(continued from section one)


******


Ayanami Rei had seen many strange things in her lifetime. Indeed, she knew
that she herself was considered by those around her--just because she never
reacted to their words, didn't mean she never heard what was said about
her--to be strange. From the bizarre underground complex known as the
Geofront, to the massive biomechanical beings called Evangelion, to the
bizarre paranormal menaces called Shito (or Angels, depending on which
branch of NERV you asked), to fourteen-year-old children being pressed into
more or less military service, she had been exposed to so much of the
unusual and extraordinary that very little fazed her.

The events of the last few minutes, however, had been enough to rattle even
the emotion-deficient Evangelion pilot.

24 hours ago, the entire power grid of Tokyo-3 had shut down, cutting off
not only the city, but also the Geofront, which had been left mysteriously
bereft of emergency power. During the outage, another Angel attack had
commenced, and even without power, the three Children had managed to get to
the Eva cages, where the Commander himself was hard at work preparing the
mecha for manual launch.

The Angel had been defeated, power had slowly been restored, and with
school called off for the day, Akagi Ritsuko had called the pilots in for
another round of synch tests. Rei had just finished suiting up...

And suddenly, she wasn't where she was supposed to be.

Instead, she was sitting on a sofa, in a small and cluttered room, next to
an overweight gaijin.

While she was trying to determine what had happened, yet another series of
bizarre events unfolded, in rather rapid succession.

The yellow...rodent, she supposed, sitting in the chair in the middle of
the room delivered some type of static electric shock to herself and the
gaijin. It was a mild shock; the polylatex construction of her plugsuit
diverted most of the current.

She still wasn't sure what had happened to the gaijin. It didn't fit the
circumstances.

The moment the shock had hit, he had a muscle spasm, and his hand struck
the table in front of him. Rei could see nothing combustible on the table,
aside from a few pieces of paper; nevertheless, a fire had started, and had
rapidly engulfed the gaijin. The flames were a bizarre shade of green; Rei
had never seen green fire before, and it was slightly disconcerting.

Not quite as disconcerting, however, as the unearthly screams of pain
coming from within the shroud of fire.

She had quickly moved away from the couch, noting after the fact that
neither the upholstery nor the carpet were catching fire.

Within seconds, the writhing form within the flames stopped screaming. Rei
assumed he had either fainted from shock and pain, or was dead. The flames
themselves were beginning to draw in on themselves, as though the fuel
feeding them was shrinking. Flesh burning away, she analyzed. A part of her
mind told her that she should be trying to do something to smother the
flames. Another part of her mind shot back that she had no idea where a
fire extinguisher might be located, or any water. Another part of her mind
was still trying to determine what was going on.

The dominant part of her mind remained impassive and neutral, and continued
to watch as the flames slowly died.

"Pika? Pi, pika pi!?" The creature in the chair chattered.

Rei blinked. There was no trace of the gaijin she had seen when she
arrived.

Instead, in the very place where he had presumably burned to a crisp, a
different gaijin slumped against the sofa. While the other one had been
overweight and dark-haired, this one was slender, lightly tanned, and had
pale hair. He also seemed a bit younger than the previous one.

Hours of drilling in NERV emergency aid procedures prompted Rei to
determine if this new arrival was alive. She confirmed a pulse, and noted
the steady rise and fall of the chest associated with normal breathing.

With that issue cleared up, Rei stepped back, and glanced at the rodent on
the chair, who seemed to be concerned, as well as confused. She glanced
back at the strange youth on the sofa.

"[what is going on here?]" she wondered.

"Pika chu," the yellow creatured offered, as though responding.

Somehow, Rei thought, that made about as much sense as anything else.


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


[Georgia]


"I don't know where the clothes came from, I was only tracing a couple of
head shots...somehow I got you here at night, I guess, and I was thinking
about my story...I still don't see how this could have happened, and I
don't know how to send you three back. I'm sorry..."

Akane found herself unable to get too angry at the obviously confused and
upset writer. It was clear that he was as much in the dark as they were,
and besides, he'd also managed to produce three robes for their much-needed
modesty--especially Ranma's. This would happen on both a Girl Day AND a
Feminine Night.

"Pointless weirdness manifesting for no good reason? Story of my life, pal.
Kinda a relief to see that I'm not the only one who suffers from it...even
when I'm still suffering. So, where'd you get a magic pencil again,
anyway?"

"Just picked it up at Esker. But it was the only one there, and it was on
sale. Fifty cents, I mean it was a bargain. But why there..."

"And we're in America?"

"Yeah. Augusta, Georgia, to be exact."

"And we're anime characters?"

"Well, you two are, ah, a variant, from a story I write, and I don't know
about Washuu-chan..."

"Story?" asked Akane.

"Um...this is rather...complex..."

"More accurately, his stories just happen to reflect a variant reality. In
a real sense, he's less a writer than a recorder. However, the manner in
which he records them is rather clever," snickered Washuu-chan, who was
reading Kenko's files.

"Thanks...so much for imagination. Hmmph."

"Not at all. You have a perfectly good imagination, Kenko-san. It's merely
that given the quantum nature of reality, every possible universe must
exist, so whatever your do write WILL exist somewhere. So, in a real sense,
you're also less a recorder than a writer. And in a third sense, you are
doing both at the same time, recording while writing a unique event."

"My head hurts," Kenko complained.

"You and me both," added Ranma. "She's worse than Lina."

"At any rate...there are other problems involved. This...pencil...gives off
a rather unusual energy reading. Part of that energy is holding us here in
his reality."

"So, we break the pencil, we go home?" Ranma asked eagerly.

"I wish it was that simple. I'm detecting thousands of similar patterns
from all across the globe. Many of which are at dangerous levels. Simply
breaking that pencil could easily strand us here permanently, in fact. At
the moment, I simply do not have enough data."

"Oh, great," Kenko said weakly, completely unaware that his right hand was
idly tracing a doodle he'd made before for a possible omake gif.

"What I suspect we'll have to do is somehow gather every pencil there is,
and contain them in a quantum flux field, to reverse the effects and set
things right. And I believe there's quite a lot wrong."

Kenko shuddered. He'd turned on the news, and had seen chaos. Now he had a
good idea why. "You said it. If there are thousands of these, and they fall
into the hands of various otaku and fanboys...or the sort who watches the
more twisted stuff, or..."

"Fortunately, you may have well made a great step in saving your world,
Kenko-san. It's because of your foresight and good taste that we can defeat
this problem."

"Um...what foresight do you mean?"

Washuu-chan smiled, her hands on her hips. "Why, ME of course! I AM after
all the GREATEST GENIUS IN THE UNIVERSE! HAA-HA-HA-HA-HAA!"

"Oh. Of course. How clever of me." (I'm a dead man.)

"You know, she's right. With me and Akane here, if it comes down to a
fight, the enemy won't stand a chance!" Ranma smirked. Cutely, at the
moment, but a smirk nonetheless.

"Of course." (Dead probably isn't an adequate term any more.)

For some reason, no one--not even Kenko--noticed the pencil finishing the
tracing of the doodle. But they did notice the frustrated thump of the lead
in the center of the tracing. And the green flare of the barrel.

The pencil wanted to change the user, but it couldn't. The picture wasn't a
living being. It wasn't even a person.

It was a barrel.

The nature of the pencil was to transform the user when triggered. So it
did it the best way it could.

Kenko stared as the lines flared, took on color. The barrel appeared...a
small cask, hardly two feet tall. It rose into the air. And Kenko, somehow
knowing what was going to happen, was paralyzed in fear.

"Get it away get it away get it away get it agurgle."

The scream was, to say the least, deafening.

Akane picked up the now empty barrel, and scowled. "I can't read
this...it's in Chinese."

"THAT I could have guessed," said Ranma, staring (nervously) at the less
than pleased Kenko, who was no longer screaming. SHE was too busy
whimpering.

Washuu-chan took the barrel, and fed the label into her portable
supercomputer. And then boggled.

"Spring of drowned ninja catgirl? There was a catgirl to drown? I suppose
that considering the effectively infinite levels of a quantum reality
matrix, this is an understandable possibility, but..."

"I was just sketching a barrel," Kenko whimpered. "I didn't know it had a
label on the other side..."


******

Kenko--or, if one prefers, Neko-Kenko--wasn't the typical stereotypical
anime catgirl. Those, for lack of a better term, are just girls with ears
and tails added.

Neko-Kenko, on the other hand, was definitely feline. Her (quite unwanted)
thick pelt of blue fur was contrasted by a white mane that was below her
shoulderblades. Her tail was twitching in frustration and misery, while her
short muzzle twitched. Whiskers, ears, the whole nine yards. Add a pair of
slitted ruby colored eyes, cute but definitely feline fangs, and an
expression of extreme depression. Not like the typical catgirl at all.

She wasn't pleased with her new figure or stature either. Kenko was of
average height, about 5 foot nine. Neko-Kenko was inbetween Ranma and Akane
in height (Well, Girl-type Ranma, to be technical) and build. If she wasn't
so obviously depressed, she would be alluring in an exotic fashion.
Especially since her clothes were in tatters, because when you have fur,
you find that a lot of clothing is insanely uncomfortable. After only a few
moments, she'd scratched her clothing into shreds trying to loosen it and
to free her trapped tail.

"Almost done--there! Perfect. Now, the hot water," chirped Washuu-chan,
happy in her favorite pastime--making inventions that no sane person would
even think of needing.

"AIIIIGH!"

"It doesn't have to be THAT hot, Akane," noted Ranma.

"I don't care--I'm a ME again. Well, a me in really battered clothes."

