Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction / You're Under Arrest Fan Fiction / Tenchi Muyo Fan Fiction ❯ Officer Saotome ❯ Meet Officer Ranma ( Chapter 1 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

This is part one of two rewrites I am currently undergoing
for my Officer Saotome series. I first wrote Chapter 1: Meet
Officer Ranma in script form instead of prose because it was
my first fic and I wanted to use a format that I thought I
could do better with. After the third chapter, I realized
that script is truly no match for prose style writing. I
realized that I could convey the mood, setting, emotions,
and other various nitpicking descriptions much better in
novella writing than clinical script.

Also, another big reason I wanted to rewrite the first two
chapters was because I wanted to portray Ranma's character
better (as well as fix some stupid mistakes I made, and
there are a LOT of them ^^;;), and add in some stuff because
now that I look back, the original first chapter is pretty
damn corny. For those of you who have already read this fic
before and you're reading this right now, you will notice a
lot of newly added scenes. Not only that, I want to add
things NOW that will come into play later so that they will
make better sense (although I shall write it so that they're
not really required knowledge, just as supplements) in my
yet unwritten/unpublished chapters.

Now, enough ranting. On with the show!

--------------

This fic is a crossover continuation fic for both the Ranma
and Tenchi Universe. Tenchi and the gang won't be
introduced for a long while, but that will all be explained
as you read. Hopefully you readers know some basic knowledge
about both Ranma and Tenchi:) I would rate this as an "R"
fanfic, because of some of the harsh language used.

Here are a few things you must know while reading this:

-The Ranma aspect of the story takes place after Manga 38
and the Tenchi aspect takes place after the TV show/OVA.

-At the end of manga 38 Ranma was at the end of his
sophomore year in Furinken High School and the year is set
in 1992.

-For now in this universe Ranma's curse is accepted just
about everywhere with a quick explanation from Ranma. Don't
ask why, it just makes the story easier to understand.

-Some of the street names of LA that I describe are
fictional, and some are real. The entire city is too big and
complex for me to possibly recognize or remember every major
street even though I may live nearby. This also applies to
the locations of some places.

-Police jargon, cop talk, miscellaneous references, and
other oddball things that you may find in the story and
don't understand will be explained at the END, in my Author
Notes section.

-And finally, (for now) Ranma as you read him in this intro
will seem very out of character. But this will all be
explained with some flashbacks and explanations! This is a
long, somewhat complex story! You need to finish it through,
hehe.

-SgtRanma

Please visit my website at http://sgtranma.anifics.com! New
fics will always appear there first!

-----------------

Chapter 1: Meet Officer Ranma

March 23rd, 2001. 10:50 AM.
Apt No. 426, Southcoast Plaza Apartments - Los Angeles,
California.

"Urgh..."

A little oversleeping wouldn't hurt too much. After all,
sometimes even the most well conditioned people had their
limits. Oh, what the hell. It wouldn't kill to have a bit
more time to laze around, would it?

In a room where an open wind was blowing in the draft
and the fan was still running, a sleeping young man shifted
around in his futon, his hair matted up messily and his bed
sheets thrown all over his sleeping area. There were several
magazines scattered around, ranging from gun magazines,
local newspapers, martial arts digests, and various others.
Otherwise, the room was very tidy and organized, with very
spartan but cozy accommodations.

The apartment wasn't too bad for a shack that was near
the Pacific Coast, way over where you could smell the sea
breeze at night and the smell of hot dogs, pizza, and sun
tanning lotion during the day. It was a decent size; about
900 square feet of usable space, more than enough for a
single bachelor. The rent was a bitch though, at $1590 a
month for a lease, it would seem lousy to anyone who doesn't
know some of the hardships that surround So Cal, with the
overflowing population of Asian and Latin immigrants
squeezing into the sunny state, and the growing plague of
gangbangers, skin heads, Crips, Bloods, Asian Prides, and
all the other ballers that fought for a piece of the
territorial pie. But it didn't matter anyhow; $1490 was an
average deal for a nice place to live in LA, especially in
the better areas.

A ray of sun peeked through the window, which was
unusual because it was nearing the middle of the day, but
then the window was facing in a direction that delayed the
sun's trajectory. A warm, springtime fuzz came over the
young man in the futon, his entire face was shined with
bright sunlight.

Moaning a bit, he finally woke up, rubbing his eyes,
cracking his spine and his fingers, and running his left
hand through his hair in muscle memory. He stood up and
cringed, shaking and rubbing his head in wincing pain. He
walked over to his bathroom, which was only a few feet away,
accidentally knocking over a fairly large square bottle with
a round and tapered neck. Fortunately it was empty; whoever
drank out of it sucked it dry. But over in the bathroom, he
was quite certain something was trying to probe its way out
of his skull. He shrugged to take his mind off the familiar
pain; he was used to it by now.

The bottle had a black label on it. It read in big bold
letters, <Jack Daniels>. Ah... that good ol' American remedy
for ALL your problems, the potent kick in the ass, knockout
power of Jack took care of all that. And in return for his
services, Jack Daniels paid you back with a hangover that
hit like a ton of bricks. The empty Bud Lights that littered
the floor added a nice cacophony of pinging cans as his feet
brushed past them on the cream carpeted floor.

"Hmmm...that was a pretty good night's sleep, until I
woke up," Ranma Saotome mumbled. He caught a whiff of his
own stench as he shook his head, he'd really gotten trashed
last night.

Trying to ignore the pain in his head and his stomach
churning with the unpleasant sensation of nausea and the
sharp pain of stabbing indigestion, Ranma walked out the
bathroom and went to a closet, taking out a couple of huge
solid iron weights, attached to a heavy duty steel belt. He
wrapped it around his torso, making sure the weights were
firmly planted securely behind his back. He casually
stretched himself the best he could, the weight on his back
wasn't bothering him much. To anyone else, it would've been
sheer torture, for if you read closely to the label you
would've noticed that each weight was a whopping 200lbs,
both totaling up to 400. Staying in shape was a priority for
this man, he wasn't living in some Hollywood fairytale or
comic book where the main man stays in shape for long
periods of time without doing jack shit. A hangover wasn't a
valid excuse to skip out, either.

This was all only basic physical training to Ranma, he
did it to maintain usable strength and to keep his muscle
tone strong and defined. He dropped to the floor, gracefully
supporting his body with his arms, his back straightened and
parallel to the floor. He centered his left arm first to
support himself and he put his right arm on his back, and he
slowly executed a good one armed pushup, carrying the heavy
weights with him on his back. Ranma eventually sped up,
doing repetitions of 75 per arm, alternating back and forth
at least 5 times with each arm. When his arms finally felt
strained, he put down both his arms and placed them far
apart to work out his chest, starting regular pushups, he
pumped out 150 solid and rapid repetitions, causing his
chest to burn in a satisfying sensation.

He moved back into the bathroom, stopping at the door
and grabbing a steel bar that was installed for pull-ups. He
worked out his biceps in the same pattern as his pushups,
alternating and using both arms.

Satisfied that his impromptu morning workout was
complete, Ranma finally got into the bathroom, wondering
which he should do first. For now he didn't have to worry
about working out the rest of the important muscles on his
body, he'd have time to work them out later in the gym of
his workplace. His attendance to a gym varied at times,
usually reflecting his around the clock on-call schedule.
But he tried his best to make it four times a week.

Debating for a moment whether he should get some aspirin
for his hangover or brush his teeth and shower first, he was
too lazy and tired at the moment to go with the former. He'd
go with another solution instead for his headache, one that
he could accomplish on the fly. Grabbing a beer from the
fridge, he popped the can and chugged away as he clumsily
stripped his clothes, he turned on the shower and jumped in,
draping the shower curtains in. He didn't bother to wait for
the water to warm up; the icy cold sensation would clear his
head up and bring him to full consciousness. As soon as
those water droplets had hit his body, his entire form and
shape shifted and morphed, transforming a muscular 5' 10"
pigtailed man into a 6' pigtailed beauty. His frame turned
thinner and the muscles shrank but still stayed defined and
fit, the ruffled hair turned softer, and he gained those
unmistakable feminine curves that blessed his cursed female
body. The same dark handsome tan he had from years of living
in a sunny state also transferred over, giving off a sexy
golden tan on that bodacious body.

Living with a curse for nearly a decade, Ranma was more
than used to it by now. He, no rather SHE, came to grips
after a couple of years that her curse of having a female
body wasn't that much of an objection anymore, but in fact
it was a convenient tool to implement at times. God knew how
many lives it saved and how many plans it helped carry out
during her years in her line of work, it all offset most of
the disadvantages being female brought on.

The water eventually turned warm, instantly morphing
Ranma back into his original state as the gradient
temperature of the water reached an extremely specific
point. As he got out of the tub he finished off the beer
that he left on the sink, letting out a gratifying belch.
Unusual as it was, a beer or a shot worked well in combating
alcohol sickness. Grinning as he threw away the can, feeling
better, he thoroughly cleansed and dried himself off, moving
next to brushing his teeth and combing his hair.

He went to his clothing drawers and pulled out some
socks, a light blue short sleeve dress shirt, a leather belt
and a pair of tan khakis. Putting those on, he pulled out a
dark navy blue flannel and a small leather pouch from a high
shelf. It was a Smith and Wesson model 649 small frame .38
Special revolver, complete with a soft carrying holster to
safely and snugly put in his back pocket. It wasn't as
powerful as he'd liked due to department regulation, but it
was good to have a back up weapon in case the unthinkable
happened.

Ranma went to his futon and lifted his pillow, under it
was a matte black Beretta 92FS 9mm pistol locked in place by
an odd looking black strongside holster. It was a peculiar
looking holster that had a rotating hood in place of a
tradition button strap and a lever that was located near the
trigger guard. The engraving on the side of it read
<Safariland Raptor>.

The Beretta was a fine piece for any military or law
enforcement operative, sporting an accurate 5" barrel, a
flawlessly reliable cycling action, standard LAPD issue
customized glow in the dark Tritium night sights, and a
round capacity of 15 in the mag and one up the pipe. It was
combat loaded as such with a full clip and chambered round,
utilizing hi preferred ammo of choice, Winchester Ranger 147
grain hollowpoint rounds, dubbed "Black Rhinos" by cops who
used them for its serious and effective stopping power. The
pistol wasn't by any means fancy and made do with simplicity
and ergonomics in mind. The only reason Ranma hadn't
replaced it was because it had been free, and he disliked
using his own money for anything unless absolutely
necessary. It had a matte black finish that had been
considerably smoothed down from years of holster draws and
trips to the shooting range, Beretta used the term Bruniton
to describe their self proclaimed unique finish. The
ambidextrous slide mounted lever switch worked as the gun's
safety and as a decocker, to safely let down a cocked hammer
without risking an accidental discharge. The ambi-levers
also doubled as a grip for easily pulling back the slide a
quarter of the way to visually and physically check for a
loaded round in the chamber.

Also underneath the pillow was a tan leather magazine
pouch that was made from horsehide with a rough exterior and
an adjustable belt loop, designed to be carried inside of
the pants and out of open view. There was also a shiny
golden piece of metal, incorporated in a small leather
carrying rig and a belt clip.

Upon closer inspection, it was a police badge. Ranma
picked it up and looked at it with a submissive look on his
face. It was a shield badge, shaped almost like a very big
egg that had been flattened, but with intricate inscribing
and artwork, mixing blends of gold and silver. The top of it
read <Detective>, underneath was a picture of a building
with a square base and a tall center tower. Underneath that
was the proud symbol Ranma acknowledged every day as he went
to work, <Los Angeles Police> it read. The proud and mighty
LAPD, the finest police force in the world. For nearly 4
years Ranma had worn this badge with excitement, pride, as
well as the sorrow that came along with it. Nowadays, he
didn't care as much about fulfilling a passion for or
fueling his need for adventure. For now it was just a symbol
of power and respect to flounder out at criminals who
disobeyed the law.

Ranma latched on his sidearm, magazine holster, and his
badge on his belt, making sure they were fit properly. He
headed out for the entrance and grabbed his keys off the
dining table. Usually he made himself a large breakfast to
eat at home but since he overslept he decided to buy some
junk food on the way to work. He usually kept a strict and
healthy diet but allowed himself with an occasional splurge
to satisfy his taste buds. Strapping on some casual
sneakers, he stepped out and locked the door shut.

