Since I tend to ramble on, all authorial notes have been
relegated to after the story, except for this: Many of the
characters in this story and their backgrounds were invented by
Hiroshi Aro in his "Futaba-kun Change" (as published by
Shuueisha); he has my admiration, and my sincere apologies for
the abuse I put his characters through.

* * *

PROLOGUE

"Huuh!? You're charging for the fare!?"

The ship had already started on his way, hurrying through space
towards the Earth at a speed almost too great for the human mind
to comprehend, and as Futaba finished the sentence, the Shimeeru
ringworld had already vanished beyond on-board scanner range.

One might think that it was their visit that had happened to
activate some long-sleeping computer, that they had themselves
unwittingly caused the disasters to come. But no, fate was
crueler than that; it was in fact a complete coincidence that
just as the ship was out of sight, the tiny star in the center
of the ring flickered, its light changing color as it pulsed.

The shape of the star distorted itself, morphed and changed
chaotically for a period, then slowly oozed out into a disc
covering the inside of the ring; a thin film of flickering
light.

The changing colors drifted and coalesced into a pattern, a
pattern that - had anyone been there to see - looked almost like
a bright green pupil in a greyish eye.

The eye blinked.

Then, as systems came to life on the ringworld and a million
computers blared alarming horns and blinked warnings in red,
something came through.

* * *

MASTER AND SERVANT
A Futaba-kun Change fanfic, by Ronny Hedin (thark@mangakai.org)

o/~ There's a new kind of game, we like to play you see... o/~

* * *



CHAPTER ONE

Futaba fidgeted as Misaki carefully applied make-up to her
delicate features, holding Futaba's head pointed towards the
mirror. By the dressing room door stood a male Kurin, wearing a
black suit, dark sunglasses and with his arms folded in a very
bodyguard-like pose.

"I'm just not sure about this, Negiri."

Her manager put her hands on her hips and sighed. "Oh come on.
We've been over this a million times. You can't back out now."

"But... I don't even have any talent for singing!"

Negiri stared. "Oh, come on. It was bad enough before you
vanished, but have you even heard any of the stuff they call
popular music these days?."

Futaba blinked, not missing a beat as Misaki dragged a tight
shirt decorated with silvery stars over her head. "Well, I guess
you have a point."

"Of course I have a point. That's why I'm the manager and you're
the star. Your fans are starting to want more than a Futaba who
poses for pretty pictures, and we're going to give it to them."

The door opened and a man with headphones poked his head in.
"You've got three minutes." From outside, they could vaguely
hear chants of "FU-TA-BA! FU-TA-BA!"

"All right," Negiri muttered, "you heard the man. Where's that
skirt?"

"I have it right here," Misaki answered patiently, holding up a
fluffy piece of cloth that looked somewhat like an overgrown
bright red poodle.

Futaba looked at it and sighed.

* * *

Futaba marveled at the crowd reaction at her every movement and
uttering. She could barely hold a tune and most of the
performance lay in the elaborate if simplistic dance - which
admittedly Futaba mastered easily enough with her experience in
the pro-wrestling club. Just a few steps to the left and a wave
of her hand, and the people screamed in delight.

It was nearly a full hall, she noted absently as vaguely
incoherent sentenced streamed through her lips. The occasional
female face could be seen in the audience, more often than not
reluctant, but the overwhelming majority of them were male.

A drop of sweat trickled its way down his forehead as the
energetic song progressed, eventually settling rather annoyingly
right at the tip of her nose, and Futaba had to concentrate not
to wrinkle her face to get rid of it. Her voice cracked for a
second, but the audience seemed not to notice or care.

The music segued from fast to slow and Futaba's movements
relaxed. The crowd roared again as she raised a pleading hand
towards the sky, her own acting skills almost getting the better
of her. "Say anything," she cried, "you can dry my every
tear..."

"Futaaaba!"

