuteye and try to sort this whole mess out once
we're rested and refreshed, ne? C'mon, give me a hand..."  She
grabbed the kunoichi's arms and gestured for Ranma to take his legs.
"Oh, were there any bedrooms up there, did you notice?"

"Uh... yeah, there were."  Ranma grunted from Konatsu's weight.  He
may have been built like a tall, slender girl, but delicacy did not
lighten the burden that he was.  "One had a double bed filling most
of the room.  I didn't get a good look into the other room - all I
saw was this trampoline in the middle of it."  By this time, the two
had hauled the kunoichi to the foot of the stairs.  The stairs were
positioned just a couple meters from the front entrance to the house;
it was a split-level layout.  Ranma went first up the stairs.

"All right, first we get him down in the room with the double bed, I
guess. Then we'll figure out a place to crash ourselves."  One they
had hauled Konatsu up the eight steps, Ranma guided them into a room
painted a bright yellow.  Sure enough, the bed took up nearly half
the floor space of the room, and a sewing table set up next to the
bed like a nightstand took up a third of the remaining space.  A bit
of a heave, and Konatsu was sprawled onto the bed's white quilt, a
beatific smile on his face.

Ukyou let out her breath in a relieved sigh.  "Well, that takes care
of *him,* anyway.  Now we gotta find a place for us."  She either
didn't notice or ignored Ranma as he blanched at the word 'us.'  To
his credit, he was making an effort not to let his concern show.  The
two of them turned out the light, and slipped out of the room,
closing the door behind them.

While they were upstairs, they stuck their heads into the other
bedroom Ranma mentioned.  As he had said, a small round trampoline
sat in the middle of the room, but it was the least of the obstacles
in getting to the bed against the far wall of the room.  Blocks, game
pieces, and books were littered about the floor.  "Hm.  Must be the
kid's room.  In any case, it's not big enough for both of us."

Still worried with Ukyou's choice of words, Ranma swallowed audibly
before muttering, "Oh well.  Guess that means you can have the bed.
I'll take the couch downstairs.  No problem."

A frown crossed Ukyou's face.  Ran-chan sounded just a bit *too*
relieved about how things were turning out.  Well, she wasn't going
to just give up that easily.  She clutched his hand and started
downstairs, pulling him along behind her.  "Well, let's get you
settled, then..."

A right turn at the foot of the stairs, and they found themselves by
the picture window again.  This time, the scene outside was quite
dark.  Turning on the lights, they realized there was another,
flat-backed couch right up against the window.  It was buried under a
pile of papers, to be sure, but it was there all the same.  "Hm.
Looks like you could sleep down here after all, Ucchan, if you
wanna..."

While Ranma was still looking at this new-found couch, Ukyou had
discovered a doorway off to the right, leading to...?  "Hey,
Ran-chan... where's this go?"

"How should *I* know?" he shrugged.

"Well, then...?"  Ranma sighed and followed Ukyou...

...into a spacious master bedroom.  The color drained from Ranma's
face, and rushed to fill Ukyou's.  She walked over to the bed, and
pressed down on the deep purple sheets.  The mattress bowed and
rippled.  Ukyou's eyes lit up, and she began to unfasten her spatula
bandolier.

Ranma backed up a step.  "Uh, Ucchan... what're you doing?"

She walked over to him, and gently cuffed him on the shoulder.
"What's it look like, silly?  I'm getting ready for bed.  This
thing's big enough for the both of us.  Whaddya say?"

"Ah... er... I didn't bring any pajamas or nothing..."

"That's a problem?"  She slipped off her okonomiyaki seller's tunic
and stepped out of her tights.  At this point, Ranma had lost the
presence of mind to even back away, especially when Ukyou turned her
back on him and began, slowly, to undo her chest bindings.

"Well, I mean... that is, I couldn't... erm, but I... but... what
ab-b-bout A-A-A...?"