"Right. Now, try these on--I made them especially for you."

Kenko took the apparently normal pocket T and khaki slacks--much the same
as he normally wore day to day--and paused. "What's special about these?"

"Thermaquatic self-altering clothing! I've had the base theory for about
500 years, but I never thought I'd ever get an opportunity to test it! Oh,
I am so BRILLIANT!"

Uncertain, Kenko retired to the bathroom to try them on. "Hey...they fit.
So do the loafers. OK, but what do you mean by Thermaquatic whatever?" He
stepped out--to be met by a splash of cold water. SHE glared for a
moment--and then eeped.

"Brilliance! The clothing automatically alters its configuration to give
the wearer the maximum comfort for their altered form! Even the
undergarments are self-adapting, and it also automatically self-cleans AND
dries your fur! And it's stylish too!"

"If I was a member of the 3WA, maybe. But...it is comfortable, and the
close fitting parts...they aren't uncomfortable against the fur, though
they ought to be..."

Neko-Kenko's outfit was, actually, somewhat similar to that of the infamous
3WA Trouble Consultants. The shorts were slightly skimpier, the halter
also--and instead of knee high boots, instead ankle length cuffed booties
were worn, with open toes. Short wrist length fingerless gloves also graced
the hands of the catgirl. Neko-Kenko wasn't certain why they were there, or
why the choker was either. All she knew is that the outfit was a pristine
white with black trim, and that it was both comfortable on her furred
body--a good thing--and made her look like an aluerophiles' wet dream--not,
perhaps, a good thing.

Ranma was steadfastly refusing to look. "I'm sorry, but...it'll take me a
while to get used to this...creeping me out..."

"Aw, I think she's really kawaii," retorted Akane.

"Kawaii isn't high on my priorities of things to be. You're the genius,
can't you figure out how to keep this from happening?"

"Oddly enough, I can! It's easy, all I have to do is spray you with a
sealant to repel water!"

"Great, let's do that!"

"Unfortunately, since that would also cut off the flow of air to your skin,
you would die within twelve hours."

"Not so great. Well, that means...I got to live with this..."

"Hey, it's good that Ranma and I are here. We can help you adjust, Ranma's
done it before, remember?"

Ranma shook her head. "Akane, that was how to be a girl. Not a c-c-c...not
a what she is. I don't know if I can help with that..."

Washuu-chan grinned. "I've got a suit for you too, Ranma. Oh, I AM glad
he's got those tapes...put this on, you'll like it!"

Ranma went to the bathroom as Kenko had, and came out in a sleeveless red
minidress cut to her preferred Fighting Skirt style. Black tights and
bracers accented. "And?"

Hot water, and the familiar shift. Instant black Chinese shirt and pants.
"Hey, this is great! Say, even my panties became boxers! And I'm perfectly
dry, too. Whoa--how'd you make my hair braid itself too?"

"Science, of course!"

"I'd like to talk to you about a school uniform. For when we go home."

"Certainly, certainly! It's nice to have an application for this
technology!"

"I'd rather have an application of hot water," grumped the underclad
catgirl.

"Oh, sorry...here you go," Washuu-chan grinned. Splash and change, a dry
(and male) Kenko stood.

"I want to find out what's going on. I want to gather those damn pencils
and find a way to make everything normal again. But most of all I want to
stop turning into the damn centerfold for Cat-Fancy Magazine.
Fortunately...I also think we have an advantage."

"Of course, we have an advantage! We've got the greatest genius in the
Universe!" crowed Washuu-chan.

"And two of the greatest fighters, yeah," noted Kenko. "But we also have
something that hopefully most people don't have in combination. We have
this--" Kenko held up the pencil-- "And we have these." He pointed to a
bookshelf filled with various anime and manga references. "Between the
pencil my reference texts--I'm REALLY thinking about my BGC RPG right
now--and Washuu-chan's...inventiveness...I think we can pull this off. And
there have to be others dealing with this kind of thing also...we can't be
the only ones who want to get this fixed."

The others nodded in agreement.

Thus was team Kenko born.

Gawd help us.


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

[Australia]
[October 6]


It was done, finished, el finito. Mike pulled the page away from his
monitor and placed it on the desk next to the printer.

He looked at the intricate trace, staring at the detail. It was amazing! It
looked like everything was there, that nothing had been missed, even though
paper this thick was not the best for tracing. He looked carefully at the
page, then up at the monitor. Then stopped and looked again.

He blinked in startled shock. They were _exactly_ the same. "What...? There
is no way I'm that good. No one is. Traces are never as good as the
original picture. There's always something out of place or a little bit
wrong."

Michael was still babbling to himself when the page caught fire.

"FUCK!" He pushed the page to the ground and stamped on it. "Brilliant! I
can add 'caused piece of paper to spontaneously combust' on my
weird-shit-that-has-happened-in-this-apartment list." He pressed his
sneaker down over the tiny amount of flame, relieved that this, at least,
hadn't gotten out of hand.

A line of fire sprang out from under his 'solution-in-a-shoe' and continued
to burn even more of the page. "The fuck!?" Mike lifted his shoe, looking
underneath to where the original fire still burned merrily. Nothing had
happened; he couldn't see any indication that the small flames had died
down even slightly. What the...? He paused, stretching his hand out towards
the page. Then drew back, even more startled. There was none of the regular
things associated with fire; no smell, heat or smoke coming from the
burning page. What the hell was going on?

Watching as the cold ruby flames licked along each pencil stroke, Mike
swallowed. What the bloody hell was going on here? He watched as each
impression of lead flared to life, like a molten line of metal following
the pour course. It quickly outlined the figures first. then moved on to
the lines inside these, following the same strokes and in the same order
that he'd traced in.

The red flames finished--as he'd done--on the ribbon that was interwoven in
Mai's hair. "Now what?" The young man spoke aloud, even though there was no
one to answer him. In seeming response to his question the line of fire
sprang from the page, growing as it span in mid air. Falling sideways off
his seat, away from where the lines of fire were now life-sized, Mike
swallowed again. "This can't be good." He pulled the seat in front of
himself and continued watching through the hole in the lower back.

The elevated fire tracing flared, lines bleeding inward, joining onto one
another, forming a plane of blood coloured fire in mid air. This floating
pool of flame shone with bright red highlights where the original lines had
been on the picture. Mike watched in horrified fascination from behind his
chair as this pool ballooned outwards, bubbling out to match the correct
proportions of the figures encased inside--the correct proportions if there
actually had been a Mai Shiranui and Andy Bogard.

Too shocked to move, Michael watched as the flames solidified to a clear
ruby, the flicking and instability changing to solid definition. A life
sized crystal statue of Mai and Andy rotated slowly to a stop in the middle
of the room. As it settled to the ground a bright flash of red caused the
shocked observer to blink, blinded for a second.

"[What happened the church? Where are we?]"

Mike blinked again. Surely that hadn't been a female voice? With a sinking
feeling, he blinked the rest of the flash out of his eyes. Two forms
resolved themself in his field of vision. A tall tuxedo-clad man was
apparently trying to calm down a very agitated woman. Feeling a large
migraine coming on, he stared as they looked around the apartment, noting
with a detached manner that he would have cleaned up if he'd known that
someone was going to drop in on him like this.

"Uhhhhh." The two figures spun, dropping into defensive stances, two pairs
of eyes locked onto his. "Um...Hi?" Mike waved weakly from behind his
chair, a sickly smile on his face.

The two people--who Mike refused to name, lest it turn out to be
true--relaxed, not finding any immediate threat in the third year
university student who was crouching on the floor.

"Koko wa doko desu ka?" The blonde man spoke, gesturing around himself and
his companion.

Mike paused for a second. Japanese? Why were they speaking Ja...d'oh! The
game originated in Japan! He wrung his hands together, praying silently
that this was all a bad dream caused by something that he'd drunk last
night. Mind spinning back to the few Japanese lessons that he'd had, he
spluttered out. "Uhh, Watashi wa...Um...Nihongo...Um." He sweated for a
second, muttering loudly under his breath, "Shit! How the fuck do you say
'I don't speak Japanese.'"

"Boku wa Nihongo ga hanashimasen," replied the blonde, a wry smile
appearing for a second on his face.

Mike nodded his thanks, then stopped. "You understood me?" He slapped his
forehead with his palm. Of course, Terry and Andy had been brought up in
America. Then he hit himself again. Whoops, not Andy, just some other
blonde guy. Stupid hallucination, why is it that I never get super models?
"Sorry, what was the question?"

"He asked you where we were." The woman was not pleased, this much was
apparent even without the tones of frustration straining her voice.
Everything about her body language indicated that this was not a good time
to piss her off, from the way she looked around the apartment to the way
that she'd extracted a hand held fan from somewhere inside the dress. She
snapped the fan open with a decidedly sickening sound. The type of sound
one associates with flick knives, or shot guns. Coming as it did from what
looked like an ordinary fan, Mike swallowed again.

"You're in my apartment." She glared at the young man. "My apartment! I
swear! Uhh, In Perth, Western Australia!" The fan lowered into what Michael
suspected was a 'ready' position.

"Liar." The woman snarled, pulling back her arm to throw.

Yep, there was no question about it, he was dead. Oh well, it's been a nice
life. Mike frowned for a second. Well aside from the business with the
wardrobe, anyway.

"Mai! Stop it! He's scared out of his mind." The man reached over and
placed his hand on her arm, stopping her from doing anything rash. Then
started making calming noises to his severely frustrated
fiancee-turned-almost-bride.

