Hiya,

Hey, merry Christmas and happy New Year, and all that stuff!  I promised myself I'd get this chapter out by the new year, so here it is!  (Of course, I cheated a bit... I just stopped writing and cleverly called it 'part one'.)  It's a bit short compared to previous chapters, but considering I'm only about half way through, I figured this was as good a stopping place as any.  Either way, enjoy!  And as always, feedback and commentary is always greatly appreciated: private's nice, public is even better!

Most importantly, very special thanks go out to my ever trustworthy prereaders Vince Seifert, Reid Carson, and Ilana.  Thanks guys!

***

What has gone before:

A fight between Happosai and Ranma brought a strange book into Akane's possession.  Her use of that book made her a target for unknown forces.  Their search for her whereabouts led to the inadvertent death of innocent girls.  In putting an end to the violence, Ranma led the enemy to the Tendo Residence.  Allies were called in and preparations made.  The enemy attacked.  The fight was long and arduous, and destroyed most of the Tendo house.  In the end, the defenders held their ground . . . but at what cost?

***

The slow rise into consciousness came reluctantly.  It brought with it a great deal and variety of pain.  The first thing the man realized, swimming into the upper levels of dim awareness, was that he was lying face-up on tatami.  Then the hurting filtered in though the numbness.  There was a stiff itchiness in his feet and hands; a dull ache across his chest and breasts with each breath; and finally an agonizing pounding starting in his head.  Sounds of movement and labor slowly filtered in as he regretfully eased into full wakefulness.
    Ranma Saotome groaned and opened his eyes and wished he hadn't.  The ceiling above him was torn open, and water trickled from Nabiki's room above.  His left foot lay in a growing puddle, a rhythmic cold patter dripping against an ankle.  You'd think somebody would've moved me, he thought, grumbling.  He went to sit up and, strain as he might, found that he couldn't move.
    "Awake, Son-in-law?" asked a dry voice, and Cologne's withered visage filled his supine view.  "You have been unconscious for nearly twenty minutes."  There were bruises on her face, dried blood, but at the moment she appeared as concerned for his well-being as he had ever seen her.
    "Yeah," he said, and winced at the effort of talking, his feminine voice raw.  "But I can't seem to move."
    "I know.  Do you feel well?"
    "Terrible," he answered, "but I'll live."
    "Good," she said, and nodded.  Then she stepped back, hefted her walking stick--and whacked him upside the head.  Bright lights flared behind his eyes, and he screamed at the redoubled thudding of his brain.
    "Why'd'ya do that, old crone!"
    "Idiot child!" she yelled, face centimeters from his.  "Arrogant, bull-headed youth!  Have you learned nothing?"
    "What the hell you talkin' about?" he yelled back, again straining to sit up.  "And . . . and why the hell can't I move?"
    "Because I paralyzed you, Son-in-Law.  I knocked you out with a pressure point before you destroyed yourself--and us in the process."
    Ranma blinked.  "Huh?"
    The expression of rage on the Amazon Elder's face softened slightly.  "You overextended yourself, Son-in-Law.  They say the brightest flame burns quickest, Ranma: and in the final moments of tonight's battle, you nearly extinguished us all."
    He struggled to remember.  "That thing, after it . . . my father, and I . . . Kasumi's room.  The c-c-cats were all dead.  Or half-dead.  But I picked them up, buried my face in them.  The Neko-ken came, I fought, that guy grabbed me, and I start to black out, and . . .".  His voice trailed off.
    "And then I knocked you out," Cologne finished.
    Ranma stared at her, caught between frustration and hope.  "But I got the guy first, right?  If you're talking to me, that means we won, right?"
    Cologne shook her head, eyes darkening with anger and sympathy.  "We survived the attack, Son-in-Law.  Bloodied and tired, but we held our ground and gave better than we received.  But for you, I'm afraid, the battle this night is far from over.
    "The final opponent fled, Son-in-law, and he took Akane with him."


Let the Curtain Fall
By
Michael Noakes
(Sept 13/2001--Dec 18/2001)


    Lo! thy dread Empire, Chaos, is restored;
    Light dies before thine uncreating word:
    Thy hand, great Anarch, lets the curtain fall;
    And universal darkness buries all.
    The Dunciad


Act One,
Chapter Five:
Shibuya Lights, Shinjuku Nights, Part one


Swiftly and ghostlike, tenebrous buildings briefly looming and dimmed lights sporadically flaring through misty darkness, the shadowed impression of Tokyo flowed past as in a dream.  How she wished it was nothing but a dream, but for Akane Tendo the obsidian arm that held her within its powerful grasp was all too nightmarish, all too real.  The skin of her kidnapper was cool and smooth, glassy as it encircled her waist.  Blurred suggestions of the city rushed past and night winds pulled at her burnt and torn clothes; but all sounds came to her muted, as from a great distance.
    Her initial shouts had gone unheard.  Slamming her fists against the broad expanse of her kidnapper's chest had only bloodied her knuckles.  He ignored her, crimson gaze set forward, wearing the faintest hint of a triumphant smirk.  Akane squeezed her eyes shut against the growing despair within.  This can't be happening, she thought.  I've been kidnapped!
    Again, a cynical voice in the back of her head added.
    This time, however, she wasn't being used as a pawn against Ranma.  This terrible, strange man--she didn't even know his name!--wanted _her_--she didn't even know why!--and wasn't likely to drop convenient hints as to where they were going.  And what if he had?  All her friends, attacking in unison, had been effortlessly swept aside.  Even Ranma, ablaze in the fullness of his ability, had barely managed to scratch his opponent before being brutally knocked down.
    And then . . . .
    Akane swallowed.  And then . . . if it hadn't been for this man carrying her away, she might very well be dead.  Killed by her fiance.


    He had twisted and writhed and hissed, suspended in midair by wispy coils of darkness.  Feline yowls echoed across the house, and Ranma strained futilely to escape his attacker's bonds.  The obsidian man simply watched, eyes cruelly narrowed and taking in the weakening struggles with apparent great satisfaction.  The pigtailed martial artist's fierce aura dimmed, his body went limp, and he slumped, unmoving, held a full two meters off the floor.  The dark loops around him tightened further, coldly burning into the helpless victim, and the body twitched and bled in its unconsciousness.
    Akane ran forward, battering her fists against the last remaining attacker. Her punches did nothing, the man's skin as smooth and cool as ice and far far harder.  "Leave him alone!" she screamed.  "Let him go!  You're killing him!"
    "Well, of course I am," the man said, voice tinted with amusement.  He finally turned flaming eyes towards her.  "I take great pleasure in it."
    "Don't!" Akane pleaded, powerful emotions swelling within as her fiance shuddered, his skin turning impossibly pale.  "I'll . . . I'll do whatever you want!  I'll go with you, willingly, just--"
    "Willingly?  Do you think I need your permission, you stupid girl?"
    "You've already beaten him!  Don't--"
    "Be quiet," the man said, reaching for her.  He stopped, a fierce light blazing up behind him.  With a scream, Ranma tore free of his bonds, arms and legs lashing out and shredding the grappling darkness.  He dropped to the ground, landing in a low crouch.  Bright flames danced and crackled across his body.
    "Who are you, boy?" the obsidian man said, turning his full attention on the glowing martial artist.  Heat flowed from Ranma in palpable waves, and the light of his aura pushed at the swelling shadows of his enemy.  "What do you think you're doing?"
    Her fiance slowly stood, then stepped forward into an aggressive stance.   Arms snapped up and stretched wide, then slowly drew down, finally crossing at the forearms, held at waist level.  Curved fingers seemed to rake at his own aura, and as his hands flowed into a classic Mouko Takabisha position, thin jets of fire swirled into the gathering sphere of power.  But this was something new: the ball of charged air suddenly ignited and swelled larger.  Their enemy's eyes widened with surprise--and fear, she saw.    "Fool!" he cried.  "You'll destroy--"
    Blank-eyed, Ranma seemed beyond hearing.  Akane wasn't even sure he was fully aware of what was happening.  Arms trembling to restrain the energies he had called forth, failed; his attack blasted free.  She suddenly found herself confronted with a gout of flame larger than she could have imagined, a rushing conflagration, it filled her vision, a wave of heat slammed into her; and then her enemy cradled her protectively, back turned towards her fiance's strike.  Flames flowed past the obsidian man's hunched form, punching a hole through another side of the house.  The heat was intense, her vision swimming, ears filled with a sizzling roar.  The man's shadows gathered close.
    With a final snarl, the obsidian man fled, carrying Akane with him.