Keeping her back to him, Ukyou let go of the unwinding cloth, closed
her eyes, and sighed deeply.  "What about Akane, right?  Ran-chan, do
you realize that we really have no idea how to get back to Nerima?
And even if we did, by the time we did, we'd have been gone long
enough for Akane to already assume the worst?  Especially if you and
I come home together.  Whether or not anything happens between us
here, she's going to assume that it did, you know.  Why not... just
try it?"  She heard an audible gulp behind her.  It was time to go
for broke.  She picked up the dangling bindings, and turned around to
face her fiance.

"Besides," she said as the last strip fell away from her chest,
"don't you like me?  You said I was cute, once... am I suddenly so
awful now? You may be stuck here with me, Ran-chan - is that really
all that terrible?

"I promise... I won't make you do anything you don't wanna.  But,
just for me... would you be willing to join me?"  She climbed into
the bed, and sprawled out on her back.  "It's really comfortable
here. Please?"  She sat back up, and gave him her best pleading look.

Ranma closed his eyes, and dropped his head.  He could never resist a
pleading girl.  Even when he knew there'd be trouble.  "Fine,
whatever.  But you keep those panties on, will ya?  And don't glomp
me, got it?"  Ukyou nodded vigorously, a large smile on her face. He
undid his Chinese shirt, turned around, and walked out.

Ukyou started in surprised chagrin.  "Ran-chan... what...?"  She cut
herself off as she heard running water.  She hoped he was just
preparing for bed.

Sure enough, he walked back in with a toothbrush.  "Here... they had
a couple still in boxes under the sink."  

She got up out of the bed, and gave Ranma her most grateful look as
she accepted it.  "Thank you, Ran-chan... for everything."

Once evening ablutions were taken care of, they shut all the lights
off and climbed into bed, together.  There was a mild hum coming from
the nightstand on Ukyou's side which turned out to be a faulty
connection in the electronic alarm clock - they'd just have to live
with it.  Ranma and Ukyou both lay on their right sides, Ukyou
staring at Ranma's back, Ranma with eyes closed, feeling the touch of
her eyes.  Oh, wait... that was her hand on his shoulder...!!

"Ran-chan?"

He fought to remain calm.  "Hm?"

"Goodnight, honey..."  and she leaned forward, kissing his on the
cheek.  He was thoroughly glad of the dark; this way, she couldn't
see him blush.

"Yeah... g'night, Ucchan..."

Time passed.  Soon Ranma heard another sound join the alarm clock's
hum... the gentle sound of Ucchan's snore.  Satisfied that she was
asleep, he hoisted himself out of bed, into the bathroom... where he
dumped a cup of cold water on himself, before returning to her.

He was so preoccupied with having to deal with Ukyou's affections
that, upon returning to the bedroom, he never noticed the pencil,
tucked behind Ukyou's alarm clock, emitting a faint hum in tune with
the clock's.  Nor was he aware as it glowed, its colors swirling in
the darkness.  But it was aware of them...


=======================================================

[Upstate New York - 98.10.07]

A yurta. Baba Yaga's hut. Battle spats. Eight tons of gummi
jawbreakers. Homer Simpson with a large, deadly looking rake. Kasumi
Tendo wearing nothing but a smile and doing some DAMN interesting
things with those cooking implements.....

<BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPSMACK!!!!>

"Oogh," said Matt, rolling out of bed at exactly 5:45 A.M EST. "I
have SO got to start getting to the good dreams earlier..."

******

By all acounts, Fairport High is NOT your typical high school. For
example, at FHS, the library is considered to be THE place to be.

This is not from any incredible desire to learn on the part of the
students. Nor is it because of the free internet access or the
first-rate air conditioner that was added when the place was rebuilt,
although that part certainly helps. It is because of the large,
lushly padded soft chairs scattered liberally about, and the way they
induce sleep almost the second you sit down. At any given point in
time, you will find at least ten students zonked out of their minds. 

The tardy rate at Fairport is extremely high.