Well, thank you, Mr Big-Badass. See if I ever write you in a good light
ever again, How'd you like to be given a curse? Or crippled? Or...chopped
up and eaten by a small tribe of pygmy elephants? Mike giggled, somewhat
hysterically, as he pictured the man before him floating about in bite size
pieces inside some cooking pot. What was this supposed to be, anyway? Some
sort of prank? A beer that went down the wrong way? Some sort of fucking
hallucination? He was an Australian university student that wrote
fanfiction on the side, for God's sake! Characters weren't supposed to come
out of the stories and attack you if they didn't like you! Authoring didn't
have a large casualty rate! He hadn't actually checked, but he was fairly
sure it was a low-risk occupation.

Standing from behind the chair, he moved over to the now silent couple and
bowed to them, remembering something of Japanese culture and politeness. He
nodded to the blonde. "So, you're Andy Bogard?" The man nodded back to him,
his blue eyes narrowing in suspicion as he realized that he'd never
mentioned his name. He was going to say something, but the young man had
already turned away.

The student looked at the brunette in the wedding dress. "And you're Mai
Shiranui?" She nodded back at him, still eager to do some damage. "Oh, that
explains everything then. Someone musta slipped some really bad LSD into
the beer last night. Well seeya, I'm going to sleep this off." Mike
sidestepped them, intending to walk into his bedroom.

The two fighters nodded to each other, sharing a moment of silent
conversation that all really close couples can manage, then spun and
grabbed their reluctant host. Mike yelped as they pushed him up against a
wall, knocking a hanging picture of a massive red dragon to one side. They
stared him in the eyes and asked, one in a calm voice, the other in clipped
tones that screamed repressed violence, "How do you know our names?"

"Ha! Ha! Your names. Hehe. Cute." Mike glanced at the woman, who seemed to
be about to do some real damage. Not wanting his apartment destroyed by the
hallucination of a fictional character, he pointed behind them, saying,
"Look, on the computer screen, what do you see? And if that doesn't
convince you, click on the link."

Andy motioned Mai over to the screen, not wanting to leave a seriously
annoyed ninja in charge of someone that came off as being pretty screwed
up. After a few minutes of watching the now silent student and listening as
"I Alone" started playing from the CD, he called out to her over his
shoulder, "Well, Mai? What is it?" A brief silence answered him. "Mai? What
is it?"

Mai Shiranui was not the type of person to glance at something and dismiss
it out of hand, however annoyed she was at the moment. She was a trained
ninja, specialising in fiery death duels to be sure, but a ninja trained
and true none the less. Therefore, when she looked at the drawn picture of
the characters on the screen, she didn't just yell out "A picture of a
couple Anime characters." Instead she looked closer. After all, this was
supposed to be important.

Shock came as she realised what it was--a scene that minutes ago had been,
for her, a dream come true. Still not believing it, she clicked on the blue
hyperlink above the picture, waiting in her somewhat shocked silence as the
page loaded. The page loaded almost immediately out of the disk cache as
the server confirmed that only a few things had changed since last time
Mike had visited the site.

How does someone describe the feeling that another person gets as what is
reality to them is stripped forcefully away? Things that are substantial
and touchable turn suddenly to mist and wind, intangible from then on. In
the blink of an eye, everything that they _know_ as everyday truth and
belief changes into half-falsehood and outright lies. There is no going
back once reality is shattered so irrevocably. You live forever more with
the knowledge that before you were living a waking fantasy world.

Staring at an Internet page that held nearly every single piece of King Of
Fighters information available--from special moves, hidden characters and
the bios of all of the characters, to a small animated gif of, shockingly
enough, Mai herself twirling with the words 'mail me' emerging from the
flame produced--Mai sat down, heavily. Staring in shocked silence, she
watched as a superdeformed Terry Bogard danced the Can-can next to Iori
Yagami, Kyo Kusanagi, Shermie-Orochi, Athena Asamiya and Yuri Sakazaki. She
stared at the list of "shrines" devoted to herself and other people that
she knew. Walls of reality crumbled, turning to dust in the blink of an
eye.

Andy Bogard, now standing beside his lovely fiancee, placed his hand on her
arm, offering silent support in what was turning out to be one of the worst
days of their lives. In the background Mike dropped silently to a nearby
armchair, muttering silently to himself, trying to reconcile the fact that
these strangers were so familiar, yet so completely unlike the fictional
characters that he knew.

Unnoticed and temporarily forgotten by all, the cause of all this lay next
to the computer, silently glittering to itself in the flickering neon glow.


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


[Mexico City]


By Wednesday afternoon, Zef returned warily to his Methods classroom. He
carried a binder in his left arm, and the long box was once more slung over
his right shoulder. In the binder he kept the tracing he had drawn just
yesterday--a tracing whose lines were now colored ruby-red. After going
through the previous day's events, he realized that it had been exactly
after he finished the tracing that the young woman appeared. He still
wasn't sure about how it had happened, but at least he was certain that it
had been Ranko Saotome herself who had jumped out of the picture.

True, the hair color was wrong, but then, how many people, and how many
Asians in particular had cherry-red hair? Who else could have literally
blasted out of the classroom while enveloped in a bright white aura, aside
from Dragon Ball Z enthusiasts, that is? And, most importantly, who else
would have called for a "Lael-chan" before flying out the window? Zef knew
there were people who liked his stories, and were familiar with them, but
he seriously doubted any of those people could fly without any visible
means of support.

He approached the door to the classroom. The light from the atrium-like
hall beside it fell like a gray curtain, allowing a large shadow to engulf
the corner opposite to Zef in its darkness. Swallowing hard, he tiptoed the
rest of the way towards the room and, when he finally reached it, he peered
in through the small window on the heavy, metal door.

"Sure took you long enough."

The voice made Zef jump back and fall unceremoniously to the floor.

"Gah," he said intelligently.

"I knew I should've come back here earlier," the voice continued. Zef could
only stare in silence as the young woman from before walked out of the
shadows, somehow managing to look threatening despite her shorter stature.
It was Ranko Saotome, all right. There was no mistaking those eyes.

"Gah."

Ranko put a hand on her forehead. "If you're a demon or one of Lael-chan's
enemies, you sure aren't very bright."

"I...I...You...you can't..." Zef spoke, in Spanish. A part of his mind that
hadn't logged out for the day acknowledged Ranko's look of confusion and
continued in English, "You can't be here. It's just...You just...can't!"

Ranko frowned, "Well, I'm here. I don't know how, but I am." She took a
step forward, her eyes piercing, "Where is 'here,' anyway?"

"This...this is..." Zef stammered, then tried standing up. He was still not
used to the sight before him, so his feet slipped on the polished tiles of
the floor. Before he fell back, though, Ranko's hand grasped his wrist and
pulled him upright.

Zef's chest pounded violently. He could feel her touch. The firmness of the
grip, strong like steel yet painless; the warmth of her hand, a hand that
barely circled his wrist. It was *real*. "My God..." he croaked out, again
in Spanish. "You...you *are* really here!"

"You needed proof?" Ranko asked, her voice sounding a little like a growl
now; it was easy to see she was beginning to get frustrated.

"Just..." Zef's mind raced. How to make absolutely sure that it was her?
"You...you called for Phaeron yesterday, didn't you?"

"You *do* know about him?" Ranko asked, her face lighting up a little,
hopeful.

"Let...let me think about this for a second..." Zef thought, stepping back,
as Ranko released her grip on his wrist. "You...your name is Ranko Saotome,
right? No, wait, your *real* name is Zhaodi, but afterwards it became
Ranma, but you *prefer* to be called Ranko."

The girl's eyes widened, "How do you know about that?"

"Your...sister's name is Yuannyan, though it used to be Pandi, she's your
twin sister. You have a brother Ranma, from whom you were split some time
ago." Ranko's expression kept growing from surprise to flabbergasted, which
let Zef know that he *was* right about her. "You consider Akane a sort of
honorary sister. Your mother, Nodoka Saotome, is really a reincarnation of
the angel Pax. You also have an older sister, who is also an an--"

Zef's words were cut short as Ranko grabbed him by the collar of his shirt
and *lifted* him off the ground using only her left hand. "All right," she
said, sounding perfectly calm, "I wanna know *right now* how the heck you
know so much about us."

"Calm down! Calm down!" Zef yelped. He knew perfectly well that it took a
lot of pressure to get *this* Ranko so upset, and that it was a dangerous
thing to do so. "I can explain!"

She lowered him, but kept grasping his shirt, "Okay, talk."

Zef gulped and stared at her, not knowing how to put it. If she knew that
he was the one directly responsible for everything she and her friends had
been through...No, don't think like that. Besides, he had written Ranko as
a forgiving person, and she *might* also see him as the one responsible for
her meeting her soulmate. Oh, well, might as well give the truth a chance.

"I...know so much about you because I...I wrote you."

She leveled a stare at him. "What?"

Zef took a deep breath, and repeated, "I wrote you. I...kind of created the
universe you live in."

Ranko would have laughed at him, saying, "Nice one, but I've already met
the God of our universe and you ain't Him." She would have, if not for the
dead-serious look on Zef's face. "What do you mean?"

Zef tried to come up with a way to prove to her that he wasn't as crazy as
her glare seemed to imply. He could only think of one.


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


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 stuffed and
plastic animal 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 and 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 him 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...

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


[Mexico]

"You're kidding me...'Song of the Phoenix'?"

Zef cringed slightly as Ranko started reading the contents of the web page.
They were at one of the computer labs which, thankfully, was empty save the
two of them.