---------------

The Ford Crown Victoria is considered by the average
young man as a boring, geriatric, old man's car. It would
seem very unusual to see a guy in his twenties driving
around in an old fashioned (yet new) full size sedan in the
middle of Southern California, arguably the heart of the
import car scene for youngsters. Ranma on the other hand,
didn't care. Besides, it wasn't just any old Crown Vic, it
was an unmarked detective's issue cruiser, complete with
undercover internal lights and sirens stuck behind the wide
rectangular grill and a police radio and computer attached
to the dash. Several more red and blue lights were installed
in the interior, with a strobe setup attached to the
rearview mirror and a flashing incandescent lamped system on
the back of the rear windshield. And best of all it was free
private transportation, complete with free gas. A free car
was better than a cool one. Little savings like this allowed
him to save up most of his generous $6000 a month paycheck,
despite his ridiculously high rent. Overtime definitely had
its perks.

His destination was Parker Center, located in between
the 77th Street and Central divisions. It was a bit of a
commute to get there, a long 30-minute drive if traffic
wasn't too clogged up. Then again, his position in the
department voided him from getting punished for tardiness.
His schedule, his rules. Ranma snorted as he rolled down the
window to spit out the mint that had been rolling around in
his mouth to cover up the smell of the Pho he had just eaten
to treat his hangover.

He took advantage of that fact for once, today. He had
to head up north to pick up a new suit he had tailored for a
huge discount in the Valley, his old suit was a little tacky
and came loose at the ravels easily because it was so cheap,
something that wouldn't reflect too well of himself for his
frequent trips to the courthouse or to a subpoena from the
top brass. It was a Korean tailor who Ranma had helped a few
months ago, his daughter had been mugged and beaten savagely
in broad daylight by a lowly thug with a thick criminal
record. Ranma had been across the street at a hot dog stand
and chased after him and made sure the hoodlum was never
able to walk again, thanks to a snap to the spine inflicting
paralysis. Ranma didn't feel any regret in punishing the
cur; the tailor's daughter had been beaten so badly that she
had required reconstructive surgery on the lower parts of
her face as well as treatment and rehabilitation for a
broken arm. The furious and heartbroken tailor and father
thanked Ranma from the bottom of his heart, and offered his
services for free, stating it was the least he could do.
Ranma didn't have the heart to accept anything for free, and
came to a compromise by paying only the invoice cost of the
suit. So now he had a $3,000 Valentino suit hanging in the
back of his car, paid with only $600 from his own pocket.

It would be at least another 20 minutes before he'd get
to his destination at the moment; he was going through the
Van Nuys Divisional district. Radio traffic was calm and
normal just like every other morning, just the usual mishaps
(drugs, fighting, minor chases, all that plain boring
stuff), nothing serious.

Today's fate had different plans.

"All units, all units, officers need assistance,
shooting in progress at Hornady and Bradburn, inside a
school playground. One officer down, barricaded suspect with
sniper rifle, Code 3," the radio chirped.

"This is 9-Adam-23, we're already there, over.
Requesting Metro SWAT unit support immediately!" someone
else said on the radio.

A scowl formed on Ranma's face, it wasn't everyday you
had some nut shooting at kids and cops. He picked up the
radio handset, "This is unit 5-King-90-16, enroute to the
sniper call, over."

"Acknowledged, SIS detective arriving on scene, out."

Ranma reached over to the center console and flipped a
couple of switches, triggering his code 3 emergency lights
and the siren. He mashed the pedal to the floor and raced
towards his new destination. It would only be a short detour
from his schedule.

--------------

The blue Ford rounded a corner at high speed, squealing
its tires to a stop in front of an elementary school. There
were several black and white squad cars parked on the street
blocking away people and traffic, several officers were
surrounding a corridor that was the entrance to some stairs
for the blacktop. All the responding officers had wasted no
time or effort, there was already yellow police tape neatly
surrounding the perimeter. Two officers were down on their
stomachs with their pistols drawn, protecting the area the
best they could without revealing themselves. The entire
school perimeter was surrounded by tall fencing, which
actually helped isolate people from the shooting.
Thunderclaps of gunfire echoed several times in the air.

Ranma got out of his car and casually walked over to the
corridor passing the fence. Several yards away there were a
couple of frantic parents, crying their eyes out to the
police officers. Ranma passed by one detective in a brown
suit, talking to his radio.

"Well, look who's here," the detective spoke with heavy
disdain.

Ranma blew past him, ignoring his comment. It was
Detective Sergeant Roy Wilcox, an old homicide cat down over
in the Van Nuys Division. He had met him last year in a
joint homicide case that required them to work together.
Although they weren't enemies, Wilcox wasn't too fond of
Ranma because of his wild behavior. Not to mention he was
jealous by the fact that some young 26 year old punk was a
much better cop than he'd ever be.

A young African-American patrol officer in a black
police jacket had his gun drawn, surveying the area from a
safe distance. His face was sweaty and his hands were
jittery, showing how nervous he was. It wasn't like he was
new to the danger of his chosen occupation, but how often
does ANY cop get to deal with a well barricaded sniper that
targets children and police?

Ranma walked up to him to ask a question.

"Whaddaya got here?" Ranma asked, walking to get to him.

"Sniper, sir," he replied.

"A sniper? What's he doing?" Ranma asked casually.

Detective Wilcox came up from behind him to get a look
at the playground blacktop, seeing the asphalt riddled with
bullets. "He's shooting kids, one officer down," Wilcox
growled. "This is the regular daily meat grinder, Saotome.
This ain't hide and seek death patrol shit!"

The young patrol cop continued. "The guy's a nightmare
sir, he's still inside. We can't get to him!" he said
despairingly.

Ranma faced Wilcox. "You got a SWAT team coming in?"

The old detective shook his head. "No ETA, they're stuck
over at Devonshire handling another barricade suspect.
They're rushing a unit over here as we speak. Sheriff SEBs
are also rushing a unit our way too."

Wilcox faced Ranma with a frown on his face. "What the
fuck are you doing here anyway, Saotome?"

Ranma walked closer to the steps to see if he could spot
the sniper, surely enough he did. There was a shoddy
apartment complex across from the playground. One of the
windows had a metal sheet plastered for armor. A wild eyed
man with a red cap popped up shooting his rifle erratically.

"I was in the area, decided to drop by," Ranma replied,
stepping back.

"We don't need SIS here, we'll wait till SWAT comes by,"
Wilcox sneered.

"Well, good luck with that then," Ranma merely said, not
bothered by the obviously blatant insult.

A uniformed sergeant ran down the stairs, carrying an
injured child in his arms. He was shouting for help and some
paramedics, the kid had a bullet wound in the ankle, blood
dripped out in a messy flood because it was too big to
cauterize. The sergeant passed off the kid to some parent
who had run towards him in a mad rage, desperate to see her
son, who was now pale from blood loss.

He walked over to Ranma, a look of sorrow and pain on
his face. "That kid's only nine years old man, Jesus."

Ranma also looked at the kid, who was bawling his eyes
out from the pain. "Nine?" he asked. He looked back up the
stairs, his face seemed to show that he was pondering
something. He slowly walked towards it. "Hey, how good a
shot is this guy?"

The sergeant answered with a blank face. "What?"

"I mean how accurate is he? Does he shoot at random
targets, at cops? Specific kids?"

The sergeant shook his head. "I don't know, random I
guess. A bit sloppy."

"Not much of a sniper is he? Did you get the make of the
weapon?"

"Uh, yeah. It's an automatic, and loud."

Ranma's eyes opened in interest. "Does he have any
hostages up there or what?"

The officer shrugged, "Pfft...not that we know of."

"Yeah?" Ranma took off his flannel and tossed it away,
he pulled out his Beretta, pulling the slide slightly to
check the open top chamber if it was loaded. One round was
firmly stuck in the extractor as he saw a flash of golden
brass, with 15 more in the magazine.

Detective Wilcox scowled, he knew what stunt Ranma was
trying to pull. "Saotome, where the heck you going? Get the
hell back here, get your ass back down here!"

Ranma ignored him and continued marching up the stairs,
his pistol down in a low ready stance.

"Saotome!" Wilcox yelled again. As much as he disliked
the pigtailed detective, he didn't want a dead cop in a body
bag.

As he reached the top of the stairs a female patrol
officer, who was guarding the staircase in a lying position,
tried to grab his pant leg to stop him.

"Get down, you're in the line of fire! Get down!" she
pleaded.

Ranma continued walking towards some monkey bars; he
could see to his left that there were several children
hiding under the benches in fear. About 40 yards in front of
him was another police officer, injured with a round to the
shoulder and slowly bleeding on the asphalt.

Detective Wilcox was still yelling at the top of his
lungs in frustration. "Are you fucking crazy!? Get back here
Saotome! Get outta here, he's gonna shoot ya!"

He halted right underneath the monkey bars, facing
straight ahead up at the barricaded window. Ranma decided to
see if he could talk to him.

"Hello? Mr. Sniper, sir!" he yelled out across the
blacktop.

"Get away!" the man yelled. He popped his head out and
clumsily aimed his rifle hastily.

It was an old, abused Ruger Mini-14 Ranch Rifle,
chambered in 5.56mm NATO rounds. The deranged man shot five
rounds towards the general direction of where Ranma was, who
was about 60 yards away. The rounds bounced off the floor
and sparked off on the monkey bars, all of them close to
Ranma, but none of them hitting him. Ranma's face remained a
neutral mask, he didn't even flinch as the bullets whizzed
past him.

The pigtailed boy took a couple steps forward, raising
his pistol aimed towards the barricaded window, now 55 yards
away. He held a firm and steady grip with both of his hands,
his eyes narrowed slightly and his thumb cocked the hammer
to engage the pistol into single action mode.

"I'm still here, asshole!" Ranma yelled out so that the
man could hear him. His eyes stayed open, there was a fire
burning in them. "Or do you only do kids?"

The man in the barricaded window turned red hot, his
face a mask of rage. "Shut up!" he screamed. Popping his
head back up again, he started shooting rampantly again.

This time however, Ranma squeezed the trigger of his
pistol mercilessly, emptying 16 rounds of hellfire the best
he could in a grouping towards the window. Ranma's steady
aiming hit the man several times, who screamed in pain as he
dropped to the floor with several rounds hitting fatal spots
in his upper torso. More than half the bullets Ranma's
pistol fired hit the metal armor on the window and the
inside of the apartment. After all, the Beretta 92 is only a
pistol, and shooting a person at 55 yards was an amazing
hit.

Ranma didn't take his eyes off his (now downed) target,
he mechanically thumbed the magazine release expending the
used clip and reached down with his left hand to get a fresh
15 round clip, clicking it in place with the slide. He
casually raised his left hand above his shoulder and tucked
his thumb in to show four fingers, signaling 10-4 to any
officer who could see.

Several officers yelled out, running towards the
apartment. "It's clear, it's clear! Move out!" they
exclaimed.

Wilcox ran towards Ranma, who was decocking his pistol
and placing it back in his holster. He reached down on the
ground to get his used clip.

"You're one psycho son of a bitch," Wilcox said, his
old-fashioned 4" Smith and Wesson .44 Special revolver in
his hand in a combat ready stance. "But you're damn good,"
he nodded.

Ranma started walking back to his car, unfazed by the
fact that he had just shot some stranger to death. He nodded
in acknowledgement to Wilcox, picking up his flannel at the
bottom of the stairs. He looked down at his wristwatch, he
had to hurry up and get to Parker Center. Despite all the
procedures he was supposed to follow surrounding an officer
involved homicide, he didn't want to stick around for the
mass media hysteria that would soon follow in the wake of
the current tragedy. His boss would pull some strings to
take care of the heavy bureaucracy.

"I'll be sending your boss a request for a report,"
Wilcox's voice was faintly heard as he walked down the
stairs.

---------------

The familiar smell of city smog was replaced by the
smell of carne asada and refrijidos frijoles from a Mexican
fast food vendor's truck as the Crown Vic entered a large
parking structure.

"KFWB, news 980! You give us 22 minutes, and we'll give
you the world!"

Tap, tap, tap. Ranma's finger drummed a beat along the
steering wheel. Looking around, he cursed to himself, it was
one in the afternoon and everyone had already come back from
their lunch break. He would have to waste his time looking
everywhere for a spot.