Not until it was too late did she notice that a fan had managed
to push his way on-stage. The man, long-haired and looking like
somewhere in the mid-20s, stumbled towards her on unstable,
half-crouching legs.

Staring at the man, she barely managed to stammer out the next
line of the song, losing  with the downbeat music that
played on unfazed.

"Futaba!" the man cried again. He dropped to his knees,
stretching his arms towards her. "Don't go away! Never go away!
I need you! I love you!"

Futaba shied back, dropping her microphone. The audience was
quiet now, the world grown silent. Except for the music playing
on, the world froze for a moment.

Then guards ran to the middle of the stage to remove the
disturbance. But Futaba could no longer continue the concert.

* * *

Misaki found Futaba sitting on the floor in the far corner of
the dressing room. He had returned to his male form, and sat
crouched with his arms around his knees. The gaudy stage clothes
lay crumpled in another corner.

He looked up as Misaki approached, nodded to acknowledge her
presence, and returned to staring at his toes.

She crouched down to next to him and stretched out a hand to pat
his cheek, but Futaba caught the hand and look at her with
pleading eyes.

"Please, don't. If you... I don't want to change now. I have to
be me."

"But..." Misaki protested. "I don't understand. Why are you so
scared?"

The door opened, and Negiri peeked in. "Oooh, kinky," she
remarked.

They turned to stare at her. Only then did Misaki look down on
her hand and see that she had changed, that it was with a rough
male hand she had tried to comfort Futaba.

* * *

After stern admonishings from a disappointed Negiri, the three
walked home together. Futaba carried a drowsy Kurin - exhausted
from keeping up her male form throughout the day - in the pouch
on his back, and Misaki followed beside them.

Suddenly, in the middle of a busy street, Kurin pointed upwards.
"Look!"

They followed the direction of her finger and looked into the
sky, as did people all around. The traffic stopped for a moment
as people stared. The thick clouds had suddenly turned deep red,
a sick greenish sky peeking out between them with no sun in
sight.

Futaba blinked. When he opened his eyes again, everything looked
normal, as if nothing at all had happened.

* * *

Futaba leaned back in the couch, arms spread wide. Despite the
interruption, it had been an exhausting day, and he somewhat
regretted letting Negiri talk him into trying the singing the
idol path.

She, of course, had not understood. "So what?" Negiri had said.
"You're an artist. You have to be professional. You can't
monopolize yourself; share, that's what draws in the fans, and
drawing in the fans is what sells the tickets."

But even if she may later have come to like it, Futaba never
started on the artistical road willingly; mah jong debts forced
it, and they weren't even his own!

His so-called father, of course, understood even less, the
fan-servicer that he (she) was.

The TV droned on.

"So, basically, there is no explanation for the phenomenon
witnessed this afternoon?"

"What I'm saying is that we have yet to find a satisfying
answer, yes. This may change when we have had more time to study
the data."

"So there you have it, folks. Alien invasion or doomsday
approaching? Nobody knows."

Kurin entered the living room. Tall. Male. In one arm he carried
a bowl of snacks. Heavily, he flopped himself down onto the
couch next to his fiance. He looked at him wistful eyes.
"Futaaaba... Let me rest my head in your soft lap..."

Futaba drew back. "What? No way!"

"'No way?'" Kurin looked back in surprise. "Come on, is it such
a big deal? I've had a tiring day too..."

As Futaba gradually drew back, Kurin leaned in closer and
closer, until Futaba had his back against the end of the coach,
their faces only inches apart.

Unwillingly, his pulse rose, and he could feel the tension under
his skin indicating a change coming on.

"Uh, sorry..."

Before it could happen, Futaba bolted from the room.

Kurin rose, dejected, and scratched the back of his head. "What?
What'd I do?"

And still, the TV droned on.

"In other news, Tokyo University archaeological division are
funding an expedition to search for and investigate the remains
of the Shimeru island, which is believed to have fallen to the
bottom of the ocean when the ship on which it rested rose..."