    Akane's eyes snapped open at a sudden lurch.  Sounds and smells assaulted her in a dizzying rush, as her surroundings emerged from the fading shadows. The obsidian man alighted on the quiet street below, and carefully, almost delicately, put her down.  One hand still held her by the wrist.
    "I have waited so long for you to come along, girl," the man said, sounding annoyed, "but I never imagined your capture would prove so difficult."  Crimson eyes had faded back into stony impassivity, yet Akane imagined a faint redness still glimmered in the depths of the three parallel gouges running along his cheek.  "Nothing could have predicted that boy."
    She smiled, feeling a certain pride in her fiance.  "Yeah, and you just wait until he catches up."
    To her surprise, the man smiled as well.  "Oh, I most certainly hope he _does_ catch up to you, my precious Key.  I hope he finds you, and keeps you safe."  He released his grip.  "Now go, little girl.  Run away!"
    Blinking, rubbing at her wrist, she took a step away from the man.  "What?"
    Shaking his head, the man gave her a little shove.  "Are you stupid, girl?  Run away!  Flee, faster than you ever have before.  Time is short!"
    She trotted a few more hesitant steps away, keeping an eye on him over one shoulder.  He watched her expectantly and made a shooing motion with one hand.  Then he glanced away, toward her right.  She thought she saw something move there, a presence in the shadows.
    "Quickly," the man added, voice filled with urgency.  "They're almost here. I'll delay them, but you must flee.  Now!"
    Akane needed no further urging.  Confused, scared, heart pounding in her chest, she ran away.  At full speed, down dimly lit suburban streets, darkened houses on either side flashing past.  Turning down back alleys, dashing around random corners, working her way in an unknown direction, her own desperate breathing and the pounding of her feet against the pavement the only sound.
    Eventually she slowed, chest heaving, gasping for air.  She looked around and took in her surroundings.  With a sinking feeling, Akane realized that she had no idea where she was.  A residential area apparently, with narrow houses crammed together, occasional tiny balconies holding drying clothes, limp plants, satellite dishes.  A lone dog gave a forlorn bark somewhere; the faint sounds of a television drifted from a nearby house.
    Where am I? she wondered.  And how do I get home?
    She shivered at a sudden gust and hugged herself, feeling very alone.  It all felt so very surreal: just yesterday, she had been walking home with Ranma on a beautiful afternoon.  A visit to a park, print clubs made, cheerful conversation: a day free of worries.  They had gotten along better than in months.  The thought of that peaceful moment almost brought a smile to her face, but remembering her fiance just brought home how her own foolishness had almost gotten him killed.  It made her aloness all the more painful.  She shivered again, and came to another realization: she was nearly naked.
    Somewhere in all the fighting, in Ranma's fiery strike, during the shadowy escape, her clothes had suffered grievous damage.  Her light pink blouse--stained dark by spattered blood--was fluttering shreds held together by a single tenuous button; the edge of her skirt was tattered, long rips running up to the waist.  Blushing deeply, she realized her every step gave indecent glimpses of her underwear.
    "This isn't fair!" she moaned, ducking into a narrow alley between houses.  Alone and lost.  Strange monsters chasing her.  Her friends and family hurt--Mr. Saotome, probably dead.  She was penniless.  Nearly naked.  Tears sprang to her eyes and a sob rose in her throat.  It was too much--too much. Holding herself tighter, she slumped against the wall behind and slowly slid to the ground.  The concrete was cold and rough against her skin.  Hugging her knees to her chest, Akane stifled a sob.  Why, she asked herself, why did I have to steal that book?
    Because--
    It doesn't matter, she told herself.  She rubbed the back of one hand across her eyes.  It doesn't matter, I did it, and I'm lost, and dammit, Akane, pull yourself together.  Get up, and find out where you are.  Keep yourself alive until Ranma finds you.  Then she shook her head angrily.  No, she berated herself, find your _own_ way home.  You can't count on them: they don't know where you are, and this is all your fault, anyway, deal with it yourself.
    It took awhile to fully accept her own words, but when the reality of what she had to do became unavoidable, it brought with it an unexpected calm.  Akane sprang to her feet, suddenly energized.  "I can do this," she exclaimed, pumping her arm.  "I'll show them all I'm a real martial artist, I can take care of myself!"  The final suffering button on her shirt gave way.  The tattered remains fell away, leaving her standing with her arm raised, wearing nothing but a dangerously torn skirt and a lacy white bra.  With a loud squeak, she hastily crossed her arms across her chest.  First, she added, I find some new clothes.


    "Let go of me!" Ranma yelled, struggling feebly.  Wounded and exhausted, his strength failed him, and between Mousse's chains and Ryouga's grip, he couldn't escape.  "I have to find her!"
    The moment Cologne had released him from the pressure point, Ranma had jumped to his feet, ready to dash off into the night in pursuit of his kidnapped fiancee.  That bastard had a full half-hour on him; anything could have happened!  Cologne, however, was having none of it.
    "Where will you go, Son-in-Law?  How will you fight, should you find her?"
    "Shut up!" he shouted.  "I have to save her!"  He twisted free of Ryouga's grip, his battered friend barely able to stand, let alone restrain him properly.  "Akane's in trouble!"
    "Akane?" Ryouga blinked, and turned to Cologne.  "She's missing?"
    Cologne sighed and nodded.
    "My dear Akane!" the lost boy cried, dashing outside.  "I'll save you!"
    "Why am I cursed to help such moronic children?" Ranma heard her mutter, as she turned to Mousse.  "Boy, chase down that idiot and bring him back before he gets lost."  Turning back to Ranma, she leveled her stick at him.  "As for you: stop struggling, sit down, and listen, or I'll knock you out again."
    Ranma glared balefully at the point hovering centimeters from his chest.  He had failed to protect Akane, he had to find her; but he couldn't deny the truth of the Old Ghoul's words.  Even standing was proving difficult right now, and even if he could run--where would he go?  Akane could be anywhere.
    Tiredly passing his hand across his face, he slowly sank to the floor.  Arms propped up on crossed knees pushed palms against eyes squeezed shut, and he struggled to hold back tears of rage and frustration and loss.  His fiancee, gone; his father, dead.  He had failed utterly.  What did it matter that most of the attackers had been killed . . . killed gruesomely, savagely.
    "Are you all right, Son-in-law?"  Cologne's voice was uncharacteristically soft, almost caring.
    "Yeah, sure," he answered, and then gave a dry, humorless chuckle.  "No."  He looked up at the wizened face balanced above him.  "How could it be, Cologne?  Everything went wrong.  I couldn't protect Akane; hell, I almost killed her myself.  Take a look around: we wrecked Mr. Tendo's house, and everyone nearly died."  He buried his face in his hands again.  "And Pop--"
    "Isn't dead yet," Cologne said.
    He stared at her.  "Don't play games with me, Old Ghoul, not now," he growled.  "I saw him.  There was a hole the size of my fist through his chest.  You don't get up from that."
    "Maybe so, but I assure you: Genma Saotome still lives, if but barely.  Your mother is in an ambulance with him as we speak, if not already at the hospital."
    Ranma shook his head in denial.  "That's impossible."
    "But true.  Your father, Ranma, is a glutton and a coward--"
    "And an idiot," he added automatically.
    "--but I've rarely met a man with a stronger sense of self-preservation, or desire to live.  I would say his chances are very slim--but hope remains."
    For the first time since awakening, Ranma felt a stirring of . . . not hope, exactly, but at least a lightening of his despair.  He sat up a little straighter, drawing strength from his father's struggle.  If there was a chance Pop might live, the boy told himself, then I won't let him down by giving up now.  He took stock of his situation.
    He was in rough shape.  Exhaustion reached deep into his bones, his limbs feeling dull and lifeless, his insides dead.  His hands were badly burned, the palms puffy and blackened, the skin flaky; the underside of his feet were the same, and feeling past red locks he felt a similar burnt dryness on his scalp.  His chest hurt; pulling open his badly worn shirt, he found his torso crisscrossed with thin, pale bands.  His sinuous scar, winding from atop one feminine breast and under the other, stood out nearly dark against his palely discolored skin.
    Looking around, he saw his friends--those who were capable of moving--working hard at some task.  Repairs would come later, and take some time.  Ranma could not remember ever seeing the house in such rough shape.  Not even Tarou and Ashura's tangle a year ago had wrecked the place like this.  That he was responsible for much of the damage only heightened his guilt.
    The phone rang.  He was surprised it still worked.  Kasumi floated by, seeming serene despite the night's events.  Cologne continued updating him.
    "Our single prisoner is still unconscious, but carefully tied up and stowed away.  Everyone is busy cleaning up the mess.  Unfortunately, you can't have an ambulance pick up a man with a hole through him, without the police becoming inquisitive.  There is likely to be some official types arriving soon.  Obviously, the last thing we need them to see are bodies scattered across the house."
    "Bodies?" he asked, surprised they had caught one of the attackers, unsure what the police would think of monster corpses.  Normally they avoided the Tendos.  Too many weird things always took place, and the martial artists were more than capable of dealing with them, anyway.
    Cologne nodded, and fixed him with an unnervingly serious, appraising gaze. "Bodies, Ranma.  These monsters, it turns out, were all transformed people.  They all reverted back to their original shape--or what was left of it--soon after the last attacker left."
    His heart skipped a beat at her words.  He flushed hot, then cold, trembling, the bottom dropping out of his stomach.  People.  He had killed--people.  Words came from far away, 'Son-in-law, you did what you had to,' but through a rising buzzing in his head they meant nothing.  People, not monsters.  Dead.  His father, Akane gone, too much, too much.  He wanted to sleep, wake up from all this, his fatigued body was drawing him that way. . . .
    Kasumi's clear voice sliced through his fevered thoughts.  "Ranma, there's a phone call for you.  It's Akane!"