"...and with a westbound SigAlert the 91 freeway
westbound is crowded with heavy traffic stretching across
from Artesia. That's traffic on the 'ones', next update in
10 minutes! Now, for the local news." The radio played a
short sound byte and the voice changed to another radio
anchor. "In a violent flurry just half an hour ago, an
elementary school in Van Nuys was held under siege by a
deranged gunman firing several gunshots at police officers
and school kids."

"For Christ's sake, those bastards got the story up
already," Ranma muttered. "Wilcox better not have given my
name."

"...names of the victims have not been released, however
it is confirmed that at least one LAPD officer and several
children were seriously injured. The only information that
the police have told us so far was that a detective who
responded to the scene had single handedly neutralized the
sniper to quickly end the bloodshed. The detective's name
nor his reason for being there has not been released and
we've been told will not be released in the future and will
be kept confidential. This is Edward-"

Ranma found his parking spot and shut off the motor,
turning the radio off automatically. He stepped out and
headed towards an elevator.

Parker center was a huge, rectangular building down in
the Central Divisional Area in downtown LA, taking up nearly
an entire city block, but towering only about 8 stories
high. It was the operational HQ for all Metro officers,
commissioners, the Chief, and was also the branch for the
Investigative Service's Detectives Bureau. Many detectives
from all 18 Divisional Precincts of the four bureaus in the
city competed all the time to get an opening spot at
Headquarters, home of some of the finest detectives in the
world in the finest police force in the world.

Ranma walked through the entrance, several uniformed
officers were guarding the surrounding area to keep out any
trespassers. Ranma had a blue and white ID card clipped to
his flannel, it was mandatory to have police ID cards at all
times when inside Parker Center. Ranma very much disliked
the building, every time he came for work there was always
another crack on the wall or another electrical line that
had to be fixed. The squeaky old building hadn't been
changed since it's creation in 1955, and most of the damage
came from the last few years as a result of the Northridge
quake. The decor was dreary at best, with most offices and
rooms tacked in fake laminated wood and dinged up grey
filing cabinets. Parker Center was overcrowded and would
soon become unacceptably insufficient for the department's
needs, but the officers who worked there made do with what
they were given. The commute down in traffic choked gridlock
wasn't much help either. He headed straight for the
elevator, his destination the 5th floor.

Several officers who were hanging around the lobby
greeted him, some of the senior detectives especially.
Others tried to ignore him, they were very intimidated by
his infamous high profile. Some even frowned at him, giving
him a dirty look. They certainly didn't approve of the
bureau he worked for. He had to walk through the entire
Metropolitan Division inside of Parker Center to get where
he was going to.

Once he got into the fifth floor, Ranma walked westward
towards a sterile clean corridor. There was a steel door
along with a keypad door lock. There were big bold letters
on the door <Special Investigative Section - RESTRICTED
ACCESS>.

He dialed in a seven digit code on the pad; the door
knob emitted a solid *thunk* sound, signaling the electronic
dead lock was disabled for a couple of seconds.

Despite the unusual security, inside it looked like any
other bureau in the building. There were several offices,
some with walled off cubicles for necessary confidentiality,
each with desks and there were rows of file cabinets. There
were several wheeled tack boards in various parts of the
room, all of which were attached with surveillance photos,
beat paths, and multiple outlines of different cases for the
different working teams. In the corner was a steel fenced
door, with a large red sign that said <SIS Armory Locker>.

Ranma entered a door that said <SIS Commander> painted
in white. There was a large office, and a huge wooden desk
in front of a sharp looking old man with a nifty suit. He
sort of looked like Robert DeNiro, except with darker hair.

"Well, well, you're a little late, come on in, Sarge."

Ranma apologized, "Sorry, Captain Davis. I hit a little
bump on the way over."

The old man, a Caucasian in his late fifties, gestured
Ranma over to a seat in front of him, next to another man,
who was in his early forties.

"Hey, McClane," Ranma greeted his good friend with a
smile. John McClane was a cop who had come over a couple of
years ago from New York, receiving a specially privileged
lateral transfer over to the LAPD for some special work he
had done for the city in the past. He was Ranma's loyal
partner and one of his best friends for the past year.

The Lieutenant Detective smirked. "A little bump there,
Ranma? I heard you took out some guy taking pot shots at a
school playground. We listened to it on the broadcast."

"It was nothing. I was just stopping by in the area,"
Ranma shrugged. "KFWB seems to have already gotten the
scoop." He pointed back with his thumb at a radio that was
sitting in the back.

Davis butted in, "Yeah, yeah, whatever. You're here now
so it doesn't matter. As long as you're one step ahead of
the media, I'll have less to worry about." He swiveled his
chair to reach a mini-fridge that was next to his desk and
pulled out two bottles. "What'll it be, Saotome? Miller or
Coors?"

Ranma nodded his head to the Coors. "I'll take the
silver bullet."

The senior officer gently tossed the beer to Ranma who
caught it between his thumb and index finger and already had
the cap twisted off by the time his hand gripped it.

"Would you like one too, McClane?" He smiled at John.
"Oh, I forgot. You're a pussy who decided to cut back on the
liquor."

John smiled and shook his head and casually gave a
sarcastic middle finger to his supervisor. John was once an
expert in the art of constant intoxication, but then again
he learned also that it was quite an obstacle to maintaining
a good relation with his family.

"What's today's agenda, Captain?" Ranma asked, taking
back a drink of the brew. In the confines of the personal
sections of the hardworking detectives, Ranma nor any other
detective had to worry about getting caught for drinking on
the job. Anyone who would dare snitch would pay dearly
later.

Davis' visage softened for a moment and he took a short
sip of his beer, rolling it around in his mouth for taste.
"Well, the one child who had the critical GSW in the ankle
didn't make it. Just got announced on the radio." Ranma's
eyes averted Davis', his lips tightening and his brow
furrowing. "But at least the kid got some vengeance." Davis
coughed and straightened out his tie. "Anyway, let's get
back to business. Sorry about that case with those two black
guys over on the east end. Who would have thought that the
last liquor store they tried to rob was already being robbed
when they came in? They popped each other nice and clean,"
he whistled. "I have something a little different, for a
change. We got a tip from a snitch down on Skid Row. He told
us some info in return for some money. Says his friend, a
suspected serial rapist and repeated 211 offender, is going
on the prowl tonight." Davis said, looking over some sheets
on a clipboard.

"Is the tip legitimate or bullshit?" McClane asked.

Captain Gray Davis nodded. "Yeah, it's positive. I'm
working up a case file right now. I'll give it to you guys
later tonight when you go."

"No surveillance, no tracking? We just go?" Ranma said
surprised. Working in this particular sector required an
extensive amount of back to back surveillance and research
on different cases at the same time in order to insure that
they were targeting hardened and hardcore violation
criminals.

"I told you it was something different. It won't be too
bad," Davis scoffed. "The guy you're facing is Hispanic,
most likely unarmed, and if he is it'll probably be some
pistols. I think it's highly unlikely that he'll be
strapped. Besides if we spot him and he does his thing, you
know what to do."

"Whatever. I guess we'll carry a medium load for this
job," McClane replied. He got up to walk out.

Ranma stood up too to join him. "Hey Captain, where is
the stakeout point by the way?"

"I was about to get to that," Davis said. "It's down in
the Wilshire Division, they have some converted undercover
cars you can use, so take Vince and Al with you for back up.
Hopefully our snitch gives us an accurate enough description
as where exactly we can track him from. It's up to you two
to see if he pulls off a job."

"All right," McClane gestured. "Come on Ranma, lets go."

"It's gonna be a long night," Ranma sighed.


* * *


March 23rd, 2001.
Wilshire Blvd - Downtown LA, California. 3:30 AM.

"Damn this is fucking boring. When is this guy coming
in? Davis said he'd be here by 11:00. And we have to stay
here all night till he does come."

Eighteen-year law enforcement veteran John McClane
sighed and drank some hot coffee from a thermos. It was a
damn cold night and their loaned undercover 1990 Mercedes S
Class was equipped with seat heaters that didn't even work,
nor could they turn on the motor to turn on the heating
vents unless they wanted to give away their cover. And to
top it off, he forgot to bring something warm to wear, all
he had was his cheap five dollar Hanes T-Shirt and a plaid
short sleeved button up shirt on top of it. He awkwardly
held his coffee in his left hand while he tried to adjust
the long holo-scoped Ak-74 rifle he had. It was one of the
newer mass produced rifles from master gun maker and
engineer Mikhail Kalashnikov, but this particular rifle was
a much higher quality piece as it had been given a makeover
by a gunsmith for better fit, finish, and accuracy. The butt
of the stock was on the floor and the barrel was sticking
all the way up to John's chest. Despite claiming to take a
"medium" load, it appeared he prepared himself with a heavy
hitter.

"Have a little patience, he'll be here John." Ranma
flicked his pigtail a couple of times. Despite living in the
US for over 7 years, he still had a light Asian accent. He
cradled the short M-4 Carbine that he had on his lap; the
gun had no magazine though and was unloaded.

McClane raised a side of his eyebrows to glance at
Ranma. "Yeah, yeah. I don't have as much patience as you do,
Ranma. I've been working SIS for four years and I've been
around you long enough to savor the action," he chuckled.
"One of these days I'm gonna just take a year long vacation
and spend some time with my family, instead of being with
you in this motherfucking tin can."

"Four years in a unit that does almost 90 percent
surveillance work, and you don't have the patience for it?"
Ranma sighed and tried stretching his back from the
unsupportive seats. "I've seen enough action to last a
fucking lifetime," Ranma sighed. He looked over to John.
"Probably more than even you could handle."

"Yeah, right," McClane replied sarcastically. "With your
curse, you can do more assignments in the department than
anyone else. I'd guess it's a great gift somehow, even
though I don't want it..." he trailed off.

The pigtailed boy shook his head. "I got used to it, but
everyone keeps wanting me to do Vice jobs, and pose as a
hooker or something. I'm cool with doing the vice bureaus a
favor once in a while if it's a big hit, but not full time.
And then there are those dipshits who try to hit on me when
they know I'm male," Ranma said, frustrated. "In fact,
you're a fag for saying that."

The senior detective huffed out in mock irritation.
"Thanks, but you can fuck yourself."

Ranma gave him a cocky smirk. "Hmph."

BEEP. CHIRP. "Unit 3-William-56, please respond."

3-William-56 was the unit-classification Saotome and
McClane accepted for their ratty old Mercedes, it was really
a cover for their real unit designation in case some patrol
unit came to question them. This assignment was a rush
ordered and expedited fiasco, without any prior notification
to the officers in the vicinity and a hastily constructed
alias was needed to keep things from blowing up. Ranma
grabbed the receiver piece and pressed the transmit button.
"Sergeant Saotome and Lieutenant McClane here."

"Suspect has been spotted walking towards your location,
be advised. He should be in your sights soon," the radio
chirped.

"Thanks, Vince. Code 100."

"Roger."

From across the street, a lone Hispanic male popped out
of the dark corner, casually walking his way across the
sidewalk. Even with the dimly lit streets, one could tell
his arms were covered in tattoos.

Ranma nudged McClane. "Is that him?" he pointed out.

"Yeah." John opened up the folder and read down some
files. "That guy was just released from San Quentin
Penitentiary two weeks ago. His name is Roberto Dominguez,
charged with murdering 5 different people working as clerks
in various late night businesses. Supposedly he raped all
the girls he came across in his crime spree too." John
fingered one particular section of the document he was
reading. "However, most of his charges were dropped due to
insufficient evidence of his actions. He's pretty decent at
covering his tracks. Served only 2 years and got paroled for
his manslaughter charge."

Ranma loaded a hundred round drum clip into the magazine
well of his M4. He pulled back the T-bar charging handle,
locking a round in the chamber. "Man, what is our justice
system coming to? Vicious bastard, ain't he?"

McClane let out a huff. "No shit. And check this shit
out, back in '93 77th Street homicide came upon this guy's
leftovers at a small liquor store down in the hood. Him and
a youngster he'd recruited robbed the place, and Dominguez
was suspected as the shooter, but the crime got pinned on
the kid who tagged along instead. He shot her in the head
twice, and according to the report he had sex with the dead
body, using a condom. No fluids found, the condom was long
discarded by the time both were caught. Again, all pinned on
the kid. Don't ask how."

"Atta' boy," Ranma said, nodding at the rap sheet. "I
guess one of the station captains finally decided to kick
the case up to us?" Learning this nut job was a necrophilia
loving rapist made Ranma much more eager to take care of
this guy.