* * *

A few days passed uneventfully.

As usual, the three walked home together part of the way. When
they reached the point of divergence for Misaki, she took hold
of Futaba's arm.

"Umm, Kurin? Could you go on ahead? I'd like to talk to Futaba
alone for a little bit."

Kurin eyed her suspiciously. "You're not going to try anything,
are you?"

"Don't you trust me?"

Futaba glanced between them, feeling left out of the decision.

"Not for a second." Kurin harrumphed. "But I guess I'll give you
a chance to prove me wrong." She continued slowly down the
street on her little legs.

As Kurin crossed the corner and vanished out of sight, Misaki
dropped her hold on Futaba's sleeve. "Ummm..." She fidgeted.

"Yes?" Futaba scratched the back of her head. "What did you
want?"

"Well, it's just... You know... I've noticed you haven't, well,
changed the past couple of day."

"I haven't?" Futaba thought back. "I guess you're right, I
haven't. Hadn't thought of that. Guess nothing much has
happened."

Misaki looked at her hands nervously. "Well, uh... Don't you
think maybe you should?""

"You think?" Futaba shrugged. "I didn't think it would matter to
you. I mean, you know I'm me either way, right?"

"Yes, of course," Misaki hurried to nod. "It might seem strange
when the other you doesn't come to school though, since you
haven't gone public with who you are. And... even if you're
still you, I can't help but feel like you're not quite the same,
like... I sort of miss my girl friend too."

Futaba shrugged again, then blushed. "I guess, uh, that's easy
to fix..."

After only a brief moment of hesitation, he bent down to kiss
Misaki. As their lips touched, the proportions changed. Futaba
shrunk... but Misaki also grew, until it was a clearly male
Misaki who had to bend down to keep the contact, and whose arms
locked around Futaba's back in a tight embrace.

Futaba, forced to stand tiptoe, felt herself melt into Misaki's
strong arms and her eyes close as the blush deepened... Then
those eyes shot wide open as she realized the full implications
of the situation, and she wrenched herself loose.

Misaki also blushed, turning to the side. "I- I'm sorry, I don't
know what came over me. It's just that I'm bolder when... uh..."

Futaba felt her rebellious heart beat a furious pace against her
chest. "But you're wrong! It doesn't matter! We're still the
same! I don't change when I change, I'm still the same!"

"But..." Misaki took hold of her hand. "If we don't change, that
shouldn't have matter, right? Why are you so upset?"

Futaba forced herself to calm down. "I'm sorry, Misaki, I guess
you're right. I shouldn't have reacted that way. I mean, I,
uh... I..." The blush returned in full force. "I love you and
everything..."

Misaki had to turn her back; to hide the furious blush rising
also on his face, and... something else. "I guess... I'll see
you tomorrow then..."

He ran off, leaving Futaba feeling strangely relieved.

* * *

Futaba sat at the kitchen table trying to finish up some math
homework. His mother stood at the other side of the table
working on their dinner, and thus easily available for
consultation on any more problematic problems; trying to ask his
father for help had proved itself a less than brilliant idea.

In the background, the TV droned on.

"So, professor, what do you think of these recent reports of
mysterious disappearances?"

"Humbug. We know that American talk about 'alien abductions' and
the like have never been proven to contain any truth, and I see
no reason to suspect that it's anything else than the work of
overactive imaginations this time, possibly sparked by the
unusual weather phenomenon last week. Now, psychologically
speaking..."

Futaba's mother sighed and turned the TV off. "They'll broadcast
any kind of rubbish these days. Now, dear, run along and tell
Kurin that dinner is ready."

"Yes, mom." Futaba closed the book and pushed it aside, rising
wearily.

In Kurin's room, he found him sitting at the computer in a male
state, modem diodes indicating an online connection. As Futaba
entered, Kurin hurriedly turned the monitor to the side to hide
it from his eyes, and there was a definite flushed red coloring
to his cheeks.