At this particular moment in time, one Matthew Giglia, seventeen
years of age, known best as his alter-ego Mercutio, was lying in a
semi-comatose state in one of said chairs, a thin line of drool
making its way from his mouth down his cheek.

It was at this point that David Carter wedged the large wad of tissue
into his mouth.

"OMGAPHOTLKACK *ptoo* DAMN!" Matt started coughing and hacking.
"Dammit, Dave! That wasn't funny the last time eight times, and it's
not funny now!"

"So sue me," said Dave, one of the few people who Matt could call
friend. Friend in the sense that he wasn't engaged in any specific
sort of enmity. "You would've had to get up for your next class soon
anyways; sixth period is ending. It's almost one."

"What, already?" Matt said, glancing blearily at his watch. "Damn. It
seems like my naps get shorter every day."

"Maybe if you didn't stay up till three in the morning, you'd be more
rested."

"I have to stay up that late. I have important fanfiction to
produce."

"Oooooo, yeah, important," said Dave, not without sarcasm. "And HOW
many months has it been since you produced an actual coherent
chapter, hmmmmm?"

"Hey, I'll have you know that the creative processs is an arduous and
time-consuming task that cannot be forced. Philistine."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, fic-boy."

It would be important at this stage to note a few things about Dave.
The first is that he likes to mock Matt incessantly. The second is
that he rags on Matt's writing abilities so much because, despite
having had a year to work on it, and having been to dragged to
several fanfiction con panels, he STILL has yet to complete his own
piece of fiction.

"I've told you before, don't call me fic-boy."

"Well, I refuse to call you Mercutio, so fic-boy'll have to do.
Besides, it's accurate. You read WAY too much of that stuff. You
don't sleep, you don't eat... what did you have for lunch today,
anyway?"

"A couple packages of cafeteria relish." 

"Dude, that's sick."

"Bite me, fanboy." 

Ordinarily, the conversation at this point would have degenerated
into further name-calling, until it zoomed off on some wild tangent
like what would happen in a fight between Shampoo and Nuku-Nuku, or
if Ranma could punch faster than the Flash. However, the bell for
sixth period went off, so Dave and Matt were forced to elbow through
the huge crowd of students leaving the library and hustle off toward
their next classes.

"Oh ya, Matt, I almost forgot," asked Dave as he dodged around one of
the jocks in the hallway. "Could you write down that URL for the
Sakura Archive for me? I keep forgetting it." 

"Perv. Alright, alright, just lemme....." Matt dug his hand into his
pocket for a pencil... and froze.

Matt ALWAYS carried a mechanical pencil on his person. Always. You
never know when you might need to write something down. If he doesn't
have a pencil in his pocket, he has a pen.

Except for today, when he had an old throat lozenge and 25 cents in
nickels.

"Ah, bloody HELL!" he said, catching the attention of several nearby
trolling hall monitors. "Dave, I'll catch you after my seventh period
nap-"

"You mean French class?"

"-like I said, my nap, and catch you outside the lounge. I gotta hit

the store." 

"That place? Awright, cool. But remember: beware the Ides of April."

"I think I liked it better when you ended conversations with 'It's
all going according to plan.'"

With that witty rejoinder providing completely undeserved impetus to
him, Matt continued down the hallway, past the cafeteria, into the
custodians area, and hung a left, going downstairs to the student
store.

A couple seconds later, another student came barreling through the
door, bumped briefly against the row of steel lockers lining the left
wall, reoriented himself, and headed down the stairs to the right
which led to the school store.

******

Matt swung through the door, almost snagging his backpack on the
handle, and made a beeline through the tiny school store to the desk.
Things looked a tad different, but what the hell did he know, he only
came in here once or twice a year.

He didn't know the middle-aged man behind the register, though.
Generally one of the off-duty hall monitors handled the store (it
wasn't exactly a hotbed of activity) but the reserved guy with the
swept back white hair.... him he didn't know.  

"Hello," said the man, in a soft, well modulated tone. "Welcome to my
store. I'm Mix, and I run the show here. What can I get you for?" 