"We managed to get one of his old 'buddies' to snitch
for us so we could track his next hit. Despite what Davis
said though, it says here he seems to be armed pretty well.
A couple of automatic pistols if I read correctly. Seems
like this shit eating bastard enjoys this."

During their small pep talk the two detectives failed to
pay attention to what was happening in the convenient store
across the street. A piercing shriek found it's way to the
undercover car, getting the attention of both John and
Ranma. There they saw their suspect, beating a hapless young
female clerk to the ground.

"Gimme every thing you got in the fuckin' register now!"
yelled Roberto.

The female clerk nodded in tears and in pain and opened
up the register for Roberto to access. Since the register
had been emptied out only a few hours ago, there wasn't much
cash.

Roberto punched the girl again. "This is all the fucking
money you have?! There's gotta be more!"

"That's all there is! I swear! Please don't kill me,
please!!" she pleaded.

"For some reason, I just don't think you're telling me
the truth, bitch," Roberto evilly snarled. He pulled the
girl out of the counter area and pinned her down right in
the middle of the store. Roberto unzipped his pants and
attempted to rape her savagely.

"We got a visual confirmation on felony rape. Here we
go!" Ranma started up the car, not even the least bit
disturbed of what was happening in front of him.

These SIS assignments absolutely required that the
detectives witness the crime actually taking place in order
to take the suspects out. It was the only thing that kept
Ranma from losing his cool and murdering the people he
tracked down with his bare hands.

The old Mercedes squealed out to the street and out of
the curb, heading straight for the corner store. Roberto who
was busy doing his dirty work, looked up to see two bright
headlights aimed straight forward him. He cruelly twisted
the head of the crying girl beneath him, breaking her neck.
He then struggled the best he could away from the counter
while putting his pants back on.

With a loud crunch the Mercedes bounced up on the curb,
shaking its occupants.

Ranma flung his door open, aiming his assault rifle.
"LAPD!! On the ground now asshole!!" Of course, in reality
he knew his order wouldn't be followed, it served to only
provoke an attack. This was exactly what he wanted.

Roberto pulled out two chop-off assault rifles (more
like pistols) that he somehow hid in the crotch of his
pants. He didn't bother to aim and just pointed in the
general direction of Ranma. "Suck my dick, honchos!" he
yelled in a thick Mexican accent.

John was the first to duck down and crouch in his seat.
"Shit!"

The serial rapist pulled the trigger of one assault
pistol madly, the gun was set on automatic and emptied in
just a few seconds. Ranma was taking cover as well, jumping
back into his seat and ducking. Fortunately Roberto's
careless aiming led to all the rounds piercing through the
windshield or windows and exiting out the roof. The glass
windows of the store itself were in shards littering the
sidewalk.

The perp on the other end was running frantically out in
the streets, having enough luck to pull over a large black
Dodge Ram pickup truck on the lone empty road.

Ranma popped his head over the dash. He subconsciously
patted himself, wondering if he'd been hit and was springing
leaks. "Is it clear?" He looked over to his partner, who was
muttering and cursing angrily as he was ducking. "Dammit,
John! I thought you said he had pistols, not fuckin' chop
off rifles!"

John brushed his head off for broken glass. "I didn't
know..." he said sheepishly.

Ranma sat upright in his seat and floored the car in
reverse, smoking his way back out to the street and onto
pursuing their suspect. Fortunately for Ranma, Roberto's
getaway vehicle was big and easy to spot and slow to follow.

In the passenger seat of the truck, Roberto nudges his
weapon against the driver he was taking hostage. "Drive
faster, you goddamn Gringo!"

This stakeout definitely had not turned out the way they
had wanted to. Now there was the added factor of a pursuit.
Ranma picked up the mike piece for the radio. "This is 3-
William-56! Suspect is heading towards Wilshire in a black
Dodge Ram, California license plate 4-Frank-Mary-John-674!
He's armed with assault rifles, and may possibly have a
hostage, pursue with extreme caution!"

The S-Class tailed the Dodge closely with ease, with the
behemoth in front swaying wildly as its high center of
gravity made it swerve from left to right. From behind, an
old and large late model GMC Suburban with internal code 3
lights and sirens drifted out of a corner, giving a furious
chase with Ranma and McClane.

John looked behind his seat. "There's Al and Vince, I
don't see any black and whites helping us."

The thundering crack of gunshots erupted from ahead;
Roberto was leaning out the passenger window shooting semi-
auto fire at Ranma's car. The constant swerving impaired his
aim, causing every shot to hit the hood or the ground. "I
ain't goin' back you fuckin' pigs!" He pushed himself back
into the truck, poking the driver once more with the muzzle
of his gun. "Keep going you fucking cracker or else I'll
kill you!"

In the midst of all the mayhem, the police broadcast
crackled in Ranma's car. "This is dispatch, we have a
reported 211 in progress at Wilshire and Normandie. All
available units in the vicinity please respond."

McClane picked up the hand piece for the radio, and
clicked a particular button on the receiver. "Dispatch,
cancel that 211 this is a wild fire. Repeat, this is a wild
fire, over."

"Are you sure about that!?" Ranma yelled over the
combined noise of the wind buffeting through the busted
windshield and the rickety roaring motor.

"Don't worry!" John had his thumb off the transmit
button on the mike. "We can take care of this!"

The female dispatch voice responded. "Private request
acknowledged." There was a series of beeps emitted by the
radio. "All units concerning 211 call at Wilshire and
Normandie, stand down."

Ranma meanwhile stayed right behind the truck, he aimed
his M4 at the rear window of the truck to take out Roberto.
The automatic rifle fire didn't even go near the target,
both cars were going left and right too wildly for an
accurate shot. He managed to riddle the back of the pickup
bed and pierce holes into the gas tank. Ranma's spent cases
were flying out the passenger side window, right across
John's face.

"Damn! The truck is swerving too much!" Ranma exclaimed.
He threw his rifle into the back seat because he had used up
the entire 100 round clip in a few short seconds. Ranma
jerked his torso to the left in the nick of time as a 5.56mm
bullet cracked through the windshield and barely missed his
head. The headrest of the driver's seat exploded, the
leather covering it flapping and the yellow foam inside
exposed, mangled. He turned back for a split second, his
eyes wide and mouth agape.

"You almost got a free haircut there!" John lifted his
left leg and kicked the cracked windshield as hard as he
could, sending it flying out into the road. Their forward
visibility was greatly improved, although now they had to
deal with the high speed of the wind in their eyes.

He aimed his rifle on the truck's tires and took a few
pot shots, blowing them out. McClane was a much better
shooter than Ranma was, but unfortunately popping the tires
did no good.

Ranma awkwardly reached his Beretta 92FS on his right
hip with his left hand, his right hand still on the steering
wheel. An idea popped to his head. "We gotta take this guy
out fast," he mumbled. He looked over to John. "Hey, hold
the fuck on all right? You ain't gonna like what I'm about
to do!"

Ranma broke a fuse panel open with his right knee, and
then yanked them all out with his right hand.

John was hastily clicking his seat belt on. "Why'd you
do that?"

"To turn off the ABS!" He slammed his foot on the
accelerator and surged the car forward to get in front of
the slow pickup truck. "HANG ON!!"

With his service Beretta firmly rooted in his left hand
and a glance at the instrument panel which was now blinking
with various red warning lights, Ranma violently turned the
steering wheel around to the left while simultaneously
slamming on the brakes and the throttle.

Everything he planned worked out like clockwork, thanks
to the rear-wheel-drive set up of the drive train and the
disabled ABS. The front wheels locked first as predicted
causing the rear wheels to lose traction and break loose on
the asphalt. The car swerved 360 degrees at 60 mph, Ranma
stuck out his left arm and shot through the windshield of
the Dodge rapidly while he had a clear line of fire.

Roberto, in flabbergasted surprise, accidentally pulled
the trigger against the head of the hostage he was
controlling next to him when he saw the Mercedes dancing
wildly in front of him. A moment after a bullet found its
way to his forehead, although the impact of the windshield
and his thick skull didn't provide enough force for the
bullet to blow open the back of his head.

John was whooping excitedly next to Ranma, shooting his
rifle rapidly at whatever he could. "Hoo, yeah!"

The Benz completed its revolution, slamming into the
left side of the big pickup truck with a crunch. The brunt
of Ranma's car shifted the direction of both cars, heading
them straight towards a curb.

"Oh, shit!" John dropped his rifle on his lap and braced
his arms on the roof of the Mercedes. Ranma had both of his
hands locked tightly against the steering wheels, slamming
on the brakes.

Both vehicles careened out of control, the Mercedes hit
the curb first, the car was instantly lowered as the front
suspension was taken out by the curb and the tires were
blown out on impact, Ranma tried to steer out of the way but
ended up flipping the car instead, and skidding to a stop on
the street.

The Dodge Ram on the other hand was manned by a dead
driver with a stiff foot pressed against the accelerator
pedal. The truck flipped on the curb instantly, it did so at
a higher speed than the Benz, causing it to pummel a
concrete wall across the street.

Ranma and John were stuck in their now demolished
Mercedes Benz S-Class which looked like a crushed tin can.

McClane shook his head, he was still planted in his seat
upside down thanks to the seatbelt, and without a scratch on
him. "Ugh...what the fuck happened?" Everything about this
seemed so familiar to him... It must've happened to him
before, McClane thought.

Ranma was unfortunately scrunched against the roof of
the car, his seatbelt was sliced off by a warped metal door
frame which had almost sliced off the top of his head.
Otherwise, he was unhurt. "Errgh...got a Triple-A card?"

-----------

The two police officers in the old GMC Suburban watched
blankly as the Mercedes a couple hundred yards in front of
them flipped over and slid across the street.

"Whoa," one of them simply said.

The other officer nodded, and looked to his companion.
"Hey, fifty bucks says one of them broke a bone," the other
said.

The first officer turned to face him and gave him a
blank expression, then smirked. "You're on."

-----------

Ranma struggled slightly to get his foot against the
door, he kicked it off hard and crawled out. John was still
able to open his door using the door handle, and climbed out
with no problem. The pigtailed boy smashed his arm through
the rear driver's side window, ripping off the door. He
reached in to get his M4 and a fresh 100 round drum which
was inside a tattered duffel bag, covered in broken shards
of glass and mutilated leather seat material.

"Come on John, we gotta check it out!"

The two detectives ran towards the mangled pickup truck,
aiming their rifles towards the passenger side of the cab.
Ranma sweeped the mangled truck in a clover pattern to make
sure there wouldn't be any surprise threats. Unfortunately
the two didn't know that the passengers in the truck were
already dead, if not from Ranma's pistol then the strong
impact of the concrete.

John McClane cautiously strafed to Ranma's side, where
he squared his weapon and raised it at the inanimate
occupant of the passenger side. He was the first to
initiate some lead-flesh contact. "FIRE!"

The muzzle rising and rapid recoil of Ranma's automatic
Colt M4 was held steady by his strong grip, the rounds
didn't seem to stop as he emptied all hundred rounds of
5.56mm ammo against whatever life was still left in there.
John's rifle didn't have the same magazine capacity, but he
still shot it semi-auto as fast he could. By the time they
stopped there was a pile of spent brass at their feet, a
large stream of blood was running down the sidewalk and curb
of the street. The concrete wall was riddled with bullet
holes and what remained of the truck was now scrap metal.

Both lowered their weapons and sighed.

"Whew...couldn't have gone worse, yeah?" Ranma said to
his partner.

"Riiight...," John replied apprehensively. His mind was
thoroughly mixed with relief and frustration at a hastily
formed assignment that had been a step shy of becoming a
disaster. "Let's have someone else take care of this shit."

As if on cue, the other members of the operation
arrived, their big undercover Suburban screeching to a halt.
A middle aged man in his thirties and another man in his
late twenties or early thirties hopped out of the cars,
their own rifles slung to the side.

"Jesus, you guys had some fun, didn't ya?" the older one
asked. He turned to the other guy he was with. "You owe me
fifty bucks bitch, they didn't break anything."

John waved him off. "Shut up, Vince. You guys were too
late." McClane jabbed the butt of his rifle painfully into
Vince's gut, knocking the air out of him. "That's for
letting Al drive."

"Hmph," Al replied with a smirk, reaching into his
pocket to pay off Vince. He received a kick to his crotch
from McClane when he didn't pay attention.

"That's for being stupid enough to accept a bet like
that, especially having the odds against us," McClane
concluded.