Futaba raised an eyebrow. "Now what's this you don't want me to
know you're looking at?" He hurried in and looked at the screen
before Kurin could reach mouse or keys to hide it.

He almost wished he hadn't. "THE SECRET FUTABA," read the big
bold headline at the top of the screen, and the page contained
photos that had not been take by any professional camera or
photographer, judging by angles and quality. They were photos of
Futaba half-dressed in a dressing room, presumably taken by less
moral staff members in secret, and panty shots by people who had
ended up at lucky angles at events, and the like.

Futaba had to take a step back. "I... didn't even know there
were pages like this."

The surprise and embarrassment had returned Kurin to her small,
female self, and she had to stretch almost off the chair to
reach the mouse to close the browser. "Actually," she said,
"there are even... Uh... I mean, I just stumbled on it just
before you came in..."

He looked down on her harshly. "Kurin, how could you?"

Kurin harrumphed. "Well, maybe if you'd let me have a private
look I wouldn't... Oh, dammit." She stamped her little foot
against the floor. "Why'd I have to go and change back?"

"What?" Confusion broke through indignation for Futaba. "But
that's who you are. How you're supposed to be. You're, uh...
cute, that way."

"But I'm so small! So insignificant!" Kurin stamped her feet
again impatiently. "Nobody's going to take a midget seriously,
least of all you. Cute? Sure, but I can't even enter romantic
consideration with this body. When I'm him, I can tell that it
affects..."

"No no no!" Futaba interrupted her. "You must be imagining
things. I wouldn't... uh, anyway, it's time for dinner."

Kurin glared at his retreating back. "I've admitted what I want;
will you?"

* * *

Dinner proceeded silently as it always had since Futana moved
out; Futaba's father never said much with his stern wife
present, Kurin never quite knew what attitude to take against
the lower-class but hopefully parent-in-laws, and Futaba himself
was more subdued than usual.

The meal drew to a close, and Futaba's mother cleared her
throat. "Now then, son. You will have the house to yourself this
weekend, as your father and I will be in Hong Kong. I've just
spoken with with my sister there, who is somewhat distraught as
her son has been missing for the past couple of days, and I
believe our presence might help cheer her up. I would have liked
to bring you but you are booked on Sunday and it wouldn't do for
you to bow out of your professional engagement. Any questions?"

Futaba blinked. "Uh, no, I guess that's all right... What about
Kurin?"

"Kurin will be coming with us, as I'm sure you understand it
wouldn't do to leave a young couple alone together, and it
certainly wouldn't hurt to introduce a potential daughter-in-law
to some relatives."

"But..." Kurin started, then withered under the matriarch's
stern glare.

* * *

Negiri waited for him outside the school, leaning against the
wall in her strict business suit, expensive car parked nearby.
Futaba tried to look insignificant, but little escape his
manager's hawklike eyes, and she cornered him on the way past
with a sharp glare.

Meekly he stopped, and she grabbed him by the lapel.

"Now listen here, you little brat, I don't care what excuse you
had last time, you better not be thinking of skipping out again,
right?"

"Listen, Negiri..."

"No, you listen. You signed a contract with me, and I expect you
to follow it, old friends or not. It might be different out in
space or whatever, but that's how it works in the real world.
The occasional bit of primadonna drama can help sales, but
you're not big enough for it yet, and you don't do it without my
approval anyway."

Futaba held up his hands in defense. "Yes, yes, I understand,
I'm sorry."

"You better be. Let's get one thing clear; Futaba Shimeru the
boy is never going to amount to much of anything. Futaba Shimeru
the girl is the only one I have any use for, and she better be
there on Sunday or you'll wish you'd never come back to Earth!"

With a huff, Negiri stepped into her car and drove off.