"Uh? Beg your pardon?"

"I said, what can I get for you?" He smiled. "Need some paper? Pens?
Dark
Stone of Summoning? Spiral notebook?"

"Umm..... ageh..." Matt was momentarily confused, more by just
general disorientation than anything else. However, reality (and the
fact that he was about to be late to Mrs. Morris' French class, and
she locked the door and refused to open it no matter how hard you
kicked) soon reasserted itself.

"Ah.... I just need a pencil please, Mick. The mechanical kind, if
you have 'em."

"Why, of course. And it's 'Mix,' young sir," said Mix, giving Matt
one of those gentlemanly 'refined older guy' smiles as he brought up
a five-pack of mechanical pencils from behind the counter. The usual
assortment of barrel colors: Red, green, blue, black, white. Nothing
unusual at all about them.

"I must warn you though," he said in a conspirational tone, "The
pencils are cursed."

"Oh. That's bad."

"But, each one comes with a free lead refill!"

"That's good!"

"The lead is also cursed."

"That's bad."

"But you also get a free oversized eraser!"

"That's good!"

"However, the erasers are made from an unstable, highly mystic
compound."

"Ummm......."  as far as Matt knew, mystic compounds could be good OR
bad.

"That's bad, son."

"Oh! Allright. How much for the lot?" 

"One dollar for all five."

"Give ya twenty cents for the red one."

"Deal."

Money chaged hands. Matt was now the proud owner of a brand new, mint
condition, Pencil.

"Cool. Thanks, Mix!" Matt grabbed his new acquisition, and bolted for
the door. *Nice guy,* he thought, as he dodged slower students on his
way down the hall. *I wonder when the district hired 'im?*

<BRING!>

"Gahhh! I'm LATE! Damndamndamn."

=======================================================

[Texas]

Lurker groaned as consciousness gradually returned to him. He was
groggy as hell, and his head throbbed with the intensity of a
hangover. Perhaps that's exactly what it was, he detachedly thought,
wincing in pain as the sunlight stabbed into his eyes...

Eyes? All thoughts of headaches and intense pain fled Lurker's mind
as he shot up, only grimacing in pain for a second from the motion.
Turning to the source of the light, he forced both eyes open. He then
closed first the right, then the left...and after taking a deep
breath, slowly opened only his right eye. "The hell...?"

The sunlight, dim as it was through the dingy blinds, was near
blinding. Which shouldn't be possible, because no amount of light had
registered upon Lurker's right retina in over a year. And yet, he
felt the sun's painful glare upon an eye that shouldn't see, and as
the pain gradually faded, he could see clearly the blinds, the wall,
the face peering at him with concern--

Whatever pain and grogginess had lingered quickly faded as Lurker
turned to meet the gaze of his impossible guest. "are you alright?"
the albino asked.

"I...I think so..." Lurker said, in a voice that he couldn't
reconcile with his own. "Wh--what happened?" 

Rei shrugged almost imperceptibly. "i do not know. you...caught
fire...it was..." She seemed to be searching for a way to explain. As
she did so, Lurker took a moment to look down at himself. 

His clothes, his hands, even his body...everything was different.
Shakily, he stood, and nearly fell over as he tried to walk to the
bathroom. "Ugh...what's going on here?" he asked, in that unfamiliar,
deeper voice. Carefully, taking deliberate, measured strides, Lurker
trudged to the bathroom, flicking on the light. He leaned against the
lavatory, peered into the mirror...and nearly passed out in shock.
"THE HELL!?"

Rei rushed over to the bathroom door, cautiously peering through the
open portal as Lurker intently studied his reflection in the mirror.
"This has got to be some kind of dream..." he muttered to himself
several times.

"is...are you..." Rei began cautiously. "are you...the same person
from before? raakaa?"

Lurker blinked for a moment, his numbed mind lagging as it attempted
to process the question, nevermind the source of the question.
"I...yeah...no...I don't know!" he said, throwing his hands up in
exasperation. Turning to Rei, he said, "Tell me what happened."