While she read the page, as well as the text files that accompanied it, he
kept staring at her. Whether she was disturbed or not by his glance, she
didn't show. Zef, on the other hand, could still hardly believe what he was
seeing. This was *Ranko* in front of him. Not a lookalike, not a Japanese
exchange student that happened to have the same voice and some knowledge
about his stories, but the real McCoy. The character, the person that had
driven him to writing fanfiction in the first place. And she was sitting
not two feet away from him, in one of the Tec's computer labs.

It was all Zef could do not to freak and run away screaming.

And he continued to stare, noticing how the light cast shadows on her face,
how her eyes moved about as she read the screen before her, how she shifted
position on the chair, how her hands flitted nervously across the desk,
how--

"GAAAAAH! Evil thoughts, begone!" he thought, hurriedly concentrating on
how the light cast shadows on the chairs instead.

"This can't be right..." Ranko's voice pulled him back to reality.

Zef looked up at her face again, and felt his chest contract. Ranko's
countenance betrayed a great deal of insecurity, of helplessness--something
which struck him as odd. But then, would he have expected otherwise? He had
just shown her proof that she was just a fictional character. Pages and
pages of text that told her that all of her life was just part of some
college kid's imagination. All of her sorrows, all of her triumphs, were
just words describing a place that never existed.

Seeing her, Zef felt very guilty. He knew she wouldn't accept what he was
saying at face-value; after all, he, of all people, knew that Ranko Saotome
was not one to give in and surrender. He hoped so, at least, he hoped that
she didn't really believe him. Otherwise...well, he'd have to think of
something.

"W-well..." Ranko finally said, clearing her throat. "I...I'll have to
think about this, but..." She let her shoulders drop and gazed straight at
Zef, "I guess I'll accept *this* explanation for now." She leaned closer,
making sure he wouldn't miss her message, "At least until I find a real
explanation, that is."

"Of...of course," Zef said, smiling nervously.

"All right," Ranko said, "You say you...'wrote' me. So how did I end up
here?"

"I'm kind of wondering that myself," Zef replied. At Ranko's frown, he
said, "Look, I know just as much as you do about this, and I'm just as
surprised to see you here. All I know is that I was making a picture of you
when--"

That caught Ranko's attention, "Picture? You were making a picture of me?"

"Well, yeah..." Zef shrank back timidly, "I, uh...sometimes I start
drawing..."

Ranko sighed and closed her eyes, "When will you people leave me alone? I
hate it when someone like Nabiki starts taking pictures and..."

"I know," Zef said, "I don't like her doing that either."

"And when she sold them to all the guys in high school!" Ranko said.

"But at least she learned not to do it," Zef offered.

"Damn right!" Ranko grinned, then chuckled a bit. Zef joined her after a
moment. However, the laughter died quickly, and they both stared at the
floor afterwards.

"This is creepy," Ranko said quietly.

"You're telling me?" Zef replied.

"What are we gonna do about this? It's not like I can use the Caller to get
back home."

At the mention of the Caller, Zef's blood froze for a moment. "No!
You...you're right, you can't. The Caller doesn't work that way..."

Ranko shut her eyes, grimacing at the words.

"Hey," Zef said, placing a nervous hand on her shoulder, "We'll think of
something. You come from a world filled with magic, remember? If there was
something from *that* world that brought you here, I'm sure you'll figure
it out. If not...well, this world has never even heard of the things you
can do, so it's possible you can break out of it and go back home."

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the faint hum of the air
conditioner and a low sigh from Ranko. Finally, she said, "I guess you're
right. Besides," she added with a faint grin, "I get into this sort of
thing all the time. Might as well calm down while we figure out what
happened."

"Right," Zef couldn't help smiling. "You know, it's getting late. Maybe we
should, uh, head home or something."

Ranko cocked an eyebrow at him, "Home? Your home?"

"Er..." Oh, right.

She gave him a lopsided smirk, "I think I can chance it. No funny business,
though."

Thinking of the Ranko that faced off against a devil and a world-destroying
sorcerer, as well as her hot-headed boyfriend, Zef grinned shyly and said,
"I wouldn't think of it. I mean it."


******


"You sure it's okay?"

"Trust me. My parents are on vacation, and won't come back for three weeks,
and my sister won't get out of work for a while. Plus, my cousins had to
stay at the hospital for their night shifts. We'll have a few hours
available to figure out where to set you up."

"O-kay..." Ranko said as she leaned back on the seat of Zef's car. "And how
many cats you said there are?"

"Two regulars, four if they're all there, but..." he fell silent for a
moment. If he was right, and this Ranko was the one that was currently in
college, then she shouldn't be afraid of cats anymore--why, *that* Ranko
even had a pet cat named Tora. Still, better make sure...

"That reminds me," he said, "What's the last thing you remember, before
showing up here?"

"Hmmm..." Ranko thought for a second, "Last thing I remember, I was in
Doctor Tofu's office. You know, he was helping me out with some of my
classes."

"I know, I know," Zef smiled ironically, "But that's a little vague...Did
Phaeron and you...you know..."

Ranko frowned momentarily, as if recalling a sad memory, "Yeah. Met Ruiko
already, too. Why?"

"Just wondering something," Zef said, "You and Tora already met, right?"

A grin appeared on Ranko's face, "Yeah. Too bad she ain't here. She'd just
*love* you."

"Er, I'm sure she'd love having a new scratching post, yeah...Anyway, if
you and Tora are already together, how come you asked me about the cats?"

"And you said you know everything about me?" Ranko said, "I can *stand*
being around cats, just not many of them." Suddenly, she leaned forward and
said, "This is stupid. Why can't I go to a hotel or something?"

"Because it will be easier for you if you don't go too far from me. This is
Mexico City, remember? From what I know, you *don't* speak Spanish.
Besides, you know you don't have to worry about staying at my place,
remember? I've trained in a couple of martial arts styles for four years,
you've trained all your life. However, I can help you get around, I can
find someone who speaks Japanese, I..."

"...can barely drive..." Ranko supplied as the car headed straight for a
lamppost.

"I can barely drive, right..." Zef grimaced as the car avoided the lamppost
and dove into a pothole. "In any case, we're directly related to each
other. I'm your...uh...writer, and you're my...ah..."

Ranko grinned from ear to ear, "Your fanboy's dreams come true?"

Zef wondered whether or not to dignify that with a response.


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


[Franklin, Tennessee]
[October 8, 1999]


Zen, hack fanfic writer and would-be Ukyou suitor, was looking forward to
this. Not so much to the con itself; Anime Weekend Atlanta had some rather
serious organizational flaws in Zen's opinion, but it was still a good
chance to get together with friends.

Looking over the load stuffed into the back of his Pathfinder, Zen nodded
as he checked off a list. "Computer, check. Clothing, check. Battlespat,
check. Cooler, check. Is there anything else that we need to pack in here,
Jerry?"

Jerry Knox, better known among his anime friends as 'Tochiro', peered into
the back of the Nissan and shrugged. "You got the VCRs in there?"

"Naah...Shen can't make it this year, so what'd be the point?"

Jerry nodded. "And since Mike's not coming, we don't need to take the
chicken-on-a-stick, either. I guess that covers it then...So we're ready
to go?"

Zen looked at his watch and grinned. "Yup! And on time for once." Noting
Jerry's sudden hunted look, Zen scowled. "Problem, Jerry?"

Jerry looked around a few more times, then shrugged. "I was just looking
for four horses..."

Zen glared. "Oh, very funny. C'mon, Costello, get Bryan over here, and
let's take a look at the route. Then we can be on the road."

Spreading the atlas out on the hood of the car, he pointed to a mark just
south of Chatanooga. "This is our first stop--we should hit it about
oh-noon-hundred, local."

"East Ridge...Tennessee side of the line, or Georgia?"

"Tennessee. There's a little Italian place just off the Interstate. Nesse
will meet us there for lunch. Then she'll follow us down to Dalton before
she heads back home."

Bryan nodded. "I know where that is...near the old Liberty Con hotel."

Zen nodded. "Ayup. That's the one..."

"Cool. Looks like a plan."

"I should have known that there'd be a reason that you were on time."

Zen ignored the last. "Right then...Jerry, you wanna ride in the
Pathfinder? Okay, then, Ed, you're with Bryan. Let's lock and load."

There was a brief scramble as people secured themselves in their assigned
seats. Five minutes after that, a grey Nissan Pathfinder bearing markings
for the Worlds Welfare Works Association, and her escort (a red Ford Escort
to be precise) were on their way to Atlanta.


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


[October 7]


Dawn broke over a non-descript suburban house, somewhere in America.

"KYAAAAAAAHH!!"

And Ukyou woke with a scream.

Konatsu's scream.

She bolted from the bed, with some difficulty, and charged upstairs to the
guest room where Konatsu has been set to sleep off his traumatic arrival
into this world. She tore open the door with a breathless "Konatsu, what's
wrong?"

The kunoichi's terrified face turned to her, and gaped at her,
open-mouthed. The look of shock was replaced by one of mortification.
"U...Ukyou-sama?! ...KYAAAHH!!" He threw the blankets over his head, and
curled up in a fetal position.

Needless to say, if Ukyou had been startled by her kunoichi's first
outburst, she was completely baffled now. Until she looked at herself. In
her efforts to convince Ranma to share the bed downstairs with her, she had
stripped down to her panties. So at this moment, she was standing in the
doorway to the guest room virtually naked. Konatsu was mortified for her
sake, not his.

"Oh, f'crying out loud..."

There was nothing to speak of in the way of clothes in the closet here, so
Ukyou padded into the other upstairs bedrooms. The child's room had, not
surprisingly, nothing but little boy's clothes in its closet. The other
room, despite being set up as an office rather than a bedroom, held
paydirt. Dresses and skirts, presumably belonging to the lady of the house,
crowded the closet. The wooden pole upon which the outfits were hung was
actually bent from the weight.