As he watched her vanish down the road, Futaba swore and hit his
right hand into the stone wall, hard, in frustration. "And who
needs me, dammit?" he muttered to himself.

Vaguely, he felt pain, and when he looked he saw to his surprise
his hand bled.

He still stood there staring numbly at his fingers when Misaki
arrived, and she gasped, holding a hand to her mouth. "Futaba...
You're bleeding!"

"Uh... yeah, I guess I am."

Misaki hurriedly started digging through her bag. "Here, I'll
tie it up with my handkerchief, but you'll have to go see the
nurse later."

Futaba tried to scratch the back of his head, found that he
needed his injured hand for this, and gave it up. He waited
patiently while Misaki carefully tied the dark-blue hanky tight
around his bleeding fingers.

"Uh, so, anyway, Misaki," he said as they walked in towards the
school.

"Yes?"

"Well, you see, what with everything that's been going on it's
been a while since you've been over, or really the one time you
were you thought it was 'her', so I was wondering if you'd like
to come to my place on Friday? We could, umm, catch a movie or
something..."

Misaki remembered the incident where she spotted the male Futaba
in what she believed to be the female Futaba's bedroom window,
blushed, realized what Futaba was asking, and blushed again. "I
don't know... I mean, I haven't met your parents before or
anything..."

"Oh, don't worry about that, you won't meet them," Futaba
stammered then rather regretted saying it.

"I won't? Oh you mean..." The blush on Misaki's cheeks renewed
for a third time. "It was one thing when it was my girl friend
Futaba, but with Futaba the boy I'm just not sure it would be
right." She fidgeted, and it took her a visible act of will not
to chew on her nails.

"Come on, why not?" Futaba pleaded. "I'm not my sister or
anything. I mean you've gotta trust me by now. You've been there
before, it's still the same Futaba you're visiting."

"Oh... I guess so." Misaki brightened. "I could cook for you,
too!"

A chill ran down Futaba's spine.

As they walked in, Misaki's attitude continued to puzzle Futaba.
_Why? Aren't we past this?_ he thought to himself.

* * *

As they packed their stuff at the end of the day, Kurin - seated
towards the front of the class to compensate for her short
stature - walked up to them, a slight tear in the corner of her
eye.

"Well, my darling, I must leave for the airport now. I will miss
you terrible while I'm gone. Perhaps a farewell kiss?" she
trailed off.

Misaki had thrown herself around Futaba's arm as soon as Kurin
approached, and now pointed her tongue in her general direction
with a nasty grimace. "Well he won't miss you!"

Futaba blinked, not expecting this after Misaki's attitude that
morning. "Uh, look, Kurin, I'll see you on Monday."

Kurin snorted at her rival, then nodded. "Well, I don't have
time to stand here trading childish insults. Bye then."

As soon as Kurin left, it was as if all the air came out of
Misaki's assertiveness, and she shrunk back, fingering her bag
nervously.

* * *

As they sat down in the couch together, alone in the house, it
was only with an immense effort of will that Futaba could
maintain his male form. Here he was with Misaki, with nobody
else to interrupt and interfere... Thick drops of sweat ran down
his forehead, and he could feel the change inside, bursting to
come out, bringing on a headache as it beat against his
forehead.

But he kept it in. He needed to be, for once, a boyfriend for
his girlfriend.

Possibly unaware of his struggles, Misaki sat huddled together,
looking nervously at her hands in her lap.

He was about to speak up, but she got there first.

"Futaba-could you..." She cleared her throat. "I'm just not sure
I can... Can't you... be her? I just feel so much more
comfortable when you are a girl."

Futaba felt the disappointed wash through him, the need to
change falling like a card-house with the foundation swept away.
"But..." he protested feebly. "Why? I mean, why?"

Without warning, Misaki took his cheeks in her hands, closed her
eyes, leaned in, and gave him a quick kiss. With the surprise
added in, his blood had no choice but to boil, and when Misaki
leaned back again a second later it was the petite, female
Futaba next to hear.