    "AKANE?"
    Sounds of people, music behind her, cars.  Hard to hear her voice over the urban din.
    "Um, yeah, listen, Ranma, I can't talk long, I've only got about thirty yen, it's all I had in my shirt pocket, and--"
    "Akane, where are you?"
    "A phone booth in Shibuya."
    "Shibuya?  What the hell are you doing in Shiubya?"
    "How should I know?  That man, he just let me go, I think there were others out there, like him, so he let me go and I ran and--"
    "Just give me a landmark, Akane, where in Shibuya are you, I'll come and get you, and--"
    "I . . . I don't really know."  Her voice sounded hesitant.  "I've never been to Shibuya before, and--"
    Friends and family squeezing around the phone strained to listen.  A tired and dirty Nabiki, hands and clothes stained a disturbing pink, anxiously asked, "Where the hell is she?"
    "Shibuya," he answered, turning back to the phone.  "Akane, any, I dunno, stores or something?"
    "I passed a big bar or club or something close to here.  Umm . . . it was called Neo."
    The name meant nothing to him.  "Neo?"
    Nabiki's eyes widened at the name.  "Hey, I know where that is.  She's just off the main strip.  How the hell did she get there?"
    "Nabiki knows where it is.  Stay put, Akane!  I'll come get you."
    She sighed.  "Thanks.  I'll--oh, Ranma, it's been a horrible night.  I even had to steal some poor kid's uniform, I can't believe I'm wearing a junior high school outfit again, in Shibuya at night, people must think--"
    "Akane," Ranma said, "don't worry about it."  His throat tightened, the relief he felt at hearing her voice nearly choking him.  "Akane, I . . . I. . . ."
    "Ranma?"
    He suddenly remembered the people gathered around, eyes both expectant and disapproving watching him carefully.  "I'll be there soon."
    "I'll wait by the club.  I . . . I better go, I think there's a guy waiting to use the phone."  Sounds of movement, then her voice, frightened.  "Hey, what are you--he's got a sword!" she exclaimed.  Then she screamed.
    The phone went dead.


    Amidst a rain of shattered glass and rent plastic, Akane hit the ground, hard.  She rolled with the impact and rose to her feet, twirling to face her attacker.  The booth lay cloven in two, the phone itself sliced open.  A rain of brown and silver coins clattered to the floor.  The green plastic receiver remained in her hand, the severed cord hanging limply.
    Two men stepped around the debris.  They were tall and dark, wearing long trench coats that billowed behind them in a sudden gust of wind.  They both carried swords: not refined, slender katana, but mammoth blades nearly as tall as their bearers, the metal gleaming dully under the neon wash.
    She backed away, heart pounding in her chest.  They advanced, separating as they tried to flank her.  Akane desperately looked around for help, but the Shibuya crowd simply flowed by, seemingly unaware of her predicament.  She grabbed at the nearest passerby.  "Call the police!" she screamed at him.
    The man, a drunken salary-worker, stinking of beer and cigarette smoke, stared at her with bloodshot eyes.  He tugged nervously at the knot of his loosened tie, blanching slightly.  His gaze flicked to the two approaching men, and his eyes unfocussed.  "I . . . I have to get home, sorry," he mumbled, and pulled away from Akane's slack grasp.  He faded back into the stream of people.
    "He can't help you," one of the approaching men said, his huge blade held low and to the side.  "None of them can."
    "What do you want?" she asked.
    The man paused as his companion continued to flank her.  They stood in an open circle, the crowd somehow unconsciously avoiding them.  Closed shops formed a solid wall behind her, and beyond the people, traffic crawled by.  "I'm sorry," the man answered her, sounding genuinely contrite, "but I have to kill you."
    "For your own good," added the other man.
    "How is dying good for me?" she exclaimed.
    "You've become involved with forces beyond your understanding."  The man shook his head sadly.  "No doubt, those fools back at the Order would try to save you: altruistic idiots!  Your death brings this war one step closer to an end."  He gave a slight nod to his companion; the other one brought his weapon to bear; they were about to attack.
    Akane had no idea what he was talking about.  At the moment, she didn't much care.  They had her pressed against the storefront behind, the night security gate cool and rough against her back.  When she finally spoke, the fearful quaver to her voice wasn't hard to produce.  "Please," she pleaded, "Don't.  I'm just a young schoolgirl . . . I don't want to die."
    Maybe it was the tearful glimmer to her eyes, but the second man hesitated a beat as his companion charged.  The hefty blade, swung down with both hands, clove through the store gate and shattered concrete--but Akane leapt aside with ease.  Even as the man recovered for a second swing, she rushed in close.
    "Leave me alone!" she screamed, and kneed him in the groin.  This close, she caught a glimpse of some kind of stylized armor hidden beneath his coat--something hard and metallic arrested her attack and bruised her knee.  The impact lifted him off the ground and staggered him.  He punched wildly at her.  She blocked out and spun in, her hammerhand catching him in the back of the head.  He fell forward--
    --as the other man reached her, the flat of his blade catching her across the side.  Akane flew back, pain flaring in her ribs, and bounced hard against the wall.  Torn and jagged gate links caught at her school blouse.  The man reversed his grip, the blade scything horizontally for her neck.  With a yelp she ducked, fabric ripping, and the man continued to twist, his blade again slicing in, this time low.  She jumped up, on the defensive and off balance, as beneath her the sword tore a massive gouge out of the sidewalk.  She grabbed the fence and hanged there for a moment, but weakened links suddenly snapped, and with a yelp she tumbled to the ground, landing painfully on her rear.
    "I'm truly sorry," the second man said, a foreigner, his Japanese heavily accented.  He didn't look any older than she did, bright blue eyes dotted with tears.  "But the Door must never be opened."  Words spoken by rote provided little comfort as he hefted the sword high overhead.  It shone with lurid greens and reds, reflected neon and something else, inscribed lettering she couldn't understand glimmering in the dull metal; and then the blade crashed down.  Before she could even scream or try to dodge, there was a loud clang of metal against metal.  Another weapon intercepted the blow.
    A man stood over her, dressed similarly to the others, though his sword was, in contrast, slim and narrow: a simple unadorned katana that gleamed brightly in the city lights.  "She is not yours to kill," he stated, before slamming a gauntleted fist into her attacker's face.  The young warrior slumped to the ground, stunned.
    The first man, fully recovered, glared at the newcomer.  "Takeshi," he said, and spat at her savior's feet.  "How dare you interfere?"
    "Since when does the Order destroy its own charge?  Eager to put yourself out of a job?"
    "You dare preach to me?  Dispossessed scum!  Your kind lost that right over a century ago."
    The man smirked.  "Even Dispossessed, I remain truer to our original purpose than you."
    "Don't you _dare_ take the high ground with me, Takeshi."
    "Why so defensive, Yamashita?  Does the guilt of betrayal still sting?"
    Akane, meanwhile, scrambled away from the two men as they argued.  The younger man, the foreigner who tried to kill her, was slowly recovering, clutching at his gushing nose with one hand.  All she had to do was run by him.  By the time he hefts his blade to take a swing at me, I can be long gone, she thought.  Then what?  Between monsters on one side, and sword-wielding lunatics on the other, where can I go?
    "The girl dies tonight," growled the man called Yamashita.  "And with her, the Book."
    "I won't let you kill her," insisted Takeshi.
    The first man laughed.  "What, do you think you can stop me?"  He lifted his massive blade with one arm, and held it there still and stable.  "You overestimate yourself."  He nodded towards Akane.  "And even if you should stop me--how long do you think the girl will live?  Word has it that the Children are on the move tonight.  Those high-and-mighty bastards of the Cup will no doubt make a try of their own.  And what if a few Truebloods show up?  Better a clean death than what _they_ would do to her.  How long, Takeshi, do you think this sad, unfortunate little schoolgirl can last against all that?"
    "Longer than you think," said a voice strong and clear, and much to her surprise Akane realized it was her own.  She glared defiantly at the unknown attackers.  "And I'm going to find out.  I don't understand what's going on tonight, but I'm not about to let you kill me."
    The older man, Yamashita, sneered and took a threatening step towards her.  He was immediately checked by Takeshi.
    "Out of my way," growled the attacker.  "Or die alongside her."
    "You underestimate me," answered Takeshi, and he held his thin blade with easy confidence.  "We may have lost our charge, Yamashita, but we never lost our skill."
    The younger one, however, ignored the stalemate.  He gripped his sword with both hands and leaned into a mighty swing--and dropped his weapon, Akane's swift axe-kick catching him at the wrist.  He fell back with a cry of pain, clutching at his arm.  She rushed forward, landing a solid fist to his stomach--her attack thudded uselessly against metal again--and ducked beneath his desperate punch.  She twisted as she rose, snagged the extended arm, and tossed him over her shoulder in a classic throw.  The boy slammed into the corrugated metal of a closed storefront with a loud clang; before he crashed to the ground, she caught him with a swift sliding side-thrust in midair.  Her attack imbedded him half-unconscious in the wall.
    "I'm truly sorry," she said, smiling sweetly, "but I don't feel like dying tonight."
    She turned and ran, Takeshi's urgent cries for her to flee unnecessary.  The loud clang of metal against metal rang out behind her as she threaded her way into the swiftly moving crowds.  The sounds faded quickly, but an insistent buzzing in the back of her head convinced her that pursuit was close behind.