"you were saying something about tracing, then you caught fire...it
was green...it was not burning anything but you, and you were
screaming..." the albino began, recalling the bizarre events of
earlier.

Lurker nodded. "Then what?"

"it looked like you shrank...then you stopped burning, and you were
different..." Rei concluded, "like you are now."

After a long moment of silence, Lurker's brow furrowed. "The
pencil...did the pencil do this to me?" he mused quietly. Feeling
much calmer than he had a few minutes ago, he again studied his
reflection in the mirror. 

Meanwhile, Rei walked over to the desk and picked up the seemingly
inoffensive writing implement. She caught sight of the tracing of
herself on the desk, next to what looked like a laptop computer,
around which were scattered various remotes, videocassette cases, and
manga... "raakaa," she called out in what might be considered a
normal speaking voice for anyone else.

"Hai?" Lurker said, emerging from the bathroom and walking over to
the desk.

Rei pointed at one of the various Dragonball tankoubon cluttering the
desk. The gloss cover of the manga sported a very noticeable puncture
mark, as though it had been gouged or stabbed. Around the immediate
area of the puncture, the cover had turned a strange lime green,
creating a large discolored splotch on the cover artwork, near the
image of Trunks in the picture. She glanced from the manga to Lurker,
and back. "this is what you look like now," she said. 

Lurker blinked. "I...you're right..." Trailing off, he grabbed the
book, ran back into the bathroom, and held it up next to his
reflection in the mirror. "Damn...did the pencil turn me into....?"
He shook his head, brushing the long lavender-grey locks out of his
face irritably. "But that doesn't make sense!" he declared.

"does it make sense that i am here?" Rei asked, crossing her arms. 

"You have a point," Lurker said. He shook his head. "This is too
weird. What the hell is going on here?" he wondered.

"i wish i knew," Rei said. Indicating the pencil she now held, she
said, "you were saying something about this pencil?"

Lurker took the pencil from Rei and studied it. Even as he held it,
he could feel the urge to trace something beginning to build. Shoving
it aside, he frowned. "I traced you," he said, picking up said
tracing, "with this pencil, and you appeared here. I must have
stabbed that manga with the pencil when I was figuring that out," he
continued, "and it turned me into Trunks...odd," he mused, frowning,
"I don't feel like a Saiyajin. I feel healthier than I have in...all
my life," he shrugged, "but I don't feel like I could throw ki blasts
like a kid throwing pebbles..." During this entire ramble, Rei was
staring at him oddly. He blushed. "Guess you're not much into
Dragonball," he said sheepishly.

"i have never heard of it before," Rei said. 

"Figures," Lurker smirked. "Well...unless there's something I'm
missing here, I couldn't actually be who I seem to have turned into,
or I'd feel some kind of...power...hey, I know," he said. He began
rifling through piles of comics and magazines in one corner of the
room, before coming up with an early issue of the Viz translation of
Dragonball Z. "There's one way for sure to find out," he mused as he
flipped through the comic, while reaching for a sheet of tracing
paper.

"what are you doing?" Rei asked curiously, looking over his shoulder.

"If this pencil makes things you trace with it appear," Lurker said,
"we're about to find out for sure. And then figure out whether or not
I'm really what I appear to be now." Finding a good image to use,
Lurker began tracing, concentrating only on the device he wanted to
create, fighting the urge to trace the entire frame and more. As soon
as he finished, he threw down the pencil, and waited. 

For a long moment, nothing happened. Finally, the tracing paper gave
off a green spark, which erupted into blazing emerald flames around
the lone object on the page. Then, a small shower of sparks rose from
the paper, dispelling the flames, and a small, shiny metallic object
clattered to the desk. It appeared to be an earpiece of some sort,
with a clear red lens attached to it. "I'll be damned," Lurker said,
gaping in awe. "It worked." 