She took a jumper off its hanger and threw it on. It didn't quite fit her;
it was just a skootch tight in certain spots, and the skirt, which clearly
should have covered her knees, didn't. Well, it was a covering. Now, to
figure out what was bothering Konatsu.

Her face took on a look of mild annoyance as she made her way to the guest
room; as disconcerting as Konatsu's scream had been, it had, after all,
woken her from a pleasant and sound sleep. She peeled the blankets and
sheets from her trambling kunoichi. "All right, sugar. I'm decent.
Now...what's the matter?"

His eyes were open wide with alarm. "Wh-where *are* we? Are we dead?"

Fair enough questions, but as she hadn't any good answers, it didn't soften
her tone. "Is that all?"

Konatsu nodded, panic still evident on his face.

"Hate to tell ya this, but I don't know much more than you do. Did you see
a family of gaijin drop in shortly after I disappeared?"

The kunoichi's face softened, as he attempted to recall what had transpired
in the Ucchan. "Uhm...there was a commotion in the dining area a little
after you got pulled into that..." he searched for a word, "tunnel. Oh,
yes...that's right!" His eyes lit up as the scene came back to him. "There
were three people, a couple and a little boy...and that's about all I
remember, before finding myself here."

"Okay, that's something. Anyway, we're in their house...I think. I don't
know how, but we seem to have switched places with them." And she explained
what little she understood of their situation.

"Well, it sounds like it's the pencils that caused this, Ukyou-sama. But we
can use them to get back, and get those poor folks out of there..." He
trailed off, as Ukyou's face scrunched up. She was considering the
possibility, and he didn't want to disturb his mistress when she was
thinking. Finally, she spoke.

"No...I don't think we should. Not just yet. Let's make sure about this
before we do something rash, ne?" The look on her face puzzled Konatsu, but
if this was his mistress' wish, then there would be no questioning it. She
smiled at him, reassuringly. "Why don't you get a little more sleep,
'Natsu-chan--you've had a bit of a shock, not to mention a nasty knock on
the head." He winced as she touched his forehead, and she let out a few
sympathetic noises. It had been a rough landing, at that. "I'll go
downstairs and get some breakfast together shortly, okay?" Even as he
nodded assent, his eyelids began to droop once again.

Again, Ukyou smiled at her docile manservant. <Yes, best not to do anything
hasty,> she found herself thinking as she made her way downstairs. <Konatsu
needs to recover a bit, and hey--I haven't had a real vacation in some
time. Always wanted to visit America, too...though I'd'a preferred having a
little time to pack.> She tugged a bit at a corner of the jumper; it was
starting to pinch a bit.

<Besides,> she continued to muse as she wandered into the master bedroom,
<why should I want to leave? I'm here, all alone, with *him*...> She
blinked. The lump under the covers where Ran-chan had lain down last night
had grown smaller. She walked over to the edge of the bed and lifted the
covers...

...which a groggy Ranma-chan proceeded to snatch back, turning over in her
sleep so that she was planted on top on some of them, effectively
preventing further investigation. Ukyou drew herself upright once again and
sighed. <Okay...with *her*. Oh, Ran-chan, why are you so afraid of me?> A
tear almost escaped from the corner of Ukyou's eye before she brightened.
<Well, that's one more reason to stay. Gotta get him used to it being just
the two of us. There's hope. Anyway, I've got some tracing to do, too...>
She blinked again. <Where did *that* thought come from?>

It was then that she first began to hear the pencil's hum. She walked
around the bed, over to her nightstand, and gingerly picked it up. Her eyes
widened as she felt the humming noise in her fingertips. This thing was
purring like a kitten. It wanted to be in someone's hand, it wanted to be
used, it wanted to trace...

But what? Ukyou set the pencil in a front pocket, and wandered back into
the L-shaped room for a little inspiration. Opposite of the picture window
were a couple of bookcases, shelves sagging slightly with the weight of
their burdens. Lots of American cartoon compilations, but nothing Ukyou
considered familiar. Over in the corner was the dining table, the manga
still sitting where the girl had dropped it before being sucked into the
vortex; somehow, Ukyou really didn't feel like dealing with that just now.
There was the television, then, and a smaller bookcase in another corner,
full of videotapes. A whole shelf, it seemed, was dedicated to a series
called...Ranma 1/2.

Wait a minute...Ranma? <*My* Ran-chan?>

Ukyou pulled out a tape, and nearly dropped it as she looked at its cover.
It was her! Glowering, with spatula slung over her shoulder, and with
Ran-chan sitting on the flat part, looking down on her with an angry but
puzzled face.

Good grief...

She set the tape back in its appointed slot (somehow,she had the feeling
she'd seen it before, all too personally), and scanned the shelves for
other possibilities. Ah! Here was something interesting ...A Midsummer
Night's Dream...funny, the white-haired woman on the front didn't look like
she was dressed in Shakespearean costume...

For good reason, as this episode of Oh! My Goddess had *nothing* to do with
Shakespeare, after all. As for the woman on the cover, when she introduced
herself as "the Cupid of Love"...

...Ukyou knew she had her tracing. Hitting the pause button on the remote,
she slapped a piece of blank paper up to the screen (thank heavens for
static electricity), pulled out the pencil, and followed Urd's outlines. In
short order, the job was complete, and the television began to glow with a
blue light not of its own power. Just as in the video, she came out of the
picture feet first. Then, like a professional limbo dancer, the goddess Urd
wiggled her way onto this plane of existence for the first time.

Even though she'd seen the whole scene enacted mere minutes before, it was
hard for Ukyou to believe it. She'd summoned the Goddess of Love all by
herself! Now she and Ran-chan would finally be properly united!

For her part Urd looked around at the cluttered room, strewn with wooden
train tracks, crossword puzzles, and anime videos and uttered the first
thing that popped into her head:

"What a dump!"

Ukyou facefaulted. <This may not be as easy as I thought,> she found
herself thinking with her face in the carpeting.


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


[Dalton, Georgia]
[October 8]


Zen stretched, working the kink out of his shoulders as he left the
Pathfinder in the parking lot of the mammoth outlet mall. This would be the
last stop they made before actually getting to Atlanta, but it was one that
everyone was looking forward to. Dalton had one of the largest collections
of factory outlet stores and seconds shops in the Southeast.

It was also a nice chance to spend a little time with Nesse before the con,
since she wouldn't be able to go. He'd missed her over the past week, and
even a few hours were welcome.

Meandering down the sidewalk, Zen peered into the windows of the various
shops. Nesse and the others had all gone into the book outlet, but Zen had
decided to skip that this year. He always spent too much money when he went
in there, and what money he'd set aside for this trip was to buy anime.
There was a DVD player back home that he wanted to feed.

Still, there were lots of other shops, and while he didn't want to spend a
lot of money before reaching the con, there might be one or two small
things he could afford. He checked his watch. He had almost an hour before
he was supposed to meet the others back at the cars. Plenty of time.

The first place that Zen actually went into was the Corning/Revere outlet.
The last time he'd been through, he'd found some good kitchen tools, and he
wanted to fill out the set. For some reason, he just felt like picking up a
spatula. Unfortunately, they were out of the style that he wanted. They
thought that they would be getting more in, but, of course, they couldn't
be sure. Zen shrugged and thanked them; it was, after all, the nature of
outlet stores.

Working his way down the row, Zen passed by all manner of shops. There was
a linens outlet, but Zen already knew where his towel was. The CD outlet
was having a sale, but mostly on country titles, so he decided to give that
one a miss as well. Now if they'd had a good J-pop selection, Zen would
have been impressed.

Boots, women's wear, fashion clothing, jewelry, furniture...there were
stores for just about everything--just not much that Zen was really
interested in buying. Still, the weather was nice, for October, and the
walk was a pleasant one. He could certainly use the exercise. He had just
about reached the end of the massive complex and was preparing to turn
around and go back to the cars when he thought he saw something odd out of
the corner of his eye.

Turning back to face the strip center, he couldn't find anything out of the
ordinary and was beginning to think that he was imagining things when he
saw it. Nestled between a mammoth store featuring lawn furniture and
another that specialised in candy was a tiny, dingy looking little shop;
the whole thing barely five times the width of the door that led into it.
The sign on the marquis was understated and proclaimed the store's name to
be 'Artifax'--and there was a smaller sign over the door that read
'Saunders'.

It was that second sign more than anything else that made Zen go to take a
closer look. Once he could see in the window, though, he was hooked. While
every other store in the center carried merchandise that was new, the
things that adorned the shelves of this odd little shop looked old--some of
them looked very old indeed. His mother would have called it a junque
shoppe, while his aunt, had she seen it, would have been charitable enough
to call them 'antiques'.

An old tube radio sat in one corner of the display window, the lights
behind the dials glowing with the friendly warmth that comes only from the
use of sixty watts of power when modern equipment could do the same job
with microwatts. There was also a little black bag--the type that doctors
used to carry in the days when the local physician still made house calls.
The bag was open, though there was something odd about the instruments that
were arrayed inside. It was nothing Zen could nail down, but looking at
them made his eyes want to go in directions that just didn't exist.

In the back, there was a small glass object that made Zen swear the
glassblower that made it had been stoned--it looked for all the world like
a Klein bottle, that topological nightmare that was the bane of every
student of higher dimensional maths. Zen loved places like this--loved the
smell of them--the collections of esoteric bricabrac--the *feel* of
places this timeless...this ageless. They were charged with a kind of magic
that one just didn't find when shopping in more sterile, modern stores.