    Ryoho Wakashima was a fifth-grade primary school boy.  He liked the sort of things that many boys his age liked: Anpanman, and the Tokyo Giants, and role-playing games on his Playstation.  He didn't like school too much, hated going to bed early, and despised his older sister.  Sometimes, however, you made do with what you had.
    "Sis, please, there's something scary outside!" he pleaded, visibly shaking.
    Manami Wakashima rolled her eyes as she slipped out of bed.  "You little worm," she growled.  "This better be good."  She trudged after her little brother, cursing the makers of games aimed at young boys that were filled with images guaranteed to give them nightmares.
    "It is, it is, just please . . . be quiet!"
    "Whatever," she mumbled, wondering how they could share the same genes.
    She gingerly picked her way through the minefield of scattered game cartridges and pointy-edged action figures that littered her brother's floor, keeping the trailing hem of her nightgown from dragging on the ground.  In a few years, she'd suspect this was all some perverted trick to see her in her underwear--she took some pride in her lithe teenaged body--but as it was, she knew her retarded brother was still firmly stuck in the 'girls are icky' stage.
     With unnatural dexterity, Ryoho had already dashed to the other side and was kneeling by the window, staring out.  He anxiously waved for her to hurry up.  "Yeah, yeah," she mumbled, reaching him.  She took one look outside--and quickly joined her brother in his furtive crouch.
    The Wakashima household was two-storied and stood at a suburban intersection, and her brother's room looked out from above.  In the pale streetlights abnormal figures faced each other, and the very night itself seemed to gather in thick coils about them.  The air was unusually warm for this time of year, and Ryoho had left the window open.  She could hear faint voices from below.
    "The pleasure is mine, really," said the tall, slender woman standing opposite a man who seemed, impossibly, to be smoothly cut from shiny black stone.  From this vantage point the woman's face was concealed, but Manami imagined she could hear the sneer in her voice.  "What an honor to again stand before the mighty Akuji!"
    "Enough pleasantries," answered the obsidian man, sounding unimpressed, if not outright bored.  "I have little time, Ryukiko, for either you or your pathetic brood.  Either come to a point, or get out of my way."
    There was a heavy pause, in which unnatural shapes seemed to shift from within the shadows.  Minami almost cried out at an unexpected tug on her nightdress: her brother, looking up at her with wide eyes.  "Who are they?" he asked in a small voice.
    Her only answer was a silent shake of her head.
    "Pathetic?" continued the woman below, her voice dangerous.  "Compared to what, Brother?"  The way she spat the final word, it sounded like an insult. "To your own weakling Children?"
    "No," he answered, amused.  "To me, dear Sister."
    Another lengthy pause, and from the roiling darkness that pushed at the waving edge of the light, inhuman figures approached.  Monsters--there could be no other description for them.  Minami stifled a scream, hand flying to her mouth.  Her brother, however, almost jumped up at the sight.
    "This is so cool," he said in an excited whisper.
    "Idiot!" she hissed, slapping the back of his head.  "It's a nightmare!"
    "But don't you see?" Ryoho insisted.  "If those things are here, then it can't be long before some Magical Girls show up to save us or something, right?"  The optimistic idiot was grinning widely.  "Maybe we'll even get to see the Sailor Scouts!"
    "Everyone knows they hang out in Juuban, moron," she said.  "Now shut up."
    The horrific creatures--some parodies of the human form, others wholly alien--formed an aggressive semi-circle around the black-skinned man.  He seemed unconcerned, keeping his attention on the tall, slender woman standing before him.  She made a sweeping gesture that took in the four newcomers--her 'children', Manami guessed.  "Pathetic, are we?" Ryukiko snarled.  "You stand before us alone, bereft of your own offspring, and you dare call us 'pathetic'?"  She stepped back, as her children tightened the circle around the dark man called Akuji.  His features, impassively black against the night behind, were unreadable. "Oh, yes, Brother, I am well aware of your losses tonight.  Your entire family slaughtered, yourself wounded, and yet you presume such arrogance."
    "And still you waste my time with words," he answered.  Manami shivered at the coldly mocking tone of his voice.
    "Only because I remain curious," the woman answered,  "as to how you could have lost your entire family, and yet failed to destroy the Key?"
    At that, the man took a step forward--the four creatures blocking him shifted hesitatingly backwards.  The night winds swelled violently around them.  Impassive stony eyes flared into brilliant crimson life.  "Now it is you who presumes too much, Little Sister.  Spy on me as you wish, but do not stand between me and the girl!"
    "You betray yourself, Brother!" answered Ryukiko angrily.  "Our Great Father mandated her death long ago!  You risk everything we have achieved by allowing her to live.  Your actions run contrary to the needs of the Family, and I question your motives, Brother."
    "My actions are not your concern," he said, voice low and hard.
    "They are, if they mark you as a traitor!"
    "Such accusations, dear Sister," he answered.  "You wound me."
    "I will have your betrayal exposed before the entirety of the Family, Akuji!"  She spun away, stalking off into the dark.  "Will you still smirk, I wonder, when the entirety of the Children have turned against you?"  Her four companions backed away slowly, never turning their attention away from the dark man.  They faded back into the night, beyond the reach of the feeble streetlamp.
    He watched them leave before turning away himself.  "I shall not smirk," he said, softly and to himself, though somehow his voice carried to the watching siblings.  "Rather, I shall laugh and bathe in the blood of Father's bastard progeny."  Then Akuji looked up.  Suddenly fixed upon those crimson eyes, Manami Wakashima gasped, feeling hollowed and exposed before his glare.  "But such things," he seemed to whisper, words resounding painfully within her head, "Are not yet for others to know, child."  There was a sudden wash of darkness, chilling and heavy, and then she knew nothing more.