"what is that?" Rei asked as Lurker picked up the small device.

"This," Lurker said, hooking the object over his left ear, "is a
scouter. It can measure the power level of whoever you look at with
it, and it can detect large power readings from a distance." As
Lurker tapped a button on the earpiece, the lens began to glow, small
rows of numbers flashing across it. "Cool, it works!" he said,
tapping the controls on the side again as he looked at Rei. "Power
level...seven," he said as the readout steadied. Removing the
scouter, he held it out to the albino. "Here...put this on, and hit
this while looking at me," he instructed. 

Rei took the scouter, looked at it uncertainly for a moment, then
shrugged and hooked it over her ear, looking at Lurker. After a
moment's experimentation with the controls, the readout inside the
lens steadied, and she announced, "power level ten." 

Lurker blinked. "That's strange."

"what do you mean?" Rei asked, removing the scouter.

"Well," Lurker began, "if that pencil had really turned me into
Trunks...my power level would be a lot higher than ten. Probably
would have shorted out the scouter, in fact, if I'm not mistaken." He
frowned. "I can't figure that out..."

"maybe you were not turned into this...trunks," Rei suggested. "it
might have just made you look like him." 

Lurker blinked, then slowly nodded. "You might have something
there..." he said. "In any case," he said, shaking his head, "that's
not important. What *is* important, is figuring out what to do now." 

=======================================================

[Upstate New York]

It wasn't until he got home that afternoon that Matt really got a
chance to notice the weirdness.

It had been funking with his head for most of the afternoon. He'd
suddenly begun doodling a LOT more than he normally did in class. And
they weren't just random doodlings either; for some bizarro reason,
he'd wanted to trace things, which he normally hated becase he SUCKED
at it, and since he didn't have any tracing paper, he'd doodled all
afternoon, which wasn't much better because he was horrible at THAT
too.

This wasn't the kind of thing you'd think about during the school
day, when your most profound thoughts were along the lines of "DAMN
this is boring, when the hell will the old man shut up?" or "Sure
wish I had a HoHo," and of course, the ever popular "Must.... not....
succumb.... to...sleep...."  

Once Matt was at home, lying on his bed in between his stack of Ranma
novels and his stack of Impulse comics, he really had a chance to
ponder.

*Meh. Wonder why I wanna trace stuff all of a sudden. Oh, well. I
might as well do it, otherwise it's gonna be one of those things that
bugs the hell out of me all day. Better pick something that I won't
make suck TOO bad, though.* 

Matt sat up and cast about the room for something appropriate.
Something cool, and not TOO terribly difficult, preferably in bold
colors....

As it happened, his gaze lit upon a stck of printed screen shots he'd
cadged off the net that was lying on top of his pile of Assorted
Graphic Novels. A pair of pictures jumped right out at him.

*Oooh. Kickass! And they even go well together too. DAMN I have good
taste.* 

Sweeping away some of the debris on his desk, he sat down, plunked
his subjects beside him, and grabbed a pad of tracing paper. 

*Let's see... forgetting something... oh yeah, pencil would probably
be an intelligent choice....* digging into his pocket, he proceeded
to retrieve his newly acquired instrument of lead, and then to dive
headlong into Tracefest '98.

*Uh-huh.... uh-huh..... damn, this is easier than I thought it'd be.*
Matt was moving quickly and efficiently, with way more artistic
talent than he'd EVER shown in his life, rapidly connecting the
various lines of his subjects figures, occasionaly switching from one
trace to the other as the mood struck
him. 

He drew and traced and connected and scribbled and scribed and then
he was done. Two exquisitely well-formed tracings lay upon his desk. 

*Well,* he thought, leaning back and admiring his near-perfect
handiwork, *That was a trip and a half. I wonder if I could do as
well with something more complicated.*

It was while he was digging under the Hellblazer stack for that
really nice picture of girl-type Ranma when the red light hit.