Another car appeared on the street, a black and white
patrol car with a single sergeant in the driver's seat. It
had its lights and sirens blaring, screeching to a stop next
to the crime scene.

The young patrol sergeant gawked at the gory scene in
front of him, not to mention the mass spread of bullet holes
everywhere. "What the hell happened here?!"

Ranma cracked his neck, and walked over to the sergeant
who was probably one of those rare naive rookies who somehow
got promoted to higher ranks. "The suspect executed the
hostage he was holding and we exterminated him. That's all
there is too it." He started walking towards the big GMC
Suburban with John, Al, and Vince, not at all bothered by
what had happened, what he had just done, and the horrific
ramifications of what had resulted.

Several other police cruisers arrived at the scene,
swarming all over the place. The four SIS detectives
casually drove back to their headquarters, Parker Center, to
report in the events of the night.


* * *

One Week Later...

March 29th, 2001.
The Last Stop - West LA, California. 9:02 PM.

Cop hangouts in LA are few and far in between. They were
all over the city, plagued with young cowboys and itchy
trigger fingers. The average LAPD patrol officer consisted
of a couple of basic traits that are immediately recognized:
anal, sarcastic, overworked, cocky assholes. True, they were
considered as some of the best officers in the world, with
the most prestigious police academy in the U.S. (one that
spans for 28 weeks and 1100+hours for the most comprehensive
training program in law enforcement, exceeding even the FBI)
and the best departmental organization from East to West.
Hollywood bigshots and stars hired LAPD officers at
extravagant rates of a thousand bucks/day salaries. Movie
producers referred to LAPD officers and trainers for any
technical support they might need for their mindless, multi-
million dollar action movies.

But these officers were of the normal breed, the average
LA cop. They had few places to hang out, because the rest of
the world hated their fucking guts. There were more than
plenty of scumbags who would gladly pull off a hit on a cop
if they could spot them vulnerable. In reality there is a
very fine line between some of the officers and the
criminals they try to catch. Some of the desk badges were
even lazy donut eaters wasting their time away to collect
their pensions.

"Run that fucking drink over here, you bastard," some
random patron yelled out to one of the bartenders.

This bar on the other hand, wasn't a usual cop hangout.
It was one of those casual, "tough guy" hangouts, where guys
brought in their girlfriends to look cool or to brag to
friends about their street brawls or alcohol binges. It was
the precise reason the four LAPD officers in the corner of
the bar were sitting here right this moment, because they
weren't part of the norm. Sure, they could've gone to a
typical cop hangout like Hill's Code 7, but these four
probably wouldn't have been too welcome due to their
reputations. They were officers of a completely different
sort, ones who were hard edged and unaccustomed to the
customs that LAPD officers were accustomed to. They kept
their profiles low, they didn't advertise their shield.

"Come on Ranma, easy on that drink," McClane told him.

Ranma shrugged and lifted his eyebrows, giving a glance
to his friend/partner and then poured down another shot of
his sake. Fortunately this bar had enough oriental customers
coming in and out for the bartender to have Asian wines
stocked up. Next to the sake bottle was some Korean plum
wine, which was quite a surprise find in a place like this.
Nothing hard, just an easy to drink wine that he could enjoy
for the entire night.

Two other officers watched, amused at how much alcohol
the pigtailed martial artist could handle. To anyone else
they, he would have looked like an alcoholic, or perhaps he
really was an alcoholic.

To the right was Detective (II) Al Waters, a light brown
haired guy with a slick gelled hairstyle and cold, dark
brown eyes, and an evil smirk that would scare even death
row prisoners. He was 31 years old, joining the LAPD as soon
as he was 21 after a short military stint. Al was a
brilliant cop as well as detective, working for HQ as a
Robbery-Homicide detective, with cop instincts that got
every case he handled resolved, usually with under the table
deals. He was an ex-Army Ranger who'd stayed on for a few
years as reservist and had been deployed to several high-
risk conflicts, so he had battle experience before he even
earned his badge. His merciless behavior made him a top
candidate for the SIS. He and Ranma shared a particular
hobby together, one that involved automobiles, particularly
muscle cars.

On the left was Detective (III) Vince Thompson, a 39-
year-old veteran with dark brown hair and deep blue eyes. He
was a tall and intimidating man, towering at 6' 3", but his
face sported a smug and confident look that made criminals
nervous whenever he interrogated them. His most prominent
feature however was his deep, Southern accent, for he lived
in Mississippi until he was in college. Vince was one of
those guys who stayed young in spirit forever, he was
physically almost 40 years old but his enthusiasm for police
work was greater than even the perkiest of fresh out
rookies. He joined the department when he was 24, getting
choice posts and promotions due to his gift as a brilliant
tactician. Vince was the brains of this group, able to track
the moves of any criminal he comes upon, seeing as he worked
for the Rampart and Pacific Divisions as a Robbery-Homicide
detective. Added to the fact he had no problem killing
hardened criminals who deserved to eat a bullet, he was a
standout officer perfect for SIS duty. Although he wasn't
the best overall pistoleer of the group, rumor had it that
he was the fastest shooter in the entire department. Of
course no one could prove it, everyone who'd seen him hadn't
lived to tell what the hell happened. His trademark weapon
was an old school blued Smith and Wesson Model 19 .357
Magnum with a customized 4" barrel and a couple thousand
dollars worth of other tricked out parts, carried with the
hammer cocked in an open cross draw holster, much to the
dismay of his superior officers.

Taking the seat near the wall was Lieutenant (II)
Detective John McClane, a hard-edged Irish cop who came over
from the East Coast. Eighteen years of working in the law
enforcement field offered him quite a number of interesting
experiences. He started out as an officer over in the New
York City Police Department, working his way to Lieutenant
Detective status after twelve years. However, the spark of
his career didn't happen until the winter of six years ago,
when he came to Los Angeles to see his wife in the Nakatomi
Plaza building over at Century City. But that was another
story completely, but not the end of it. The next year there
was the Dulles Airport incident, which was also a huge
commodity by itself. And if things couldn't possibly get any
more complicated, the year after McClane had to handle an
explosives nut over in NYC after transferring back. It was a
trilogy of "Die Hard" situations that seemed to pester men
like McClane. ^_-

Seeing as how his wife worked in Southern California and
New York life was too intense to keep up with when you had a
family on the other side of the country, he transferred over
to the Los Angeles Police Department as a favor by Mayor
Richard Riordan, for handling the Nakatomi terrorist
incident. It wasn't much of a surprise his combat expertise
and uncanny detective work led him to the SIS. Sure, there
was still a lot of action. But this time, he started the
havoc, not the other way around.

Vince burped loudly in the middle of the table, taking a
swig of his beer,
already half drunk. He gestured over to his oriental friend
across from him.

The pig tailed boy was the odd one of the group, in a
place where Asians were plentiful all over SoCal and hung
out in stereotypical isolated cliques, he was one of a kind.
It wasn't just the fact that he was sitting in a table with
three other white guys (that sort of stuff wasn't THAT
unusual, it was quite common still), or the fact that his
muscles were so defined that you could see them through the
white t-shirt he was wearing.

His roots were of someone who was totally unmatched to
law enforcement, normally people who had his abilities just
didn't take jobs as police officers, especially when they
were foreigners.

25-year-old Ranma Saotome, Sergeant Detective (I),
veteran police officer, even at his young age, hot shot
investigator, and master martial artist carefully read the
letter that was in front of him. It was a very simple
letter, written in an unorthodox fashion without much of a
business tone. But it was stamped with an aluminum seal at
the corner, marked from a foreign government.

"So Saotome, you gonna take that job offer?" Vince
asked. His unending alcohol consumption made him more than a
bit woozy.

"You said you always wanted to go back to Japan, right?
This is your chance! And I bet that job pays pretty well
too!" Al exclaimed.

"Yeah, go for it. We'll miss you here though!" Vince
butted in.

Ranma gave a slight frown, but McClane took care of it.
"Come on guys, let him decide," he said, looking over to
Ranma. "If you do take it, we'll miss you though."

The young officer sighed, "I don't know guys." He lifted
the letter closer to him to read it.

The others promptly peered around his shoulder, to get a
glimpse of what it said.

----------------------

Dear Sergeant Saotome,

Hello, I'm Commissioner Takayama from the National Security
Agency of Japan and I'm here to recruit you for our agency.
We have heard about a Japanese police officer working for
the Special Investigative Squad of the Los Angeles Police
Department. We have received info that you are a very
skilled officer indeed with the abilities of advanced
martial arts and fighting techniques and the ability to
speak Japanese and English perfectly. I have a proposition
for you. We have a spot open in the Public Safety
Commission's Maximum Enforcement Division. I personally
control this division and I ensure you that you will not
regret working here. We are the Japanese equivalent of the
LAPD SIS, except we believe you will find much more freedom
here. Despite Japanese regulations on firearms you will get
your choice on arms and equipment as well as transportation.
Anyway here are the major details.

1. You get your choice of location in Japan, you will have a
month to travel around at our expense to choose a suitable
place to live.

2. Your position in the NSA will be the rank of Captain.

3. Your salary will start off at an estimated 5,000,000 yen
a year plus full medical coverage and retirement benefit.

4. All living expenses will be paid by the government except
for food and other luxury amenities.

5. You have your choice for weaponry as long as it is
reasonable, as well as transportation.

6. You get a total of 7 weeks of paid vacation a year along
with 2 weeks of paid sick leave. This is nonnegotiable
unless it is a dire emergency.

Hopefully this is enough information for you concerning this
job opportunity. If you are interested, please call 011-XX-
XXX-XXXX-XXXX prefix XXXX. We look forward to having you
join us to rid Japan of crime.


Sincerely,

Commander Akira Takayama

Japanese National Security Agency

-----------------------

Ranma frowned at how the letter was written so
unprofessionally, it didn't even seem remotely close to a
business proposal for a job transfer. This wasn't like
martial arts or fighting, but Ranma believed that whatever
he did, he should do it right.

His buddies however couldn't have cared less.

"Hey, not bad!" John said, lifting his eyebrows in
amazement.

"Yeah, I wouldn't mind a job that has a lot of perks
like that!" Vince said.

Hesitating, Ranma quickly thought up of a reason not to
go. "Yeah, but I don't know," he trailed off. "You guys are
like my brothers, I don't really have anyone back in Japan,"
he lied. He swirled around the sake he had in front of him
with his finger, his mood required him to drink something
more refined and sophisticated than draft beer.

His partner across him narrowed his eyes, sipping his
beer slowly. "You know, in the whole year that I've known
you, you've never really talked much about your life in
Japan," he questioned.

Al joined him immediately with curiosity in his eyes.
"He's right you know. You never talked about your life other
than your training trip with your dad and how you got your
curse." He sucked in some water through a straw that he had
along with his alcohol and sprayed it across Ranma's face,
goofing off as a child would.

The light spray of cold water was enough to trigger his
curse, his height in the seat did not change, only the body
became thinner and more defined. Voila! It was an instant
morph to female. Fortunately, no one else in the bar
noticed.

"Very funny asshole," the female Ranma chided. She wiped
off her face with her hand, rubbing her temples as well in
irritation as well as anxiety. It might have been funny
considering how her face didn't smear with makeup, even
though of course she would never use it, but one would
expect an appearance that looked that good must be a result
of a little tampering. Her face was beautiful enough to not
require any form of cosmetics, perhaps it might've been
Ranma's fine genetics or a trait of the curse. Either reason
for her good looks was a mystery by itself.

She took her hand off her face, an empty look in her
eyes, as if she was gazing at something. "I never did tell
you guys anything did I?" she said. A heavy sigh flowed out
of her lips, a trip down memory lane was coming up. "Except
for all that fiancee shit?"

John was always skeptical about the small part of
Ranma's life he (or she) did reveal, having three fiancees
at once was something out of a bad TV show plot. "That
always did sound like a load of shit to me. Even if you are
a lady killer you ain't that big of a hot shot."

Al's drunken humor talk flew straight out of his ass.
"You're still one fine lady when you're cursed!" he laughed.
"ERRK!!"

Ranma made a vice out of her left hand on Al's crotch,
crunching his balls into a painful cramp. She took out her
wallet that had a few worn out photos with her free hand.
"Take a look at this if you faggots don't believe me!"

The picture showed Ukyo, Akane, Shampoo, and Ranma
standing side by side, smiling together, for once they
didn't seem to be fighting, but in fun loving peace. In the
background was a huge banner that read in Japanese
<Graduating Class of '94>.