    "I'm sorry," the man said, squinty eyes staring at her from beneath a bushy monobrow, "but I can't let you in."  He was huge and muscular, squeezed into ill-fitting black suit, and effectively blocked her entry into the club.  Muffled cheers and pounding music filtered through the door.  "You've got the look, girl, but you've got to pay, just like anybody else."
    Akane bit back a growl of frustration.  Some instinct told her that she was still in danger.  Enemies were drawing close.  She needed to lose herself in the crowd, to blend in and shake off pursuit.  Desperation and chance had led her this nightclub, a neon-lit bass-thumping dance spot called 'The Underground Lounge'.  The man at the door insisted she pay up the 2 500 yen cover charge (one drink included) before entering.  How do I explain, she wondered, that I lost my wallet to a late-night assault on my home, but that I really need to get in off the streets, because sword-wielding lunatics and stone-skinned monsters are chasing me?
    "Hey, hurry it up, will ya?" drawled a girl from behind.  Akane felt a poke from behind, annoying and insistent.  "You're holdin' up d'line, bitch," added a man's voice.
    Very slowly and deliberately, Akane turned to face the couple.  A girl decked out in 70s-styled clothes paired with towering superplatform boots sneered at her insolently; the man, bleach-blond-haired and wearing too-tight black leather pants, looked down at her through red-tinted shades.
    "Push off, yes?" said the girl, giving her a little shove.  "No way you're getting in free looking like _that_."
    After everything else, Akane thought wearily, now I've got to deal with this, too?  She calmly waited for the next push, caught the girl's slender, weak arm, and gave a sharp pull.  Eighteen-centimeter heels gave very poor purchase, and with a tiny yelp the girl tumbled forward into Akane's waiting grasp.
    "Listen, I'm having a very bad night, okay?" the martial artist pronounced, her tone neutral.  When the boyfriend approached, mouthing some kind of protest, she reached out with her free hand, picked him up, slammed him down and held him pinned to the ground.  She glared at them both.  "Like you wouldn't believe."  The girl pushed vainly against Akane's iron grip as the boy gasped for air.  "So how about a little patience?"  She carefully placed the woman back onto her high-heeled perch and then hauled the man back to his feet.  For a moment it seemed like the couple might object, but after seeing Akane's harried expression once again, they chose to give quick nods and move a careful distance away.
    Satisfied, she turned back to the bouncer.  He, however, seemed unimpressed and no more likely to allow her to pass.  Akane quickly considered giving him a quick pounding, but decided it would be a bad idea.  She was trying to _blend_ into the crowd, after all--not start a bar brawl.  She hovered there for a moment, torn with indecision, nearly in tears from conflicting urges--not really wanting to go in, more convinced than ever that something horrible would catch her if she went back, unable to move anywhere, and she wished that somebody else was with her, even her sisters: Kasumi could simply charm her way past the man, though the idea of her oldest sister in a dance club seemed ludicrous, and Nabiki could bluff her way past, she knew more about this kind of lifestyle, Akane having never even been in a place like this before, hell, she was still underage, and even with just a quick glance she could tell she was surrounded by perverts, and the bouncer was running out of patience, and the growing lineup behind was grumbling louder, and she didn't know what to _do_--when rescue came from an unexpected source.
    "Thanks, Ishi," a thin, well-dressed man said, cutting past the line and stepping through, "just needed some fresh air."
    The hefty bouncer nodded.  "No problem, Mr. Takahashi."
    The man hesitated at the threshold of the bar.  "What's with the holdup?"
    Ishi gave an awkward shrug.  "It's nothing, Mr. Takahashi.  Just a customer who can't pay.  I was about to ask her to leave."
     Mr. Takahashi gave her a brief look-over, and then patted the large man on the shoulder.  "That'll be okay," he said.  "I'll cover it."
    "You sure, Mr. Takahashi?"
    "Positive."
    The bouncer stepped aside.  It took her a moment to realize she could pass. Mr. Takahashi flashed a lopsided grin at a bemused Akane, and waved.
    "Your name?"
    "A-Akane."
    He motioned for her to follow.  "Well, A-Akane, you coming in or not?"


    It was within the wreckage of the training hall, amidst unraveled tatami mats, torn wooden beams, and shreds of rice paper that Nabiki Tendo took her break.  It was her first since Cologne had assumed charge after Akane's kidnapping.  The moment Ranma's mother had left for the hospital, everyone had been put to work: rescuing her father and older sister from the roof; scrubbing down stained walls, picking up body pieces . . . .  Cologne said she would take care of the corpses--she wouldn't say how, merely stating that she would use 'Ancient Amazon Techniques'--and that brought a frantic thought to Nabiki's mind: What the hell am I doing disposing of bodies?  Exhausted beyond reason, she flopped to the ground and stared numbly up at stars visible through the collapsed ceiling.
    This wasn't how I imagined spending my time back home, she thought.  Then again, I wasn't expecting a late-night assault, either.  It's no wonder I have trouble relating to my friends at school.  They go home and deal with ex-boyfriends and estranged parents; I've got slavering beasts and sadistic snake-women waiting at my front door.
    And guilt, she added morosely.  She had seen Ranma's face when he heard of what happened to their attackers soon after the fight ended.  Just as she had expected, really.  Other people, just like that banker she read about in the newspaper.  Now splattered across her house.  And wasn't that exactly what she had wanted?  Ranma fighting unhindered by his usual concern for others, unhesitant, savage.  Well, she'd gotten what she want, but somehow having not told him the truth made the guilt all the worse.  She felt somehow complicit in the act.
    Don't be an idiot, she told herself.  Ranma killed them, not you.
    Heavy steps outside interrupted her thoughts.  She glanced aside and saw Mousse.  He nodded once as he struggled under the weight of a tightly bound figure.  With a final grunt he unceremoniously dumped the body to the ground.  It hit the wood floor with a dull thud.  "Cologne asked us to gather in the house," he said.  "The police should be here soon."
    "What's that?" Nabiki asked, sitting up.
    "Our captive.  I was told to hide her in the dojo closet."  He gave the body a rough shove with his foot, and it rolled over towards her.  The beautiful face wreathed in a silken cascade of blue-black hair, eyes closed in unconsciousness, was all too familiar: Ayumi Utada, who currently held the number one spot on the domestic pop charts.  Half the guys in her dorm had her picture up on their wall.
    Maybe it was the recent feelings of guilt, but the boy's rough treatment of the girl irritated her.  "Hey, careful!  She's already out cold, you don't have to go kicking her."
    Mousse stared at her coldly from behind thick glasses.  Nabiki had never seen the boy in such rough shape.  Wounds from yesterday compounded by the injuries of tonight left him looking haggard and bitter.  He turned his gaze down to the bound woman and looked at her intensely.  "You make me sick," he hissed, and then slowly and deliberately he cleared his throat and spat on their captive's face.
    "Hey!"
    "This bitch," the Chinese martial artist said, still watching the woman, "and her family, nearly killed us all.  Do you really think that these. . . things, after what they did to Shampoo, deserve _any_ quarter from us?"  He eyes flicked back to Nabiki.  "I'd kill her now if Cologne didn't insist we might need her later."
    Chilled by his gaze but resolute, the Tendo daughter refused to flinch away.  "Tone it down, psycho boy.  She tried to kill me too, remember?  Doesn't mean we've got the right to knock her off in her sleep."
    The boy chuckled.  "Don't take the moral high ground with me, Nabiki Tendo."
    "Excuse me?"
    "When these _bastards_," he started, and he emphasized his point with another kick to the girl, his eyes daring Nabiki to protest, "changed back into people, do you think we were surprised?  You're not the only one who can read a newspaper.  It wasn't hard to put Ranma's fight of last night and today's news together."
    "You knew you were fighting people?"
    "Yes."  He nodded.  "Did Ranma?"
    She looked away guiltily.
    "Did you?"
    She sighed.  "Yeah."
    When she looked back, his countenance had lost some of its hardness.  "You did the right thing, Nabiki, by not telling him," he said.  After a short pause he added, "He's the strongest of us now," and his voice was soft.  He reached into the folds of his robe and pulled out a wallet.  He tossed it at her feet.  "I found this outside," he added.  He spared a final glance at the unconscious pop star before walking away.
    Mousse's words did nothing to console her.  If anything, they brought a sharp stab of pain to her chest, an unpleasant churn in her stomach.  After a long moment Nabiki picked up the wallet.  Watching the unconscious girl, she flipped it open.  "Well, Ayu," she said, "let's see what you've got for us today."