Matt was NOT the sort to react hastily when an eerie red glow started
coming out of nowhere (from somewhere behind him, near the desk,
actually) and making his room look _incredibly_ creepy. Instead, he
took a deep breath, straightened, and turned around.

That was a mistake.

Largo looked at Matt.

Matt looked at Lord Neron.

Lord Neron looked at Largo.

This rather surreal tableu continued for a short time.

Small nanomachines making adjustments from under Largo's exoskin
caused it to ripple slightly.

Neron just stared a everything and nothing at once with those glowing
green eyes of his. His aura flickered slightly.

Matt began to sloooooowwwwllllly reach for the sword hidden under his
bed. 

It was at this point the two supervillains decided to react.

Largo simply lunged by Matt, apparently deeming him completely
unworthy of notice, and made a play for the window. Smashing through
the screen, he executed a flip, hit the ground running, vaulted to
the roof of the house across the street, and kept going.

Neron was considerably less dramatic; he merely gestured, and a cold
wind blew through the room, forcing Matt to shield his eyes.... and
then he was gone.

Matt, who had frozen the second Largo started moving, remained that
way until he was absolutely _sure_  the coast was clear.

Then, very slowly, he walked over to his bookcase, pulled open the
small compartment where he kept his reference materials, and began
digging for his copy of the Encyclopedia of the Occult and
Parapsychology. 

=======================================================

NOTES FROM THE AUTHORS:

Rob's Notes:

For everyone I told that I would never write an SI...oops.  ^_^;;;


Ukyou's Notes:

A writer must be very careful what gets put down in text.
I'm not just saying this about stories, although it's important that
the proper meanings and descriptions be conveyed.  I'm talking about
the fact that you must always be careful what you say...
You never know who may be listening...
And you never know what may result from your words.
It was an offhand remark in my AnimeIowa diary:  Amanda Winn's
description of an angst-ridden Rei Ayanami, a girl who knows her
value to her world is next to nothing, got me wondering how that
would change if she saw all the pariphernalia honoring her in this
world.  This casual musing was posted to the FFML...
...and caused a chain reaction in writers' minds.  First, there was
Richard Lawson's spamfic "Rei II's Excellent Adventure" (which I'd
like a copy of, BTW... silly me, I got rid of it, as I'm not familiar
enough with Evangelion)...
...and then, this epic.  Not that my remark was the only spark for
the concept (Lurker-san has told me that the pencils were inspired by
an episode of Pokemon), but I do suspect that it's the one reason I
was selected to join the ranks of these elite writers working on this
crazy project.  
I just hope I can keep up my end.  I'm not a fighter, as those of you
who read me know.  "Make love, not war:" my motto since chat room
days.  And this story's gonna be a war.  But I will do my best, and I
hope you enjoy the results of all our labour.

Jorge Pratt's Notes:

Whew! Another project on the way, and it certainly has a lot of
potential. Now, before *some* of you start seeking me out with
torches and forks, demanding that I get to work on Song of the
Phoenix, I have to say that I'm working on this for two reasons: a)
I've always been interested in collaborating with other authors in
writing a fanfic such as this; I'm quite excited about finally being
part of this sort of project along with several authors I respect and
admire ^_^ ; and b) this is a way to get the writing muse back on
track. That is, my delays with my other fics aren't exactly the
garden-variety writer's block: I know exactly where to take the story
and how to develop it, but I just can't seem to translate it into
written text in a manner that satisfies me. Thus, hopefully, by
working alongside these wonderful writers, by learning from their
styles, and, particularly, by carrying on a story that I have no idea
where it might lead, I'll be able to get back to SotP and the others.
^_^
You can put the shotgun down now. ^_^;;;

=======================================================

PENCIL TRACE PRODUCTIONS

eternallostlurker@worldnet.att.net		sabreb@erols.com
databank@mindspring.com			ashita@rocketmail.com
mihoshi@eudoramail.com			mxjk67c@prodigy.com
ukyoukwnji@aol.com				maercutio@aol.com
terbril@hotmail.com