"Wow! They're really pretty!" Vince said, amused. "I
guess you weren't full of shit. What were their names?"

Before Ranma could even reply Al let out a whiny groan,
his face was completely blue and he seemed to be biting the
inside of his cheek to get his mind away from the pain in
his nuts. "Ranma...I'm sorry...please let go..." he groaned,
the pain more evident with each word.

She let go with a grin, smacking him in the back of the
head. "That'll teach you, fucker...Anyways, the blue haired
girl's name is Shampoo, the one with the huge spatula is
Ukyo Kuonji, and the one with short hair is Akane Tendo."
Her eyes darkened and a sigh escaped at the last name.

"Man, you've had pictures like these and you never
showed us? What's up with that man? I remember you told me
just a little bit about this. You said you had all these
girls trying to anything to get you, right?" John asked.

Ranma hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should
tell them or not. But every one of these guys risked life
and limb for her, they were her most trusted companions.
They deserved to know a little about her. "Yeah, they were
all my fiancees, like I said before. Everyone except for
Akane always chased me, since she always hit my head with a
mallet. Ukyo was my best friend, probably not anymore by
now, since I haven't seen or even talked to her for four
years. I had a pet name for her even, and called her
Ucchan." Again she sighed at another painful realization.
"Shampoo is a Chinese Amazon, who was actually required to
marry me because of her stupid Amazon laws. It required that
any male who defeats an Amazon female is required to marry
the girl." Ranma left out the part about Kodachi Kuno
chasing after him too, but since she wasn't a fiancee and
had actually backed off a little from him since the last
time they met...

"So, what happened?" Al interrupted.

Ranma rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated
chuckle. "You wouldn't believe some of the stupid shit they
pulled over the years. Some of em' poisoned me, some of them
tricked me into doing things I didn't want to do, the list
goes on. Imagine your life being controlled by a hurricane.
That's a light way of describing what I had to go through
for two years," she sighed. "The thing with Akane, she was
different from the rest, but she still had her quirks."

"What about her?" John said.

"She was really the only person I truly loved in a
romantic sense," he tried to say without dwelling on events
from the past. "I even told her than in my sophomore year of
high school. She used to hit me all the time because I made
fun of her. Because of her I always tried to make a plan to
get away from the other fiancees."

The others nodded their heads in understanding.

"For the remaining two years of high school I worked my
ass off so that I could go to an American college and get
away from Japan," she said somberly. "I surprised a lot of
people. By the time I was graduating I was getting straight
A's with honors and I was accepted to UCLA thanks to some
contacts from my teachers. It was a real achievement for me,
I used to be a failure when it came to academics," She
scratched her head for a second. "But I guess what drove me
on was love."

"Wow," the others said. They were goof offs during their
high school careers, not caring what college they were to
attend. To think a guy actually tried hard to get good
grades was something that didn't quite get through to them.
^_-

John tapped his fingers on the table, looking like he
was trying to concentrate on something. "Wait a sec. Even if
you did do all that and get accepted to a UC, how'd you pay
for everything? It must have been expensive."

Ranma took a sip of some plum wine and acknowledged John
with a gesture of her hand. "Oh, that. I actually applied
for a green card way in advance before I even knew what
college I would get accepted to. I didn't care where, as
long as they had an ROTC program. I did ROTC for the Army
and they paid my tuition, I relied on scholarships and
grants for the rest. It was easy for me and it wasn't a big
deal. When I didn't join the Army afterwards, that caused a
few problems though..." she trailed off.
*ROTC is the Reserve Officer Training Corp.

After absorbing Ranma's words through his hazed mind,
McClane blinked. "ROTC? How'd you get into that? You
should've been a Japanese citizen at the time..." he asked.

"Uh..." Ranma gulped. "I had some help falsifying some
documents." Thanks to Nabiki, he thought.

John shrugged, and just shook his head.

"What happened to Akane, anyhow?" Al asked.

"I promised Akane that I would return to her and marry
her. She was thrilled." She frowned at the next thought.
"However, because I was so involved in school I didn't even
visit her or anyone else back home till graduation. I only
got occasional letters and phone calls. I was so involved in
school that I graduated in only three years!" she exclaimed,
lifting three fingers.

"Hmm... but what happened when you graduated," John
asked.

"My mom and dad were the only ones who came to visit.
You Americans have a very different school semester season,
it sort of messed up my schedule. When I went back to Nerima
I was in for a shock." A dangerous look crept into her eyes.
"I found out Akane had cheated on me, she had fallen in love
with another person. They hadn't slept together, but when I
found out who and why I got pissed."

"Who was it?" they chirped in unison.

The bitterness was heavily apparent in her voice. "It
was a somewhat good friend of mine. His name was Ryoga
Hibiki. A person who couldn't find his way out of a fuckin'
closet if his life depended on it. Worst sense of direction
in the world. When I saw him though he'd bought a handheld
GPS receiver and his days of getting lost were over."

"How did it happen?" John said, intrigued.

The pigtailed girl lowered her eyes for a moment. "Akane
was lonely by herself in Tokyo University. She still loves
me now I think, but as a friend. She was attacked one night
her freshman year but was overpowered by a bunch of thugs."
She could still feel the angst of regret in her heart for
not being there when the person she had loved most needed
her. "Her martial arts skill had gone lax at the time and
she wasn't good enough to defend herself. That's when Ryoga
found her fortunately and helped her out. Over the next few
years I guess they grew close..."

John tried to lighten the mood with a chuckle. "Let me
guess, you were horrified and heartbroken so you fled to the
US and enrolled in the Los Angeles Police Academy?"

Ranma-chan gave him an irritated scowl. "I didn't RUN
away. I was about to tell Akane about Ryoga's curse, that he
was the little black pig that she had kept as a pet. However
luckily for Ryoga he had found Jusenkyo by accident and
cured himself."

The others pretended to act as if what she had just said
made logical sense. Which of course it didn't, to normal
people.

She rambled on anyhow. "You know, he wasn't that bad a
guy, he brought back some of the stuff that was the cure for
my curse and offered it to me, but my mind was in turmoil
and I completely went overboard. But..." she hesitated for
a moment. "I knew in my heart that beating him up wouldn't
change anything, so I let him be. He's not completely at
fault." Ranma looked up to see the others shifting
uncomfortably, and decided to change the topic. "You
remember how I told you guys about my ambitions to be a
teacher?"

Vince was the only one to nod his head. "It sounds
familiar."

"When I married Akane," he paused. "That is, IF I had
married Akane," he resumed, "I was supposed to take her
family dojo and be a teacher there. However, that didn't
happen so it left me wondering about my future. I loved
helping people and making them feel better in college by
defending them with my martial arts. I was also really
interested in police work because they have the opportunity
to help the defenseless."

McClane laughed at the last part, while chugging his
beer at the same time. "Glad you feel that way, man."

She replied with a nod. "So did my mom. My dad Genma was
a jerk and he blamed me for losing Akane and the dojo. He
was such a greedy bastard, but he was surprisingly
supportive after I made my intentions clear. He used to have
a curse too, you know. Turned into a panda, but was cured
thanks to Ryoga. Ryoga brought back cures for everyone who
had a curse, but I'm the only one who didn't use it."

Vince tried to pretend he didn't hear that last part
about the panda, although the story of Jusenkyo was recited
to him numerous times by Ranma. "That's strange of you."

"I guess it sort of is strange. I've changed a lot in 9
years. I didn't used to fucking cuss all the time or even
think of the prospect of killing anyone. I used to be so
hard headed that I never apologized for anything and I
always insulted people before thinking twice. When I was 16
I never would have imagined being a cop right now. Can you
guys imagine me being a nice guy who doesn't like to hurt
people?"

John gave another laugh. "Hey fool, now you're just
talkin' like a pansy. And you're STILL hardheaded," he
joked. "It's not like you enjoy killing for yourself. You
do it for the sake of the safety of the citizens of LA. By
the way, why didn't you take the cure?"

Ranma paused at that question for a moment. She racked
her brain hard for an answer. "After nearly ten years I got
used to it, and it's a great advantage. Anyway, my mom was
happy for me and supported me fully. I don't know how, but
for some reason she knew how reputable LA cops were and said
that my job would bring great honor to the family, despite
what my old man said. Heh. Getting into Elysian Park* was a
joke. Can't believe how easy it was in there."
*Elysian Park is the location of the Los Angeles Police
Academy, near Dodger Stadium.

Both Al and Vince grumbled at that, going to the Academy
was like going to boot camp.

"I remember you telling me a little about this," Al
said. "You were given SWAT training right? I remember that's
how you became so good at everything."

"Yeah. Actually the SWAT training was really just an
added course on CQB and advanced shooting training that was
a special privilege given to me later on after I graduated,"
she smiled. "I even got special permission to train at Camp
Pendleton with Navy SEALs. That was a helluva a lot of fun!
And I was lucky! The South Korean 707th Special Forces
Battalion was there to cross train with the SEALs. Those
guys are fuckin' animals, great martial artists and great
fighters too!"

"Who are they?" the asked again in unison.

"The 707 are the Korean equivalent of Delta Force, the
US Army's top counter-terrorism unit. The 707th is the most
elite SF team in Korea, and definitely one of the best in
the world. Although they weren't training with SEALs instead
of Deltas, I got a chance to meet them. But the coolest
thing about them was their hand to hand fighting style, Tuk-
gong Moo-sul."

John lifted one of his eyebrows. "Oh, that funky shit
you use when you fight hand to hand with guys and kill
them?"

"Yeah. Literally translated it means 'The Specialty
Art', I think. It's a little hard to explain," Ranma said,
scrunching his face. "It's more effective than my family's
art, the Saotome Ryuu of Musabetsu Kakutou."

"What's that mean?" Vince asked, puzzled.

"Oh yeah," she said smacking her own head in
realization. "Translated it means the indiscriminate art of
grappling, Vince. I like to call it Anything Goes."

"Oh," he replied.

A waitress gave Al a small bottle of Smirnoff that he
had ordered while Ranma was talking. He whisked it into his
mouth and purged it down in satisfaction. "So, what'd you
learn?" he asked in a slurred voice.

"Actually, it took a lot of trouble to get an
opportunity to learn it. Those Koreans were extremely
stubborn about showing me anything. They said it was top
secret and illegal for me to learn, or something along those
lines." She gave a small laugh to herself. "I never would
have admitted that they were more effective until their
weakest guy messed me up good and hard in less than 30
seconds. No special moves, no fancy tricks or weapons, just
pure skill. After a couple of more rounds I was at least
able to hold a fight without getting pummeled, but I knew
they could still beat me. But it didn't discourage me at
all, I mean," she paused and tried to find the right thing
to say. "The only thing that's standing between me and them
is their technique of fighting. All I had to do was learn
it, and I could kick their asses. They laughed at me in a
playful way and decided to teach me their art since I was a
nice guy at heart and a cop with potential. They entire unit
always has a Tuk-gong grandmaster following them around
whenever they do training overseas. He was a skinny old
crone, but his precision and skill was top notch, it wasn't
that he was a freakin' martial arts maniac, he had years to
hone himself to be good."

"Ehehe, that's coo'," Al said, the alcohol running
strong in his bloodstream. He didn't pay any attention to
the rambling Ranma, who sometimes had a tendency to gloat on
and on when it came to martial arts.

"Easy with that drink Al," Ranma cautioned his friend.
Actually, he was in no position to talk, considering how
much drinking he did at home.

Al just waved her off with a drunken gaze. "Keep going."

Ranma just shrugged and decided to leave him alone. "So
anyway, in essence I learned three new arts. Tae-Kwon Do and
Hapkido were required to be learned first, but they were
easy because it was so similar to Kenpo. However, Tuk-gong
training was HELL. They beat the shit out of me, taught me
more cheap tricks than I'd like to admit, and most
importantly they taught me the purpose of it. I spent a lot
of time visiting them whenever they came back to cross-train
in the US."

"What is it?" they asked anxiously.

"It horrified me that it wasn't a martial art at all.
All martial arts are meant to defend. This one was actually
designed purely to kill or disable. Mostly the former," she
said, a small frown on her face.

"No wonder you don't want anyone left alive," McClane
joked.

"You know, you're almost right," she said with a serious
face. "It's a deadly fighting style, it took me my entire
vacation of my first year in patrol to grasp it. I became so
good at it that their master couldn't even beat me in a
fight after a while. But the battalion didn't care, they
seemed to sense I was an OK guy, I guess. They wished me
well and hoped I could help out many people. Personally, I
still don't quite understand why they decided to train me."