The door creaked theatrically as Zen pushed it open, brushing a small set
of chimes that jangled to let the shopkeeper know that he had a customer.
Zen was mildly surprised to note that aside from himself and the
proprietor, the little shop was deserted. Zen took a deep breath, inhaling
the slightly musty scent of old, interesting things, then smiled at the old
man behind the counter.

Moving into the store, Zen started to examine the various treasures the
shop had to offer, fascinated by their sheer number and variety. Had he
been paying more attention to the way the old man kept looking at him and
nodding to himself, Zen might not have felt so relaxed.

Questions to the man who ran the shop were met with polite smiles, and
silent shrugs. Zen was starting to wonder if maybe he just didn't speak
English. It was certainly possible, given his obviously Asian heritage. He
was short and wiry, and radiated strength and vitality despite his advanced
years. He could have been eighty--or eight hundred--neither would have
surprised Zen. His eyes were so dark that they looked to be almost black,
and they sparkled with a subtle amusement--or perhaps, Zen thought, that
was just the way the light bounced off the little round lenses of his
wire-frame glasses.

Rummaging through one of the shelves, Zen found an old, eastern style oil
lamp. For a moment, he considered giving it a quick rub, but in the end,
he decided against it. Sometimes it was better to keep the illusion of
magic than to spoil it with the cold light of reality.

Along the back wall of the shop, under shelves cluttered with the treasures
of a hundred lifetimes, was a long, glass display case in which Zen found
some of the more quixotic items. A hardshell aluminum case caught his eye.
The box was open and the brushed finish gleamed dully in the low light. A
tag on its side was stamped USR&MM, and nestled inside was a vaguely ovate
shaped 'sponge' of a silvery metal so pale it was almost white, like
platinum, or iridium.

Next to that was a small box of a pale wood, the top set aside to reveal an
interior lined with crushed velvet. Cradled in this nest of soft fabric was
a pendant--a thick silver chain bearing a stone the size and shape of a
robin's egg. It looked for all the world like an opal, a myriad of colours
chasing each other across its smooth surface--except Zen had never known an
opal that glowed with its own soft inner light.

Another pendant was on display in the next box, but one of a more grisly
nature. Some kind of dessicated animal paw, like a furry hand from some
miniature mummy, cut off just behind the wrist and capped with silver.
Behind that was a box that contained a set of items, all plated in what Zen
thought was probably pure gold--a rectangular cigarette lighter, a capped
fountain pen, and a bullet. It struck Zen as odd, because the shell was of
no calibre that he could recognize.

The last item in the case that caught Zen's eye was a cylinder of crystal
and brushed metal, mounted on a pistol grip. Within the cylinder, Zen could
see fine details, and at its core, a dull violet glow. There was a word
burnished into the pistol grip in a language Zen had never seen before, but
for some reason he just *knew* the word was 'Isher'.

Zen smiled as he started to examine the rest of the things that were
scattered around the shop. Places like this were magical indeed, and he was
loving every minute of his browsing. On one shelf was an odd device, about
the size of a sewing machine, which appeared to be all gyroscopes on the
inside. Another held a single persian slipper that still bore the strong
scent of fine tobacco. On still another were displayed a pair of high
heeled shoes that looked to be made of red glass. And in the corner, Zen
was sure he saw a plushie wombat.

There was an old, wooden box--about fourteen inches long, maybe eight wide
and five high. It had no particular markings, save the obvious signs of
years of wear. On a whim, Zen opened it. The lid was hinged, and folded up
stiffly with the theatrical squeak of a rusty hinge, though it looked well
enough oiled. It looked a hell of a lot deeper inside than it was out, too.
Zen lifted it up and looked, but the bottom appeared solid. He set it back
down and turned his attention to other items. Behind him, a hand reached up
from the depths of the box, wagged a finger at him in a scolding gesture,
and then pulled the lid of the box shut with a snap.

Zen's eyes kept being drawn back to a polished wooden box that contained a
set of fine drafting tools, and had the name 'Quintus Teal' stencilled on
the outside. The wood of the box had a warmth to the touch--it felt almost
alive. Zen considered buying it, but another look at the tag on the bottom
convinced him to put it back on the shelf. Regretfully, he turned to leave.
He smiled at the shopkeeper and sighed. "It's lovely...thank you for
allowing me to see it." But before he could move toward the door, the
proprietor spoke.

"Perhaps you would like to buy one of these?" asked the old man, holding
out a small, flat box. Zen was startled. The voice seemed impossibly deep
and sonorous for such a small man, and his english, while slightly
accented, was flawless. He blinked at the old man, then looked down at what
he was being offered.

The box held pencils--three mechanical pencils. One was red with gold trim,
one was blue with silver, and the third was a rich green with copper
fittings. Each pencil had a pearlescent surface that made it look like it
was glowing--almost alive--while the metal accents had a soft, brushed
finish that was elegantly subdued, rather than garish. The barrel of each
was subtly contoured, and textured to be comfortable to grip. They were,
Zen thought, probably some of the most attractively designed pencils he'd
ever seen.

Zen looked back up at the man, and shook his head slightly. "I'm sorry," he
said. "These are beautiful, but they're probably more than I can afford
right now..."

The old man smiled enigmatically and inclined his head in an expression of
amusement. "Special today," he said. "Fifty cents."

"Fifty cents?" Zen blinked. He looked back down at the pencils, thinking
about how nice it would be to have a really comfortable pencil to draw
with. And at fifty cents...surely there had been a mistake. "Just fifty
cents?" he repeated.

The man nodded, never taking his eyes off of Zen, never blinking. "Fifty
cents. One to a customer."

Zen hesitated. He found the intensity of the old man's scrutiny mildly
disconcerting. Still, fifty cents was a price that even he could afford
with ease, and there was something compelling about those pencils. "Only
one to a customer, mmm?" he asked while he thought about it.

"You must choose," agreed the old man, his expression never wavering. There
was something about the old man's tone that gave Zen the distinct
impression that he wasn't talking about pencils at all, and that there was
a far deeper meaning to his words. But that was ridiculous. Besides. Fifty
cents...how could he possibly go wrong?

"That seems more than fair," Zen said. He studied the pencils once more.
Which one? They were all very nice, but as the man had said, he had to
choose. The red one was the brightest, catching the eye before the others,
but the others were more soothing. After another moment's thought, Zen
selected the green one--while blue was his favourite colour, the blue had a
cold feel to it that Zen would have been hard pressed to explain.

Once the selection had been made, the shopkeeper took the pencil Zen had
chosen, and wrapped it in a sheet of old looking parchment, then slid it
into a small tube of polished wood. Zen blinked again. He'd known that the
pencils were fancy, but he'd no idea that they were -that- elaborate.

Paying for his purchase, Zen thanked the man again, and left the shop with
his prize. He wanted to show it to Nesse--being a geologist, maybe she
could tell him what the thing was made of. He made it three stores down the
row when he met the rest of his group coming the other way.

"There you are," scolded Nesse. "We've been looking everywhere for you.
I've got to be getting back home..."

Zen blinked, and looked down at his watch. "Eep! Gomen ne...I found this
neat little shop, and I guess I sorta lost track of time..."

"Neat little shop?" asked Nesse, her tone one of deep suspicion. "And just
how much did you spend in this 'neat little shop'?"

Zen adopted a wounded expression. "Madame...you do me an injustice..."

"How much," Nesse repeated determinedly, "did you spend...?"

With a scowl Zen snapped, "I spent fifty cents. And how much did you spend
in the Book Barn?"

Nesse blinked. "No need to get defensive, luv. I was only asking."

"I know...I'm sorry," Zen sighed. "Just once, though, I'd really, really
like it if that wasn't the first question out of your mouth every time."

"But you know we're on a budget..."

"Hell yes, I know that. But it's not *that* tight. Anyway, you just gotta
see this place. It's got some of the neatest stuff..."

"Like what?"

"Well, there was this really nice set of drafting tools...and there were
books...and I'd swear that they had a Klein bottle in the window..."

"Hold it...did you say 'Klein bottle'...?" Nesse interrupted. "As in
those bubbles with a hyperspace complex?"

Zen nodded. "S'right...and there was this compass that you'd love...at
least I *think* it was a compass..."

"Okay! Okay! I'll take a look...So where is this mystery shop of yours?"
asked Nesse.

Zen gestured over his shoulder. "Right there...between Patty O's Furniture
and the Sugar Shack."

Nesse peered over his shoulder, looking. "Where? I don't see it..."

Zen turned and pointed to the space between the two stores he'd named.
"Ness, it's right...over...there..." Zen's voice trailed off into silence
as he stared. The shop was gone. The only thing between the two superstores
was a concrete wall; one that couldn't have been any more than eight inches
thick.

"Nesse's eyes narrowed. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"No! I'm telling you..." he said weakly, "It was there...Right there,
between those two stores...I swear that it was...had a sign over the door
that said 'Saunders' and everything..."

Nesse patted him on the shoulder and smiled indulgently. "Sure it was. It's
just gone now." She turned and stalked back towards the area where the cars
were parked, leaving Zen still standing in shocked confusion. "Again with
the jokes...always with the jokes...Honestly...just how gullible does he
think I am?" she muttered to herself as she walked away.

"But...it was *right* there..." Zen whispered to himself. "I *know* that
it was..." He patted his pocket, feeling the reassuring solidity of the
pencil he'd gotten. Drawing it out of its wooden tube, he stared at it,
letting the light play off its pearlescent green surface. "It *had* to have
been there...where else would I have gotten this?"