    The man called Takahashi threaded his way through the tightly packed crowd with the ease of frequent passage.  He pulled an unresisting Akane along by the hand.  Many of the patrons seemed to know him, nodding or calling out his name as he passed.  More than a few gave curious, angry, or envious glares towards the girl trailing behind, but she hardly noticed: Akane was too busy staring in stunned amazement at the scene stretched out before her.
    Strobing lights two stories up cut bright swaths of green and blue across the wildly dancing throng.  They bounced and twisted in time to the body-shaking bass pounding out of giant speakers suspended from the ceiling that were barely visible through the wafts of smoke roiling overhead.  Laser light cast flickering images across the clouds above and the people below; a projector flashed stock war-footage against a screen--and the broad chest of the mostly-naked man dancing in front of it--set above a booth where an intense-looking little man listened intently to a set of puffy headphones; neon gleamed through transparent panels in the floor; cigarette tips flared red in darkened corners.  People moved in a constant stream to and from the dimly lit bar removed from the dance floor, or sat at the counter on crystalline stools illuminated from within.
    I've seen ghosts, dragons, phoenixes, giant animals and bird people, Akane thought, but I've never seen _this_ before.  Everywhere she looked, sweat-drenched bodies swayed to an unrecognizable beat she could hardly call music.  Arms and legs everywhere seemed interlaced, and some people were even . . . Those people are making out on the dance floor! Akane thought, quickly turning away and blushing bright red.  They're kissing in public!  She guiltily glanced back but the couple was gone, swallowed by the shifting crowd.  A sudden fear gripped her, familiar yet very different from what she had felt for most of the night.
    I'm surrounded by perverts!
    A tall, skinny man, wearing nothing but a white high-cut metal-studded leather bikini, sat sprawled on a plush bench alongside the dance floor, with a tiny girl wearing the shortest of black mini-dresses perched on his lap.  She had one arm thrown around his neck and tugged playfully at his beard as Akane passed.  A few steps further, two long-haired girls kissed with a passion that made Akane distinctly uncomfortable--when they came up for air, she realized they were both men.  The bizarre costumes and confusing androgyny wasn't all that shocking to her--when your fiance changes into a girl on a daily basis, you gain some resilience to the whole thing; and Ranma and his entourage had worn their share of stupid outfits over the years--but the whole setting and blatant exhibitionism placed everything in a disturbingly sordid light.
    A well-dressed man held a glass door open, and Takahashi brought her up a curving stairwell into a far quieter section of the bar.  The heavy beat filtered in as a distant thrum, and the youthful cries were cut out by heavy windows that looked out across the dancing crowds below.  The man slid into a luxurious booth next to the window, and after a hesitant pause Akane sat in a chair opposite him.
    "Welcome to the Underground Lounge," he said, and smiled slightly.  "Can I get you anything to drink?"
    Akane just stared at him.  She couldn't think of anything to say.  She sank deeper into the softness of the chair and felt a warm comfort seeping into her legs.  The pane of glass next to her head vibrated slightly.  The reality of the night--the unreality of the night--was catching up to her.  The night? she thought.  Hardly.  Only an hour, if even that, but it felt so much longer.  From the safety of her home to--this.
    "Hey, you okay?" the man named Takahashi asked.
    She gave a quick shake of her head to help clear it.  Focus, she told herself.  You're not home yet, girl.  Putting aside thoughts as to how Ranma was going to find her for the moment, she tried to relax and gain some strength from this brief moment of apparent calm.  "I'm. . . ."  She realized she didn't know what to say.  'Fine,' certainly didn't cover it.  'Beyond terrified' didn't make for good conversation.  Akane didn't know what to say and somehow that struck her as terribly absurd at the moment, and much to her own surprise she laughed aloud at her own confusion.  "I'm confused!" she said, and giggled.
    Takahashi grinned.  "I'm sure you are."  He made a brief sweeping gesture that took in the room.  "First time in the Lounge's VIP room?"
    "You--you could say that, yes."
    "It's a bit quiet now, I'm afraid, though some famous foreign rock band is supposed to come by a little later.  Normally there's a pretty refined crowd up here."  He shrugged apologetically.  "Sorry.  Why, we even had Ayumi Utada a few nights ago."
     "Um, that's okay," she absently answered, thoughts wandering back to the siege on her household.  It was only then that she recognized the face she had punched.  "I already saw her tonight."
    "I'm sure you have."
    "She wasn't as, um, beautiful in person as I'd expected."  Her face bruised my fist, she thought, rubbing absently at her knuckles.
    "People rarely are."
    The man made a subtle gesture, and a waitress appeared at their side.  She was professionally attired and quite beautiful, makeup expertly applied.  Something about the woman didn't seem quite right, and though Akane couldn't immediately put a finger on it, she kept a discreetly wary eye on the newcomer as the man placed a drink order.
    "You like our staff?" Takahashi asked, as the waitress walked away.
    Akane frowned slightly.  "That was a man, wasn't it?"
    "I'm impressed!  Most people can never tell--it's a bit of private joke, I suppose." His smile broadened.  "How did you know?"
    "I'm not sure," she answered, and shrugged.  "I know a lot of perverts, I guess."  She wasn't really thinking about what she was saying, her eyes sliding across the room and its sparse population, finally settling on the dancing crowd below.  "My friend's got this transvestite ninja waiter who's really good at. . . ."  She suddenly realized what she was saying and trailed off.  "Um, that is--"
    "Transvestite ninja waiter?"  He leaned back into the sofa, arms thrown wide across the back.  He smirked, eyes dancing with amusement.
    Nice one, Akane, she thought.  "Would you believe I hang out with an interesting crowd?"
    "Yes, I believe I would."
    The waiter returned and placed two drinks on the table.  Her host took a small sip from his, and gestured for Akane to accept the other drink.  After a brief hesitation she accepted, suddenly realizing how thirsty she was.  And tired.  She wasn't physically exhausted, despite all the running, but she felt emotionally and mentally drained.  It felt surreal to be sitting in the VIP lounge of some bar with a man she didn't know buying her drinks.  She had no doubt that under different circumstances, there was no way she'd accept.  I wouldn't normally even walk _into_ a bar like this, she thought.  And even if I did, this guy would probably be buying drinks for Ranma instead.
    She took a tentative sniff of her drink.  "What is it?"
    "Nothing too strong," he said with an absent wave of his hand.  "Enjoy."
    Akane took a small gulp, grimaced, and put it back.  "I'm sorry," she said. "I can't drink this."
    Takahashi looked surprised.  "Why not?"
    "Well, there's alcohol in there, right?  I'm only eighteen, I'm underage."  She gave a small chuckle.  "I probably shouldn't even be in here."
    The man leaned forward, elbows on knees, and looked at her speculatively over steepled hands.  Akane took her first good look at him, suddenly realizing that, with the overstimulation of the dance floor below, and the distraction of her first moment of relaxation and the feminine waiter, she had all but ignored the man.  He was quite good-looking and probably only a few years older that Kasumi; his clothes were stylish and expensive, even to her undiscerning eye.  She didn't fail to notice the latticework of fine spidery lines tattooed across the back of his hand, briefly glimpsed as his cuffs pulled back.  Takahashi was young and in good shape, and Akane finally noticed that behind the quick grin and bright eyes, something steely and hard glinted as well.
    "Maybe not," the man mused.  "See, now you have _me_ confused."
    "I do?"
    "What are you, Akane?" he asked, though his tone was rhetorical.  "I _thought_ you were just another role-playing little bitch trying to get in cheap.  The way you're dressed, I thought you were looking for a pickup, and I had to admit, you played the part well and looked fantastic, so I let you in.  I pride myself on picking the right people to create the right atmosphere here, and you fit in nicely; and later, I knew you'd go down on your knees easy, just like all the other silly cows that roll through here.
    "But you kept the wide-eyed innocent schoolgirl thing going in the club, and then I _thought_ you were just another silly little girl looking for a spot of naughty excitement.  Which was fine, too.  I'm young and rich and good-looking, I don't give a shit that you're underage, and the challenge of getting you to spread your legs would've made it all the sweeter.  I get my fun, and you've got a wild little story to tell your idiot friends at school, and life goes on.
    "Then you sit here and ignore me, you _refuse your drink_, and you keep a careful eye on the place and people.  But what I took for the amazement of an overwhelmed kid isn't, is it?  You've got the eye of a professional, girl, you saw right through poor Momoko, and though this is _my_ bar and these are _my_ people, somehow, you've got even _me_ on edge.
    "So I wonder, A-Akane," he said, and the contemplative tone slipped away and his eyes turned dark, "who the hell are you?"
    Akane met his hard gaze unflinchingly, leaned forward, and answered in even, measured tones: "I _am_ just an innocent schoolgirl, Mr. Takahashi, and I've been having a very, very bad night, and though I appreciate you letting me in and buying me a drink, if you so much as try anything the least bit perverted, I don't care who you are or how tough you think you may be, I will grab you by the throat and toss you through that window."
    The man smiled coldly.  "Is that so?"
    "Yes, it is, Mr. Takahashi."  The chilliness of her own voice surprised her.  She had no fear of him, and an excited thrill ran through her at the realization.  After the events of the last few hours, this man seemed almost laughably mundane.  The situation was menacing, and she had no doubt that this man knew how to fight, and she was acutely aware of the other men and women hovering nearby, ready--yet all she felt was an exhilarating anticipation of what might come.  Between her own martial skills and Ranma's recent training, Akane had no doubt that she could handle whatever this man threw her way.
    But to her surprise, the man's expression softened, and he even gave a small chuckle as he relaxed into the softness of his seat.  "Well then, I suppose I'd better not try anything perverted!"
    Akane nodded, a little confused--and maybe even a little disappointed?--that the situation had been so easily defused.  Takahashi smiled.  "I don't know what your story is, Akane, but you've added some unexpected fun to my evening, and for that I thank you."  He again summoned a waiter over, this one an ordinary looking, if quite handsome, man.  A quick whispered exchange, and then he returned his attention to her.  "You've got the full run of The Underground Lounge tonight as my guest."
    She blinked, unsure if she had heard him right.  "Really?"
    He nodded.  "Really."  He gestured towards the dancing crowd below.  "I get so bored, sometimes, of the usual crowd passing through here.  Like you wouldn't believe.  These disillusioned kids and their silly little fetishes, so mundane in their need to try and shock and stand out in a crowd.  So pathetically desperate in their chase of something they don't understand--so frantic to forget themselves for just a night."  Shaking his head and looking almost sad, he turned away from the sight.  "I've had many eager little bitches pass through here and I've hit them with the same sad routine; but you, Akane, are the most genuinely interesting woman I've met in a very long time."
    Takahashi shrugged and stood up and straightened his blazer with a sharp tug.  "Here, maybe this will help," he said, and pulling his wallet from an inside pocket he tossed a few crisply folded bills onto the table.  "One day, you'll have to tell me why you're having such a bad evening."  He stepped away, but at the threshold of a door marked 'staff only' he paused and looked back.  "In the meantime," he added, and grinned, "I simply ask that you try and enjoy yourself.  Go and dance, Akane, and have a drink.  Relax!  You're so tense, you're making even _me_ nervous."