John nodded, his eyebrows lifted. "That's alright in my
book, and cool too." He glanced at his wrist watched and his
eyes widened. "Jeez, we've been talkin' and drinkin' for a
while. It's almost midnight."

"Yeah," Al and Vince replied in stereo.

Ranma-chan glanced at her watch too. "Is it really that
late?" She shrugged. "Oh well."

She looked over to the bartender, who was very close by.
"Hey bartender, do you think you can hand me a bowl of hot
water?" She didn't feel like dumping a cup of water and
drenching herself, a splash to the face would do.

The bartender was cranky and was irritated because of
several varying factors throughout the night, although the
details were not important. "I don't got any so fuck off,
lil' bitch," he snarled, menacingly.

Ranma didn't frown or make a face, her eyebrows simply
lifted as she pulled out her Beretta 92FS pistol from her
holster, clicking a small switch that activated the laser
sight in the internal guide rod. A bright red dot
illuminated between the bartender's eyes, rendering him into
stone. Ranma made sure the pistol was tucked low enough so
that no one else could see.

"I suggest you find some hot water before you find out
that lead doesn't taste very good, asshole. You don't look
too good. Maybe you need a little-" Ranma clicked back the
hammer for emphasis, "-iron, in your diet."

The bartender nodded his head vigorously and complied
immediately. "Ye..yes maam..."

As a cruel punishment Ranma continued to focus the laser
on the bartender's head as he scrambled for some hot water.
He finally managed to get a bowl of warm water and placed it
in front of Ranma-chan. "Here you go, maam," he weakly
squirmed.

Ranma holstered her gun and shooed him. "Now fuck off."
She splashed some water on her face and morphed back into a
male. The patrons of the bar didn't notice the change
because Ranma's crew was in a corner, plus most of them were
too plastered to worry about it anyway.

"Let's go guys," Ranma signaled to the door.

Just as they got up, a small dispute erupted, between a
girl getting abused by another male.

The four police officers sighed. "Does this just happen
to us wherever we go?" Ranma asked. He sighed at what was
coming. "I'll take care of this..."

"Oy, Ranma," McClane called to him. "Don't forget, we
got a special city council hearing to attend for that damn
Roberto case. Wear a nice suit and tie, alright?"

Ranma turned his head. "No problem, boss," he replied,
smirking as he cracked his knuckles.

Alcohol does some funny things to people.


* * *

March 30th, 2001.
LA Civic Center - Los Angeles, California. 1:30 PM.

"Please state your name, rank, serial number, and post."

"Ranma Saotome, Sergeant Detective level two, badge
number 18991, Metro Division Special Investigations
Section."

A balding Asian man with glasses sitting on top of a
wooden panel with other city council members cleared his
throat and stroked his goatee. He looked at Ranma and looked
down at a folder of documents. "I see that you have quite an
impressive background, Detective Saotome. I remember reading
about you in the newspapers and hearing about you in the
news last year and the year before about your escapades. I
can tell that the city owes a lot to your good deeds."

"Thank you, Councilman Lee. I do what I can to protect
and serve this city."

Another council member on the other end of the panel
puffed a loud breath of exasperation, sneering at Ranma. He
fixed his glare at him, his eyes never faltering away from
Ranma's.

Which Ranma simply ignored, despite the visually hostile
looks the councilman was giving towards him. He gave the man
a quick glance, and looked back at Councilman Lee.

"Alright, Detective Saotome. We've already reviewed this
case thoroughly, looked at all the photos, the suspects,
victims, and read through the accounts that you, Detectives
McClane, Waters, and Thompson, as well as several other
patrol officers who arrived at the scene. I must say, some
of this DOES look incriminating. I'd like to hear from you,
in person, about how you justify this officer involved
shooting."

"Yes, sir. The suspect, Roberto Dominguez, a known,
although undocumented, serial rapist and armed burglar,
entered the aforementioned convenience store in Wilshire and
forcefully robbed, assaulted, raped, then murdered a single
female clerk who happened to be working there on a late
night shift. We were tracking him, when we saw him commit
the crime, we chased after him. He responded in hostility
with altered assault rifles, we gave chase, and we deemed
that deadly force was needed to take them down." Ranma
cleared his throat. "The death of the hostage he held in his
getaway vehicle is an unfortunate tragedy, however it was
beyond our control."

Lee nodded. "I see, looks like there was nothing can be
done. That's a shame."

"This is ridiculous!" the councilman at the end of the
panel yelped. His glare to Ranma had slowly turned into a
raging expression of anger. "You and I both know this unit
PURPOSEFULLY waited as this Dominguez character was robbing
that store in front of them!!" He stood up from his seat and
angrily pointed his finger at Lee. "Lee, you know damn well
what they did, and you're still asking them questions they
can weasel out of!"

Lee took his microphone and glared at the councilman.
"You will not go out of order like that again, Councilmen
Rodgers. Please, sit down!" he scowled.

Rodgers threw his hands in the air and shook his head in
disbelief. "Unbelievable! All of you!" He directed his
attention to Ranma again. "You've been on IA's hot list for
YEARS Saotome! I know you've been through some tough
situations, but the things you do are unacceptable, do you
hear me!?" He leaned forward from his counter. "What kind of
a cop watches a woman get raped?" he slithered. "There were
nearly a hundred casings of 5.56mm ammo scattered around the
crime scene! If it hadn't been for a nosy by-the-book
sergeant at the scene, I'm sure you thugs would've had
others clean up the mess for you! How the heck do you
justify that?!"

Ranma didn't falter. "We are the Los Angeles Police
Department's secret weapon against hardened criminals and
repeat felony offenders. We operate under official
departmental police policy, in the Metropolitan Division of
Parker Center. The Special Investigative Section specializes
in dealing with the worst of the worst, the kind of slime
that good, decent folk do not even want to know about," he
crisply said. "If SIS hadn't been there, Councilman Rodgers,
that rape and murder would have happened anyway. And then
tomorrow...no. Not even tomorrow. Let's say next week, when
people assume they're safe again and they think he's not
around, he'll go out on another rape. And another. And then
another. Perhaps your own daughters and wives. We do this,
so that we can put these bad guys away for good, so that
they'll NEVER do it again."

Rodgers looked flustered, but still held on to what he
believed was right. "But--"

"But what? Hmm? There is a reason this unit has been
around since the 1960's, ladies and gentleman. Los
Angeles... is not the City of Angels. No, it's far from it.
Councilman Rodgers, someone of your stature and position
could not possibly know what we go up against, and what we
must face. Until you've been out there, and tangled with
some of the scum, you JUST-DON'T-KNOW."

Lee hid a smirk from under his hand, he'd been quite
understanding of what these men did for this city, whether
they were morally correct or not, they did make things
better. Not to mention he had a lunch appointment to make.

"Why you!" Rodgers yelled out.

"Restrain yourself, Councilman," Lee warned.

"Don't give me this nonsense that I, we, or anyone else
could've done something different," Ranma firmly stated.
"You don't know the people we deal with. You don't WANT to
know who we deal with. Los Angeles is barely a hospitable
place to live as it is, with a unit like ours to keep it
inline. Without SIS, we'd turn into a complete rotting
cesspool of crime, murder, and rape. If not that, the media
sensation and panic factor among the citizens would ruin
this city all together."

"I think we've heard enough today, detectives. You are
excused. Council adjourned," Lee announced.

Ranma smirked. "Thank you, sir." He turned around to
give his friends a wink.

The councilmen left from their seats and went out the
back door, with a flustered and angry Rodgers getting up
last to depart.

The rest of the men walked out of the room together,
ignoring some of the glares they were receiving from several
other city employees who were present.

When Ranma and his crew got outside, they were greeted
by the sight of tall skyscrapers and endless gray business
buildings. The familiar smell of dense LA smog, blowing
lightly on their faces was something that took some getting
used to, no thanks to the quick paced acceleration of the
cars littered on the overcrowded streets.

"That didn't go by too bad, did it?" Vince said smugly.
He loosened up his bright red silk necktie and unbuttoned
the top of his blue collar shirt.

"Could've been worse," McClane replied. "That Rodgers
sure could've screwed us over."

"Yeah, a lot worse," Ranma mumbled while holding a Bic
lighter in his mouth. "And we still have the shooting review
with the board of commissioners to worry about. Their
verdict is taking longer than expected." He was digging
through both his pockets for something, and found what he
was looking for. It was a small cigarette pack, with
Marlboro printed on the label in big bold black letters. The
pack looked quite old, as if it had been carried for a long
time and used infrequently.

Ranma pulled out the last cigarette in the pack and
stuck it in his mouth, lighting it up and taking a hit.

"I thought you quit," John asked, his voice quiet.

"I did. I haven't smoked one in four weeks, honest,"
Ranma said, pausing to take another hit. "This is my last
pack of Reds, and I'm finished."

"Yeah. Your folks in Japan probably wouldn't like that,"
McClane replied, nodding his head slowly. "I know how hard
it is. Took a while for me."

"Yeah." He started to frown, puffing a fat drag through
the side of his mouth. His lips smacked and his tongue
swished around in his mouth to get rid of the stale taste of
the old stogie. He sighed in disgust. "I have the mentality
to go on a training trip in the wild for years at a time and
be able to train in martial arts till my body goes numb, but
I have trouble quitting a fuckin' smoke."

"Hey, now..." Al tried to comfort him.

Ranma brushed him off, finishing off the last of his cig
and tapping away the ashes. "Don't worry about me. I can
hack it. Capisce?"


* * *


March 31st, 2001.
SIS HQ, Parker Center - Los Angeles, California. 11:00 AM.

Ranma casually walked past the heavily armed police
guards standing nearby the elevator and went straight
towards the SIS Bureau entrance. Strange, seeing sentries
placed on this floor, he thought to himself. Was there some
VIP visiting Parker Center?

Several people smiled and greeted him, all of them
fellow detectives who were SIS operatives. The pigtailed boy
walked through the office of his captain, along with several
documents in his hand.

"Ohayou, Captain Davis," Ranma chirped.

Davis lifted his head from a thick folder of documents
to give Ranma a frustrated grimace. "I really don't want to
hear any wise-ass Japanese remarks from you kid, besides,
it's a little too late for good morning."

"Fine, then. Good morning. I'm glad to see you too,
sir," Ranma replied grinning.

"Hey, good work on eliminating that bastard last week. I
got confirmation today from the DA that we aren't going to
get any more trouble from his death or the hostage. The
deputy chief and the shooting board called back too. You
guys are off the hook, the shooting was BARELY under policy.
And by barely, I'm saying you four fucked up. However..."
Davis trailed off, fixing a cold glare on Ranma.

Ranma was forming a big sweatdrop at the back of his
head. Davis' emphasis on barely didn't even mean that, it
meant that he had to go pull some favors and convince some
people that his officers weren't trigger happy street
sweepers.

"You and John's goon squad pulled a stupid stunt at the
bar, the other day. You didn't have to maim those guys you
know," Davis said.

"Well," Ranma hesitated, thinking. "I don't know. He
probably would've recovered and he'd probable continue
attacking other innocent people. Would it help if I told you
that we ran a check on one of them and he turned out to be a
wanted sex offender evading his parole hearing?"

"Fuck it." Davis shrugged. "Whatever. Enough of this
chit chat. What did you come and see me for?"

Ranma pulled out a letter from his jacket and handed it
to Davis. It was the same letter he'd received from the
Japanese NSA. "I was thinking about taking this job,
Captain."

Davis took the letter with a slightly crestfallen look
on his face. "I see," he replied. "I remember this letter."
He gave a witty smile. "I guess they want you badly, huh?"

"Yeah, it's quite a change for me."

"You really gonna take it?" Davis said. His voice was
quiet. "We'll sure miss you, ya know. You've done more for
this city as an individual than an entire precinct."

Ranma felt a bit hesitant. "I know, I know. This job is
a great opportunity for me. It's chance for me to go back to
Japan, something even I can't avoid forever. I miss life
there..."

The older captain looked Ranma straight in the eyes,
pondering to himself. He couldn't believe this. The cocky
asshole who he'd regretted recruiting and didn't even want
to bother with at first was now the same person he couldn't
bare to see leave. "Well, Saotome. If it means that much to
you, I guess you have my permission to go."