"Dammit, Zen, Come on, will you?" Jerry called. "Nesse's gotta leave, and
we've got reservations at Ume Zono. I'm getting hungry again!"

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Zen absently slipped the pencil back
into his pocket and turned toward the Pathfinder. Forcing down a mild sense
of unease, he trotted off to join the rest of his crew. Jerry was right, at
least--the food at Ume Zono was not to be missed.


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


[Texas]
[October 7]

Lurker groaned as he slowly rose from the depths of unconsciousness. *What
a fucked-up dream,* he thought. *Oh, man, I have such a headache...*

Groggily, he allowed a bit of light to filter through his eyelids. The room
seemed brighter than it should, and he registered after a moment that he
was sitting up, in a more or less reclined position. *How did I manage to
fall asleep sitting up?* he wondered.

"daijobu desu ka?" a voice asked softly from somewhere nearby.

"Ee...daijobu," he responded, vocal chords on autopilot.

"Pika pi pikachu?" another voice asked. "Pikapi pika?"

Lurker blinked. *Wait a second...I'm alone in the apartment now. I wasn't
watching Pokemon. That doesn't sound like...the...television...* He opened
his eyes wide. And stared.

"No. No. I am not seeing what I think I'm seeing." He shook his head, as if
to dispel the vision before him. This tactic proved to be useless. He
glanced to the side, attempting to focus on something else other than the
apparition.

Another apparition blinked at him from his left.

Out of the corner of his right eye, the first apparition began to look
concerned.

Wait.

Corner...of...his...RIGHT...eye? The one that literally had not seen the
light of day in over two years?

"Okay, that proves it," he rambled aloud. "I've finally flipped. Gone off
the deep end. Sanity go down the hoooooole. Bye-bye sanity. Gonna spend the
rest of my life taking the nasty candy. Yep. One hundred percent nucking
futs. Narf, poit, zort."

"Pi pika, pika?"

"you speak english. is this america?"

Lurker paused in his rant, and attempted to recompose himself. He didn't
feel any less sane than usual--which, granted, wasn't saying much. He
didn't seem to have any trouble thinking, but that was no proof of
anything. Then his mind latched onto something someone once said to him.
"Anyone with enough presence of mind to declare himself insane, has not
gone insane yet."

"Okay, think," he said to himself, though he was still speaking aloud.
"Logical explanation for all this. Power surge. Indigestion. Still asleep.
Gotta be something."

"are you certain you are alright?" the albino seated at the end of the
couch asked, with an expression dangerously bordering on becoming nervous.

"No, I'm not alright!" Lurker snapped. "I'm having a conversation with
Ayanami Rei, in English no less, and there's a fucking PIKACHU sitting in
that chair over there! There's nothing *alright* about that, at all!"

"Pika, pika pi!" Pikachu said, scowling. Its cheeks began to spark.

"Sorry," Lurker said. "I wasn't saying that you sitting there isn't...ARGH!
What am I *doing*!? I'm talking to an electric mouse that doesn't even
exist!"

Pikachu zapped him.

Coughing, and wafting a little smoke out of his face, Lurker grimaced. "I'm
even imagining new kinds of pain. And the illusion that I can see out of my
right eye. Heh. Maybe I have gone insane."

"whether you are insane or not is irrelevant. how do you know my name? who
are you? what is this place? what happened to the other person who was
here?" the blue-haired girl asked.

"Alright, I'll play along," Lurker said. He pointed at the wall scroll
hanging on the wall. "You see that? That's how I know who you are. And
you're in my bedroom, in my apartment, in Texas, in America. As for who I
am, just call me Lurker. And what other person?" he finished, almost
genuinely curious.

Rei turned to look at the indicated wall hanging, and her eyes widened
almost imperceptibly. "that...that is..."

"Yeah, it's you," Lurker said. "Nice pose, don't you think? That's why I
was going to trace...it...waitaminute..." Lurker glanced at the table in
front of him. The normal contents of the table were not there, having been
moved about a bit; the table was covered with papers, and a single
mechanical pencil.

Lurker picked up one of the sheets of paper, the tracing of Rei he'd
completed. He frowned at it. The pencil lines, originally the usual dark,
charcoal grey of most mechanical pencil lead, were a deep forest green. He
set it aside, and picked up the other tracing he'd done. The lines of the
Pikachu tracing were the same bizarre green color.

He glanced at the set of printed pictures on the table. The one he'd just
been about to trace, Trunks, had a large tear in it, which was ringed by an
irregular, discolored viridian blob.

His hand brushed against the cool, metal barrel of the pencil. It began to
shimmer slightly, catching his attention. He glanced at the pencil, then at
the Trunks picture, then at the two tracings. Then, he glanced at his own
hand...and stared.

"The HELL...?"

That wasn't his hand. That wasn't his arm. He then realized that when he
had spoken earlier, it had not been his own voice.

He turned to Rei, and took a deep breath. In as calm a tone as possible,
said, "I want you to tell me everything that happened, from the moment you
found yourself here, until the moment I woke up."

"i saw that animal, and another person. i asked where i was," Rei said, not
showing any adverse reaction to Lurker's tone. "the other person appeared
surprised, then that animal..." she paused. "shocked both of us somehow. it
was a mild shock, and did not affect me. the other person caught fire, and
began screaming." she paused again, and seemed to be having difficulty with
the next part, as though she could not believe it herself. "when the fire
burnt out, the other man was gone, and you were in his place."

"Wait..." Lurker frowned. "What do you mean, 'another person'? There wasn't
anyone else here, was there?"

"there was a different person here before," Rei replied. "overweight,
slightly older than you. he burned to death, and you appeared in his
place."

Lurker blinked. "Overweight..." He looked down at himself, noticing his
different clothing, and more importantly, his lack of a gut. He nearly fell
over in astonishment. "Impossible..."

"what is impossible?" Rei asked.

"The...overweight person you saw before," Lurker said slowly, "was me. Is
me. Should be me. Argh...this isn't making any sense."

"no, it is not," Rei agreed.

Lurker snorted. "Okay, so you're saying I caught fire, burned to death,
then ended up on the couch, except it wasn't me."

Rei blinked. "that is not--"

Lurker interrupted her, frowning. "The fire was...green, wasn't it?"

"yes."

"And I don't look like the person you saw when you arrived here."

"that is correct."

"What do I look like now?" Lurker asked.

Rei paused. She reached over to the table, and picked up one of the
printouts. "Like this."

Lurker stared at the torn image of Trunks. Shakily, he stood, and walked
towards the door which led to the bathroom. Opening it with difficulty, he
flipped on the light switch, and looked in the mirror.

The reflection that stared back at him was not the overweight, unhealthy
twenty-one-year-old with a thick, unruly mop of black hair and brown eyes,
one of which tended to squint and had begun to lose its pigmentation as a
result of blindness. Instead, the man in the mirror before him...

No, not man. Boy. Seventeen years old, eighteen at the most. With lightly
tanned skin, a high brow, piercing blue eyes, and shoulder-length, straight
lavender-grey hair. He was wearing different clothing as well: a black,
sleeveless T-shirt, loose grey trousers, heavy boots, and a blue jacket.

*Funny,* he mused. *I don't feel like a Saiyajin. Healthier than I've
been...well, ever, but...*

Walking back into the bedroom, he took in the sight before him with new
acceptance. He had been ready to pass this all off as a delusion again,
but...

The pencil. The tracings. The picture of Trunks.

The memory of the green flames.

Whatever was going on was a definite 11.0 on the Weird Shit-O-Meter, but it
was, without a doubt, real. It was happening. And he had to deal with it.

He took a moment to take a good look at Rei. She was pale, anorexically
thin, fragile. Beautiful.

Shaking his head to clear out that train of thought, he sat back down, and
picked up the strange writing implement. He was almost immediately
overwhelmed by an urge to trace. Fighting it, he said to the others, "I
have a theory about what's going on here. Hold on while I test it." Opening
a storage bin underneath his computer table, he withdrew a Pokemon strategy
guide. Finding the most innocuous thing he could think of--a Pokeball--he
placed a sheet of clean tracing paper over the image, and set to work.

Within seconds of completion, the tracing began emitting brilliant green
light. A cloud of sparks erupted like fireworks from the paper...and a
small, red-and-white sphere appeared out of thin air, settling in the
center of the page.

"Piiikaaa," Pikachu murmured.

"what is that?" Rei asked.

"Proof," Lurker said. Holding up the pencil, he elaborated, "This...pencil,
I think, is how you two got here, and..." he gestured to himself, "how this
happened to me."

"i do not understand," Rei said. "it is a pencil."

"I don't understand either, but this," Lurker said, picking up the
Pokeball, "is proof." He paused, and took a deep breath. "You are
both...fictional characters."

"fictional?" Rei asked.

"Pika chu?" Pikachu echoed, its eyes wide.

"How best to explain this..." Lurker sighed. "You, Ayanami Rei, are from an
anime series called Evangelion. You, Pikachu, are from the Pokemon anime."
He blinked. "Well, possibly anyway."

"evangelion...anime..." Rei repeated.

"Pi!? Pika pi!"

"Are you the Pikachu that belongs to Ash Ketchum?" Lurker asked, directing
his attention to the electric mouse.

"Pikapi pi pikachu," the Pokemon nodded.

Lurker closed his eyes. "Shit." Opening them again, he shook his head. "I'm
sorry about this. I promise, I'll try to find a way to put you both back
where you belong."

"but...you said we are...not real," Rei said, a note of almost-confusion
touching her soft, monotone voice.