"I'm sorry," the man said, staring at him with some distaste, "but I can't let you in."  He was thin but muscular, wearing casual, loose-fitting clothes, and effectively blocked his entry into the club.  Muffled cheers and pounding music filtered through the door.  "Especially looking like that, girl!  You stink as well, and besides, you'd have to pay just like anybody else."
    Ranma glared at the man and, chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath, he refrained from pounding him into a body cast.  The rooftop dash south leading from Nerima to Shibuya had left him exhausted.  There hadn't been time to change his clothes.  No time for hot water.  He'd even forgotten his wallet.  Only time for Akane.  Every moment counted, he had to find her before it was too late.  Back at the shattered phone booth, there hadn't been any signs of where she had gone, but nor had there been any blood.  The last he had noted with considerable relief.
    "Let.  Me.  In," he gasped, panting for breath.  His gore-encrusted shirt hung loosely off his feminine frame, and he was aware of people pointing and staring and whispering; he didn't care.
    "No," the bouncer said, crossing his arms across his chest.  "Now piss off before I'm forced to do something drastic we'll both dislike.  We're a respectable club here; take your shit down to the Lounge or somewhere, they're more into that kind of crap."
    "I'm.  Not.  Leaving," Ranma insisted.  A few more seconds, he thought, and I'll catch my breath and send this jerk to the moon.
    "Hey, hurry it up, will ya?" drawled a girl from behind.  Ranma felt a poke from behind, annoying and insistent.  "You're holdin' up d'line, bitch," added a man's voice.
    Ranma spun and faced the couple with a growl.  A girl decked out in 70s-styled clothes paired with towering superplatform boots sneered at him insolently; the man, bleach-blond-haired and wearing too-tight black leather pants, looked down at him through red-tinted shades.
    "Push off, yes?" said the girl, giving him a little shove.  "No way you're getting in free looking like _that_."  She took a delicate sniff.  "Or _smelling_ like that!  Ugh."
    After everything else, Ranma thought wearily, now I've got to deal with this, too?  He decided at that moment that he had, in fact, rested enough, and caught the girl's arm and gave a sharp pull.  With a tiny yelp the girl tumbled down to the ground, though he controlled her fall enough for her to only receive a slight bump to the rump.  "Not again," the man moaned, before Ranma picked him up and tossed him down next to his girlfriend..
    "Listen, I'm having a very bad night, okay?" the martial artist pronounced, his tone tired and harsh.  "Like you wouldn't believe."  He turned back to the bouncer, who was bearing down on him angrily.  The man was a talented martial artist, Ranma absently noted, as he easily dodged what was probably intended as a debilitating kick to his thigh.  He slid past and lightly popped his elbow into the bouncer's temple.  The man went down wordlessly.
    "I'll just be a moment," he told the bouncer, and stepped into the bar.
    Lights flashed and music pounded, and Ranma ignored it all.  He scanned the crowd but couldn't see Akane.  Grinding his teeth in frustration, he slipped through the multitude of people towards a central booth.  Some guy seemed to be in charge there: he had headphones on and kept shouting into a microphone, and the whole crowd faced him as they hopped to the music's beat.  Some man at the door to the booth yelled something at him, but Ranma shoved him aside and stepped past.  A scrawny nervous-looking man of about his age glanced up at his approach.
    "Sorry.  No requests," he mumbled, never looking away from the record spinning before him.
    "I'm not making a request," Ranma answered, and put his fist through a machine full of dials and sliders that looked very expensive.
    The man's eyes bugged out at the destruction of his equipment.  "Ah!  No!  Not the LPs, not the LPs!"
    Ranma grabbed him by the collar and hauled him up out of his seat.  "I just need to use this for a sec', 'kay?"  He grabbed the microphone.  He tapped it but didn't hear anything.
    "You gotta turn it on first," the man said, gently prying it out of Ranma's fingers.  He flicked a switch and asked, "What's your name?"
    "Ranma."
    "What kinda DJ name's that?"  The man snorted and tossed the microphone back.  "Wannabe."
    The pigtailed martial artist stared at him for a moment, shrugged, and gave the microphone another tap.  A satisfying thud resounded across the bar.  Grasping the tool lightly in one hand, he hopped up on the DJ's counter and waved at the sea of upturned faces spread before him.
    "Hey, can you hear me, hey?"
    'Hey, he- he- hey?' his voice rapped, deftly mixed in between the still-pounding music's beat.
    "Yeah!" roared the crowd.
    Ranma glanced down and saw the DJ intently working his other board.  He flashed a thumbs-up and said, "You're doing fine, wannabe."
    "Will you stop doin' that?" Ranma exclaimed.
    "They're listening, no?"
    The martial artist sighed and turned back to the crowd.  "Yo, Akane, you out there?"
    'Yo, yo, yo!'
    "Akane?" he yelled.
    "Akane!  Akane!" roared the crowd.
    Ranma hung his head.  This wasn't getting him anywhere.  How the hell am I going to track her down now? he wondered.  He would have to find a phone and call the Tendos.  Maybe Akane had called back while he was on his way here.
    He stepped down and passed the microphone back.  "Thanks."
    "No prob," the DJ said.  "Not bad for a chick.  You free tomorrow night?  I'm working this new club, I can get you in for free, give you some pointers.  Hell, wear some decent threads, something tight, take a shower, with a rack like that you'd probably score your own gig no matter how shit you are."
    Ranma considered smacking him on general principle but settled for ignoring the creep.  He cleared the crowd with an easy jump (eliciting 'ohs' and 'ahs', and a few lusty stares as his top flared open) and stormed out of the club.  The bouncer was still staring up at the sky with swirling eyes.  The martial artist felt a momentary pang of guilt as he saw the idiot from earlier consoling his sobbing girlfriend.
    "It's not fair!" she said.
    "There, there," the boy said, patting her back, and turned a nasty glare Ranma's way.
    "The schoolgirl was bad enough, but the smelly girl, too?"
    "I know, I know."
    Ranma took a surreptitious sniff of himself as he passed and had to reluctantly agree.  Then the rest of the girl's words connected and he froze in his tracks.  He turned back to the unfortunate couple.
    "Schoolgirl?" he asked.