Misaki had changed too, whether consciously or not, and against
her will Futaba could feel that the roles had reversed, that it
was now her turn to be nervous in the lone company of her male
guest.

"But this is silly!" she protested out loud. "I'm still me,
you're still you, nothing has changed!"

Misaki fidgeted. "But don't you see, it has?" It was the deeper,
male voice now. "You can't, I mean, I can't, I mean... Oh, I
don't know. It's just different."

Unconsciously, Futaba had edged towards the other edge of the
couch. She noticed and stopped. "Well, I don't think it matters.
I still feel the same way."

"Good, good," Misaki nodded. "Then..."

He moved back next to Futaba again, close. Futaba felt her heart
jump as their legs touched, but said nothing. She could see
Misaki's cheeks burn red. Then, perhaps afraid that he would
lose his nerve, he quickly leaned back in and captured her lips
with his, holding her against the back of the seat.

Futaba let herself melt into the embrace. She knew full well
that this was the only way she and her ... lover would ever be
able to make out, however much she might have wished otherwise.
And she shouldn't feel resigned about it when she herself had
just said they were the same, right?

So, it was good.

Then she felt Misaki's roughly masculine hand sneak inside her
shirt, creep ever so slowly upwards... until eventually, it
touched the bottom of her (still bare) breast.

Shocked, she twisted free. "What are you doing!"

Misaki looked at her, hurt evident in his eyes. "What? What's
wrong?"

Futaba squirmed uncomfortably. "I just don't think... I mean,
I'm not sure..."

"Oh, come on!" Misaki pleaded. "You can't say that now! You're
the one who asked me to come here, with nobody else around!
You're the one who wanted..."

"No!" Futaba protested. "It wasn't like that!"

Misaki raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Come on, you're supposed
to be a boy too. Don't get cold feet now." His voice was heavy
with frustration. "Or would you rather go off cuddle with that
damn Kurin? He's supposed to be so damn attractive, I'm just
some girl with a ... thing."

Futaba cringed. "I don't understand, Misaki, why are you like
this?"

He slammed a hand hard into the couch right next to Futaba's
face.  "Don't you see it's the only damn way I can be! Don't you
see, Futaba... It can't be the other way around anymore, you
can't be a man! I want, I need you to be a girl for me! Always!"

Futaba held her head in her hands. Tears were welling up in her
eyes.  "No! This still isn't me, it isn't who I am!"

Misaki grabbed her by the shoulders. "Futaba..."

She brushed his arms away. "No, go away! Leave me alone!"

Through clouded eyes she could see tears forming also in
Misaki's eyes, see him raise a hand for a slap then let it drop
to his side, see him turn, wordlessly, and run away.

The door opened then slammed close again. Misaki was gone.
Futaba sank limp onto the couch. Reality had yet to catch up
with emotion.

In the background, the TV droned on, but she did not listen.

Eventually, it sank in that she had just driven Misaki away.
That she had perhaps alienated the person who, in the end, she
loved. Even if it had been Misaki's female beauty that had first
caught her (his) attention, even if she was still not sure how
or if she wanted a male Misaki, at least she did not yet want
him gone.

It struck her that she needed to find Misaki, needed again to
apologize, and she left the house, hoping that Misaki had headed
for home.

* * *

So distraught was Futaba, so confused, that he did not see it
until it fell upon him.

As he was walking down a silent, empty street, suddenly, hands
grabbed at him, too many hands it felt like, and as his head
whipped to the side he could vaguely see a pale grinning mouth
emerge from the darkness surrounding it.

Acting on pure instinct, he wrenched himself free, threw his
attacker aside and rolled backwards to take stock of the
situation.

There was little time. In the dim light of street lamps he could
make out a tall dark shape of billowing black cloth only barely
contrasted against the grey street behind it. A white-pale face
peeked out through a hood cloaking it in shadow.