"Well, you're obviously real *somewhere*," Lurker replied. "I don't know
what the hell this pencil is, but I have a hunch it isn't capable of
spontaneously creating living, breathing people. And Pokemon," he added,
noticing that Pikachu was beginning to spark a bit. "No, you had to have
come from somewhere else. And if there's a way to bring you here, there's
got to be a way to send you back."

"Pika pi pika pikachu?" Pikachu asked, looking hopeful.

"Unfortunately," Lurker said, "I have absolutely no idea what that might
be."

Pikachu facefaulted. "Piikaaaa."

"Well," Lurker said, turning the pencil idly between his fingers, "The best
place to start looking for an answer is the place this pencil came from,
the mall." He paused, and looked at Rei. "And even if we don't find
anything, we can at least do a little shopping. Just in case you have to
stay here a while."

Rei blinked. "shopping?"

Lurker nodded. "You'll need clothes. Plugsuits...well, they don't quite fit
in around here." *Especially not if I can't concentrate because I'm too
busy trying not to get horny,* he mentally added.

Rei nodded. "understood."


Reaching into his closet, Lurker pulled out a T-shirt that once would
barely fit him, but would now be far too large, and handed it to Rei.
"Here, put this on," he said. "Nobody will notice the plugsuit if you cover
it up."

Rei slipped the shirt on over her head. It reached almost to her knees.
"Perfect," Lurker mused. Reaching up to the top shelf of his bookcase, he
picked up his favorite cap, and perched it on his head, frowning in
irritation as he realized he'd have to adjust it, and get used to the new
hairstyle he'd acquired.

He noticed Pikachu staring at him, its ears drooping. "Pikapi..." it
sighed.

Lurker blinked, then realized what the problem was. "Oh, Pikachu...this cap
reminds you of Ash, doesn't it?" Indeed, the cap Lurker was wearing was an
almost exact duplicate of the famous Pokemon League cap worn by the young
human star of the Pokemon anime.

"Piiikaaa." Pikachu looked miserable.

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll see him again soon enough," Lurker assured
the yellow mouse. "Now, come on you two...we're headed for the mall."
Almost as an afterthought, he picked up the Pokeball, pressed the button
which would reduce it to a convenient size, and slipped it into a jacket
pocket. *Might come in handy.* Snagging his car keys and wallet, he left
the apartment, Rei and Pikachu in tow.


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


[Atlanta, Georgia]
[October 8]


Zen looked blearily at the clock on the nightstand. Almost midnight. He
thought about getting up and going out to find some of the others but
decided against it. John and the kids would be sacked out by now in their
room, and Goddess alone knew where Jerry would be. There was a party being
thrown by the Otakon crew that would be worth going to if only for the
drinks, and a rumour that there was going to be an all night copy party had
caught Jerry's attention.

There was also the dance, and the annual nerf wars would be in full swing
in the lobby by now. Or, if he was feeling particularly self abusive, there
was always the karaoke. Naaaah. Zen wasn't a dance type person, and he
didn't really feel like watching anything. And the very thought of a bunch
of drunken otaku belting out tuneless renditions of 'Jajauma ni
Sasenaide' or 'Midnight Densetsu' was enough to make him a bit queasy.

And he didn't need to go looking for drinks. He'd brought along the
ingredients for a hypermug or two of Nesse's 'Exploding Pineapple'. It was
a mix of light and dark rums, grenade(ine) and pineapple juice, and it was
one of the few alcoholic drinks that Zen actually liked. This time he'd
added a dash of creme de menthe for a slightly different flavour.

On reflection, Zen decided that what he really needed was just some sleep.
It was ironic, he mused. He was probably one of the only people in all of
creation that went to an anime convention and got more sleep at night than
he did usually. Hell, he'd sometimes get as much as four hours of sleep at
a time at a con. He yawned. Yes, a bit of sleep seemed like an
extraordinarily good idea...

Washing down a couple of Sudafed with the last of his exploding pineapple,
he looked back at the drawing he'd been working on. It was coming out
really well...the figure was just the way he'd wanted it, and he was
particularly happy with the eyes. Once he got back home, he'd scan it and
put it up on his Revenge Fics sub-page. He picked up the green pencil, and
signed it with a small fluorish. With a click of the advance, Zen pressed
the pencil tip to the paper, and pushed the lead back into the barrel.

Setting the drawing and the Pencil aside, Zen got up and stretched, working
the kinks from his shoulders. As he turned toward the bed, he failed to
noticed the sudden flare of green light from the sheet of paper, the lines
of his drawing taking on a phosphorescent life of their own.

Nor did he notice the same cold, octarine fire that enveloped his own body
as he collapsed onto the bed, asleep almost as his head hit the pillow. The
light pulsated and grew ever brighter, the entire room taking on an eerie
silence save for the not so gentle sounds of Zen snores.


******


Sunrise was still over an hour away when a low moan sounded in the darkness
of the hotel room. Clad in a tight-fitting, two-piece outfit and a pair of
knee high boots, a red-headed girl was sprawled out across one of the beds
like a sack of rice. The bed was still made; whether she'd been too tired
or too drunk to pull back the covers before she passed out was anyone's
guess.

With another groan, she slowly pushed herself up and rolled into a sitting
position on the bed's edge. She put her hands to her head, massaging her
temples as though she had the great grandmother of all headaches.

In the slurred speech of the half-awake, she muttered darkly, "Oh, goddess,
but I have the great grandmother of all headaches..." She got shakily to
her feet, swaying a bit as though she were having difficulty keeping her
balance. "Musta been on hell of a party," she mumbled to herself,
staggering in the general direction of the bathroom. "An' I swear, I dinna
touch a *dram* o' that Scotch...!"

After the third try, she managed to find the bathroom door, open it and
make her way woozily inside. There was a long pause and a solid thump
followed by a string of curses. Another pause was followed by a bright
flare and an inarticulate cry as she found the switch and the lights came
to life.

There came the sound of water running in the washbasin, along with
splashing sounds and a sharp gasp as the cold water and perhaps a bit of
soap got in an eye. Fumbling sounds as she reached blindly for a towel to
dry her face, and another long silence as she found it.

That silence was shattered by a full throated, feminine scream.

The door flew open and Zen-chan came flying out of the bathroom as though
she'd been shot out of a railgun. She caromed off the far wall, and bounced
to a halt in the middle of the room. She stood there for a time, panting
and trying to force down a building sense of panic.

Finally, she took a deep breath. "Mental note," she wheezed, "NEVER mix
rum and antihistimines before going to bed." Her eyes widened at the sound
of her own voice, and delicate hands flew to her throat, feeling the
smooth, hairless skin of her neck, and chin.

Slowly, almost fearfully, she made her way back toward the closet, and
opened the door to reveal a full length mirror. After working up the
courage to look at it, she stood frozen, staring at the image in the glass
in slack-jawed amazement.

Someone else's reflection stared back at her. The girl in the mirror looked
like Ranma Saotome...or at least like Ranma Saotome would have looked if
his girl form had become a trouble consultant for the Worlds Welfare Works
Association. Fiery red hair hung to the small of her back, along a figure
that was compact and curvy; well suited to the 3WA combat bikini it was
wearing. Eyes of deep cobalt stared back at her from under unruly bangs
with an expression of panic that would have been almost comical under other
circumstances.

Zen blinked. The girl in the mirror blinked. Zen made a half turn to the
right. The girl in the looking glass mimicked her again. Zen reached toward
her reflection with a trembling hand and her counterpart in the mirror did
the same. Their fingertips touched, but there was only the feel of cold
glass. Zen stared down at her arm--not the massive, thick-boned limb she
was used to--but one that was slender and wiry--feminine.

Zen-chan did what anyone would do in her place. She dropped to the floor in
a dead faint.


=======================================================
   t  o    b  e    c  o  n  t  i  n  u  e  d  -  -  >
=======================================================



Fantasy and reality continue to run together as the chaos caused by the
pencils spreads. Where are they coming from? How will our heroes deal with
all of this? What dangers lie in store for them? Find out in the next
chapter of PENCILS!



Editor's Notes:

Whew. This sumbitch was longer than any of us expected. And this is barely
even the beginning...

If you've read this far, all of us appreciate it, and hope you enjoyed
reading as much as we've enjoyed writing this. If you have, stay
tuned...there's a lot more where this came from. ^_^

If you're confused by the constant jumping around, both in space and time,
rest assured that this isn't going to be the normal way of things
throughout Pencils. As the story progresses, the timeline will gradually
streamline into something a bit more linear, and there should also be less
jumping about as the various 'heroes' meet up.



DISCLAIMERS:
Any and all fictional characters, events, trademarks, and objects are
copyright their respective creators and owners.
Any and all authors and real-life personae are property of their own
selves, and used (usually) with permission, because it would just suck if
it were otherwise.

"Pencils"
Original Concept: The Eternal Lost Lurker
Chief Editor: The Eternal Lost Lurker

Co-Conspirators:
Ukyou Kuonji
Jorge Pratt
Kenko
Zen
Demented Otaku
Flashman
JD Farber
Michael Ricketts

Chapter One Contributors:
The Eternal Lost Lurker
Michael Ricketts
Demented Otaku
Jorge Pratt
Ukyou Kuonji
Kenko
Zen

==========WE DENY EVERYTHING==========



-- 
                 .---Anime/Manga Fanfiction Mailing List---.
                 | Administrators - ffml-admins@fanfic.com |
                 | Unsubscribing - ffml-request@fanfic.com |
                 |     Put 'unsubscribe' in the subject    |
                 `---http://www.fanfic.com/FFML-FAQ.txt ---'