    The girl in the bathroom mirror was tired and dirty.  Too-tight school uniform ripped, face smudged with sweat and grime, expression harried, eyes dull: I look terrible, Akane thought, and sighed.  She made some nominal efforts to straighten herself out.  After running some water in the sink she splashed her face, then tried to straighten out her stolen clothes.  With a few attempts she even managed to tie the ribbon in front into a proper bow.  But when she checked herself in the mirror again, little had changed: she was still tired and depressed, and still didn't know what to do next.
    Akane stared deep into her own eyes and asked, "What do I do know?"  The brown eyes reflected back held an answer she didn't want to accept.  The realization of what she had to do had been brewing for some time now in the back of her mind, ever since she had broken away from the dueling swordsmen. No matter how much she poked at her hair or preoccupied herself with tying her ribbon perfectly, the harsh truth was becoming impossible to deny.
    "I can't go home," she whispered to herself, staring sightlessly into the mirror.
    Her knees felt weak, and she leaned heavily against the bathroom counter.  Dampened music made itself dully heard from beyond in what seemed, at the moment, an entirely different world.  There were the rooms outside, filled with perverts and couples and people having fun--whether relaxed or out of desperation, as Mr. Takahashi suggested, seemed irrelevant.  Their lives were ordinary.  After the initial shock of the crowd wore away, Akane recognized how normal these people were, beyond the bizarre surface trappings they wrapped themselves in when they came to this place.  Once the sun rose and they staggered out into the brightly lit rubbish-lined streets, reality would forcefully reassert itself.  Whatever illusion they had crafted around tonight would fade like the morning's dew, and they would wander back to their jobs, schools, boyfriends. . . .
    But for me, Akane thought grimly, it's all horribly real, and if I wander back home I'll just be putting my friends and family in danger again.  The youngest Tendo stared deep into the mirror and beyond it she saw her friends, wounded; her family, bloodied; and Ranma, wrapped in coils of darkness that burned coldly into his skin and carried him to the threshold of death.  What frightened her most at that moment was the realization that he _would_ die to protect her; it was more responsibility than she could bear.  She had to flee, as much from these things pursuing her as from her friends who wanted to defend her.
    "Where can I go?" she asked herself.
    "Back to the dance floor," answered an amused voice, snapping Akane out of her introspection.  A tall, attractive girl stepped up to the counter next to her, and flashed a quick smile.  The sound of flushing water rang from an opened stall behind them.  "You don't want to spend the night staring at yourself, right?"
    "Um, yeah.  I mean, no," Akane stammered.
    The girl opened her purse and leaning towards the mirror, and started touching up her makeup.  "No worries, no worries," she said.  The woman glanced aside before dabbing at her lips with a small brush.  She pursed them, gave a small nod of satisfaction, and shrugged.  "You on mushrooms?  No offense, but you look it.  Some fresh air might help."
    "No--I haven't eaten anything," she answered, wondering why she'd want to eat mushrooms.  She didn't trust them: you never knew when a piece of fungus might revert you to the age of a six-year-old.
    "Fair enough, fair enough."  The woman patted at her face a bit, carefully examining for minor imperfections.  She was sexily dressed, but nothing too outrageous; Akane could imagine Nabiki wearing something similar (though not herself) and looking just as good if not better.  Akane watched her for a moment longer then turned back to the mirror.  Her own attempts at improving her appearance now seemed pathetically ineffectual.  The stranger's hair fell in sleek, straight lines; when Akane tried to smooth down her own, it sprang back into matted coils, held there by sweat and dirt and caked blood.
    "I hope they appreciate the effort," the girl said, smiling as if they were sharing some conspiratorial secret.  "I have to admit, girl, you sure went all out, didn't you?"
    Akane blinked.  "Me?"
    "Oh, don't be so modest!" the other girl said.  "You did an awesome job!  I mean, sure, the school thing is, like, so passe, but what you did--wow.  Perfect.  I've never seen the 'anime ravaged schoolgirl' thing done with such style.  You smudged your makeup just right!  And those rips in the sleeve--le coup de grace!"
    The ravaged schoolgirl looked in the mirror again and thought, I look like crap.
    "You'll be fighting them off with a stick," the girl said, snapping her purse shut and stepping away.  "Just one piece of advice: you want to _look_ like you've just run through an animated hell, fighting for your life," she said, and gave a small sniff.  "But you don't want to _smell_ like it, too." The bathroom door, after giving way to a short blast of bass-intensive music, swung shut behind the woman.
    Shaking her head in bemusement, she returned to her contemplation at the mirror.  Try as she might, she couldn't think of what to do next.  She should call home--she had the money now, the crisp bills handed to her by Takahashi adding up to a very generous forty-five thousand yen--but was reluctant to do so.  She so wanted to go home, and her tenuous resolve to stay away might easily break.  I have to run, Akane decided, it doesn't matter where right now, I've just got to get out of Shibuya and find somewhere isolated, somewhere I can't be found.
    "Don't you just hate them," the girl next to her asked, her tone rhetorical.  Akane glanced aside, and was surprised to see that the girl next to her was pregnant.  Painted-on tight black Capri pants fell far short of covering her swollen belly, and the silvery tank top, stretched taut across healthy breasts, also proved far too short and merely accentuated the belly that bulged out the remaining gap.  Short spiky bleached hair, brightly colored make-up, platform heels: the girl seemed properly set for a serious night out, though Akane had trouble imagining her dancing at such an obviously late stage of pregnancy.
    "Excuse me?" Akane asked.
    "Those pathetically vacuous girls.  So self-absorbed, so snide and venomous and hurtful, so focused on their appearance, so devoid of depth--poke a hole through their expertly made-up faces and they're empty inside, you know, nothing but dust and shadows."
    "Um, if you say so," Akane answered.
    "But you know better, don't you?" the girl said, staring coolly at her.  "You've got depth, I bet.  You've got something beautiful hidden inside, don't you?  I could waste all night tearing those others open--I could rip those gorgeous faces off and slash those perfect breasts and pull out coil after coil from their bulimic guts, and you know what--there's nothing there!  Nothing nothing nothing!"
    "I think I better be going now," Akane said, backing away slowly.
    "But you're not empty, are you, girl?" the woman insisted, her voice rising in pitch as she took a heavy step towards her.  "You've got something _wonderful_ inside, something precious, don't you?"  As the woman advanced she changed, her skin graying and drooping, eyes sinking deeper into her emaciated face; and even as her body shrank and withered and arced as her spine curved back on itself, her belly swelled grotesquely huge.  "You're like me, my beauty!  We both have something beautiful inside!"
    The bloated stomach ripped and burst open like a pus-filled boil suddenly lanced; and Akane had a brief glimpse of gray-fleshed fetuses leaping at her, sharp fangs gnashing wetly.  With a terrified scream she turned and ran, the wailing of newborns following closely.

Continued in Shibuya Lights, Shinjuku Nights, Part two

***

And with that, I'll be putting 'Let the Curtain Fall' aside for a bit.  Time to return to Choices and hopefully finish the thing off once and for all.

The Underground Lounge is a real bar, as is Neo, but they're in Osaka, not Shibuya.  I've never been to Shibuya at night, much to my regret.  Tokyo's a little far from where a live....

Merry Christmas!
-Mike Noakes

noakes_m@hotmail.com
http://www.geocities.com/noakes_m
http://www.geocities.com/noakes_japan

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