It swooped in for the attack; he could see no legs through the
foot-long robe but it did not walk with discernible steps, merely
glided soundlessly. The arms grabbed for him again and as he
fended them off as best he could he counted four of them.

He jabbed towards the face of the tall four-armed ... thing,
barely within his reach, and it hissed as it fell back. The face
was cold to his brief touch, but he definitely felt meat as his
fist struck.

"XHATRAH XI THRENN!"

Those were words, undeniably, in some unknown tongue, though the
voice that spat them out sounded... cold, inhuman, and he could
not see the shadowed mouth move.

This time, he did not give it a chance to attack again; he took
off and threw himself at the creature in a drop kick.

All the long hours spent perfecting the move after school paid
off and his feet connected with its torso. He could hear and
feel weak bones crack and snap.

He hurried to his feet again but the creature did not press the
attack, it turned to flee, silently vanishing into the far
darkness as Futaba stopped to catch his breath.

His heartbeat thundered against his chest, but definitely did
not threaten to trigger any change this time; the sweat that
dripped down his brow was oddly cold.

"What was that thing?" he asked himself out loud. It had
attacked him, yet seemed oddly weak... desperate.

Too late it struck him that when he let it escape it might
simply go after someone else, someone without the strength and
training to defend himself or herself.

He set off after it, with no choice but to simply hope he would
stumble upon its path, since its gliding movement left no
visible tracks and made no sound. Already, he felt, he had lost
far too much time hesitating.

* * *

Futaba stumbled through the night for what felt like an eternity,
and when finally he came across the creature again, it might as
well have been.

He came around the corner into a dark alley, and there it was,
holding aloft in its arms the limp body of a man in a suit.
The hood was pulled back now and black bull-like horns protruded
from the forehead of an otherwise blankly bald white-blue head.

It had raised the man's head to its lips, the skull cracked open,
and bile rose in Futaba's throat as he saw brain substance drip
down into the creature's mouth.

It spotted him, and threw the body aside with a hiss.

Desperately, Futaba ran towards it, throwing himself into a flying
kick again.

This time the creature's arms waved a half-circle in the air as
he came towards it. "THRAK DRENN!" The very air in front of it
seemed to shimmer briefly with a blueish shine as it spat out
the words.

Futaba's feet struck... nothing, but it felt like crashing against
a brick wall, and he fell flat on his back, helpless before the
creature.

A sick smile twisted its lips, slimy from the recent feeding,
and its two left arms traced a cross in the air, red shimmering
particles of light following its fingers like fireflies in the air.

"XENN SHIR DETH!"

There was a sound like an explosion in his mind, all light faded
away, and the world grew black.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTES
--------------
Does anyone still remember me? Hrm, perhaps a more relevant question would
be, does anyone still trust me to continue what I've started? :-)

Continuity: Prologue aside, the story picks up shortly after the end of
Futaba-kun Change. It is assumed (I didn't find a good way to bring this
up) that Misaki has undergone the hormonal treatment or whatever to
permanently activate her "Shimeru-genes".

The usual stuff: Any and all comments are welcome, and I really mean that
(some people don't, I know). Basically, unless you start making remarks
about my mother, I will pretty much NEVER take comments on the story as
attacks on my person. All comments are not necessarily USEFUL, but they
are nevertheless welcome. If you hated it, say so.

My writing muscles are somewhat rusty, and I'm afraid it shows.

Another thing: As some of you know, English is not my first language. I
don't mean that as an excuse, I mean that so that when you find errors
will know and can point them out to me so I don't repeat them. And yes,
this is a poke at at the people who try to use it as some sort of excuse
for not putting more effort in.

I had some other stuff to say but I forgot what it was. Anyway I hope to
have more of this out soon, or something :-)

---
May you be eaten at a great age and only by your strongest offspring.
Ronny Hedin, thark@mangakai.org, http://i99ronhe.island.liu.se/

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