A smile crept on to Ranma's face. "Really? Like I needed
your permission?" he smirked.

"Yeah, yeah," Davis said, waving him off. "You are going
to come back and at least visit us once in a while, won't
you?"

Ranma replied as if it was the silliest question anyone
ever asked him. "Of course."

Davis' shook off the remaining feelings of melancholy
within him and tried to feel happy for Ranma. "You still
have a sense of duty even though you won't be with us.
You're simply amazing." His face hardened and he gave Ranma
a serious look. "Hey kiddo, if it ever doesn't work out
there remember that you still have a place with us
detectives, ok? You don't even have to reapply, I'll get you
back into the meat grinder with a phone call."

The pigtailed police officer was genuinely surprised to
hear this. "Thanks Cap'n." He pulled out another set of
papers from his jacket pocket and handed them to his boss.
"Hopefully you can push my resignation request so that it
will be processed quicker?"

"Ha!" Davis snatched the documents out of Ranma's hands.
"You forget who you're talking to here? I'm the captain of
the dirtiest police unit in the US!"

Ranma chuckled. "Don't say that, Captain."

"Oh yeah, you're going to be a Captain in your new job,
aren't ya?"

"Yeah, a 25 year old captain, isn't it great?" Ranma
grinned.

"Hmph," Davis huffed. "All I have to say to that is I
don't understand you fucking Japanese." Davis gestured for
Ranma to sit down. "This is gonna take a little while, but
I'll get you cleared right now, so take a seat."

The captain made several phone calls, signing various
different documents and making note of several important
pieces of info for Ranma. The two chatted along in between
the phone calls, and within an hour everything was set.

Davis rested the phone on the receiver. "That's it.
You're free to go."

"That quick?" Ranma said, astonished. The average
resignation took 2-3 weeks. He accomplished it in 3-4 phone
calls.

"Yeah, just pulling a few strings. You know you got a
couple of favors you have to pay back yourself, right
Saotome?"

"......" It was something he had conveniently shoved to
the back of his mind, storing it away and forgetting about
it. Ranma had been expecting this though, something he
inevitably remembered in his preparation to leave his
current life. "Yeah, I'm guessing someone decided to remind
you too?"

"Yeah, Hanna heard it through the grapevine almost
immediately. Give him a visit, same place as always."

Davis saw Ranma hesitate for a moment and look down on
something on the desk, before he looked up and reluctantly
nodded his head.

"You leaving tomorrow?"

"Yep. I packed up everything in my apartment and the
movers are taking them out right now as we speak. My plane
leaves at 1:30 AM."

"So then you're really leaving tonight!"

"I guess so," Ranma said. His expression was somber. "I
guess we'll see each other in the future then." He stuck out
his hand, speaking in a proud voice. "It was an honor
working with you sir."

Davis gave Ranma a firm, strong handshake. "Thank you,
Sergeant. It was a pleasure," Davis said, concealing the
sadness in his voice. His face turned into mock sternness.
"Now get the fuck outta here and go say goodbye to your
buddies."

Ranma exited with a grin and a two fingered salute.

-------------

Cocked, locked, and loaded. It was just the way these
guys liked it with their guns of blazin', and also the fact
that all their weapons and ammo were free for any use.

McClane finished up assembling a small subcompact
submachine gun, the kind that you could easily hide under a
thin set of clothes and still carry around. Of course to the
average civilian, even possessing one of these weapons
either at home or on the body would make it an instant
felony.

"Hey, it's Saotome," Vince pointed at the locker door.

Curious as to why his friends and unit were hanging out
in the armory, Ranma walked in to greet them. "What the hell
are you guys doing?"

"Hey, Ranma," McClane said. He pulled off a rifle from a
rack and placed it inside a huge bag.

Ranma chuckled at the ridiculous display of mass
firepower. "What the hell are you guys doing?" he said with
a smile.

Vince perked his head up from field stripping a pistol
he had in his hand. "Since we're the only group at the
moment without an assignment, we got ourselves a short
vacation. We're going to take all these boom sticks to
Elysian Park and go buck wild."

"Does Mr. Man Among Men want to join us?" Al joked from
the far corner of the locker.

"Ha, ha, ha," Ranma mocked sarcastically. His face
turned slightly crestfallen. "Actually, I'm here for
something else fellas. Sorry, but I can't go. I gotta visit
Robbery homicide downstairs and take care of some unfinished
business. Then I'm leaving for Japan tonight."

The three older detectives fell completely silent for a
couple of moments, speechless at the impact of Ranma's
words.

Finding the courage to say something more, Ranma broke
the ice of the moment. "I know it's a little quick, but
that's how it turned out to be."

"Wow, those feds are pretty quick in setting you up,"
McClane said, trying to ease up the tension. It didn't help
much.

Ranma lifted his head at the comment. "They're not
really feds, you know. The division I'm going to work for is
a law enforcement section with the ability to police. They
already had some movers at my apartment right after I was
done packing. They did it quick as hell too. I guess they
want me pretty badly, I even received First Class tickets."

Al walked over and got closer to the conversation. He
eyed the Beretta saddle on Ranma's belt. "I guess you're
here to turn in your sidearm then.

"Yep," Ranma replied. He unlatched the pistol from the
odd looking holster and unclipped his badge and spare ammo
clips. They were placed in a small plastic bin on a rack.
"I'm probably going to be issued new sidearms when I get to
Japan. I'll probably get another Beretta since I get to keep
my old holster."

"That's the only gun you take home with you," McClane
said, looking at the bin. "It's like you're in love with
it."

"Not really," Ranma replied. "I sold off my Smitty J-
frame and a lot of my duty gear the other day."

Vince looked sad and morose. He didn't think Ranma would
actually take the job. "I can't believe this. The guy we
loved to hate is now the guy we can't let go. Friend or
enemy, you always was a bastard," he chuckled.

"Can we visit you, maybe, at least?" John asked
hopefully.

"Well," Ranma idly said. He thought about it for a
moment, thinking of what they'd do if they ever came to
Japan. "I guess you can. You don't even have to ask," he
finished, smiling.

"Do you have a phone number we can reach you at?" Vince
asked.

"Yeah," Ranma said. He pulled out a piece of paper that
already had a number written on it. "It's funny, you know.
The NSA even lets me choose my own phone number. This number
here will direct you to someone who can contact me."

"Thanks," John said, pocketing the note.

Al wasn't satisfied with the way they were all parting.
"Wait! We gotta have a going away party for you at least!"

Ranma's face fell. "Sorry, I don't think I'll have the
time to do that."

"Now that's fucked up, Ranma. We're your buddies here,
we can't even have a last drink together?" Al looked visibly
upset.

"It's because of that I didn't want to have some
tearful, emo, going away party," Ranma said with weak smile.
"You know you guys are my brothers in arms."

He looked at the disappointed faces of his friends
and fellow teammates. "But when you guys ever visit me in
Japan, we'll go buck wild. Okay?"

This was good enough for them. "Hell yeah!" they all
replied enthusiastically in unison.

"Bye guys, it was an honor working with all of you,"
Ranma said. He turned to walk out the locker.

"Wait, Sergeant Saotome."

Ranma turned around to see a stern looking Lt. McClane.
"What is it, John?" he asked, confused.

McClane grabbed Ranma's badge from the bin and walked
towards him. "As the official leader of this group, although
we all know who the real leader is," he said, giving Ranma a
wink, "you will keep this badge as an honorary gift." John
grabbed Ranma's right hand and placed the badge in his palm.
"You've earned the right to have it with you for what you've
done for us. God knows, you of all people deserve it."

Without a word, Ranma clasped the badge in his hand,
both surprised and moved. He looked up to see McClane
smiling at him. "Thank you Lieutenant McClane." He
straightened his back and gave his friend and partner a
salute.

Vince came up to Ranma and gave him a hearty slap on the
back. "Get outta here before we get all mushy, ya bastard!"

Al gave Ranma a firm handshake as a final farewell.
"Later, Saotome. I pray you good luck for the future."

McClane gave him one last pat on the back. "Yippy ki
yay, motherfucker.* Good luck with your new life," he said
with a smile.
*Shameless plug.

Ranma smiled, that was John's trademark farewell. He
stepped back and gave a bow. "Thank you, all of you." He
swiveled around and walked out the locker, leaving behind
three men to reminisce about memories past.

John looked on at the locker door even after Ranma left.
"Fuck..." he quietly mumbled. "You're one of a kind,
Saotome."

-------------

As he walked down these white halls, he kept wondering
how different life would've been if he had stayed on course
with his original plans to be a detective for the main
bureau. Not that he had failed; he had accomplished working
as an investigator out of Parker Center.

But this was Robbery-Homicide, Metro's Robbery-Homicide.
The creme de la creme of the department. Sure, he'd worked
in the same building, only one floor above. But being only a
staircase or an elevator ride away, what a world of
difference there was in the respect they were shown, the way
the public viewed them, and the general mission to protect
and serve. SIS wasn't regarded as one of the department's
team players, or as a collective part of the law enforcement
effort. They were surgical tools, rogue warriors who
operated on single and specialized agendas only, and
occasionally called upon by other branches to do
surveillance work on trickier high profile criminals.

Several of the detectives who walked past looked
surprised to see him as they headed towards the elevators,
they didn't exchange any words and offered a nod to greet
him.

The metal framed door slid open with an electric whir
with a touch of a pad on the wall. Ranma read the jet black
"Major Cases Unit" label that was imprinted on the wire
reinforced glass window as it slid out of view, pausing for
a moment before he stepped in. The room was similar to the
setup SIS had, except with better furnishings and much
whiter, cleaner walls. The desks were strewn with documents,
whiteboards chock full of scribbled dry erase markers with
mindless circles everywhere, and the stale gust of re-
circulated air from the musty central air conditioner pushed
the scent of cheap Taster's Choice brew that had been opened
from a pack with an expired sell-by-date.

The left corner of the large room housed a private
office with an open white framed glass door, with a
connecting large stationary glass window showcasing who was
inside. Ranma looked in as he walked towards the corner
office, ignoring several looks by the few detectives who
were present and working at their desks. The occupant of the
corner office looked busy as he read some documents that
were in an open manila folder, but Ranma knew full well that
son of a bitch knew he was coming towards him.

It was as he walked in and closed the door behind him
that the detective looked up as if on cue to see Ranma
coming up to his desk and sitting down. "Sergeant Saotome, I
didn't know whether to expect you here or not."

"Shut the fuck up, Hanna. I'm not here for chit chat."

Lead Robbery-Homicide detective Lieutenant Vincent Hanna
gently laid his hands on top of each other on his desk. His
thick square reading glasses made his eyes look bigger than
they were. "You know, in my 29 years in this department," he
smacked his lips as he smoothly removed his glasses with his
left hand and tossed them on the table, "I've never had a
young, barking, slant-eyed chink Asian motherfucker like you
talk to me like that. Ever."

"As soon as I leave this building, I'm out of the LAPD."
Ranma's face looked cool and calculated.

He looked at the aging relic in front of him, a truly
horrendous example of a man who had seen it all. The thrice
divorced detective in front of him wore a bright, almost
luminous red necktie to an equally shining black shirt,
covered by a pinstriped dark gray suit that was devoid of
any wrinkles, lint, or visual blemishes in general. The
collars of his shirt were perfectly starched, and his
messily styled dark and thin hair took away some of the
dreariness of the big black bags that sagged under his weary
fish eyes.

"I came to pay back my debts," Ranma simply declared.
"I'm not going to hide from them."

"Yeah, I never took you for a rat motherfucker. You've
always been the soldier. That proud warrior," Vincent
slithered, his lips still smacking. He leaned back in his
chair, eyebrows raised and his eyes narrowed. "I'd hate to
give a beef to your captain for covering up what you fucked
up."

"Don't remind me," Ranma answered with clenched teeth.
He took a slow breath in to calm himself, and he leaned
forward to put his elbows on the table and propped his chin
under his fists. "Tell me what you need to get done."

Lt. Hanna grabbed his reading glasses and nearly chucked
them back on, immediately immersing himself back in to the
documents that were scattered on his table. He didn't notice
Ranma getting even more visibly agitated with him, as the
younger detective couldn't stand being dicked around with.

"I'm guessing you still aren't willing to give up your
homies in La Eme, are you?"

Ranma shook his head, as if he were motioning to Hanna
that he had no chance. "They helped me find out all the
fuckers involved in the deal that got Ichino killed. They're
still helping out a couple of detectives in and around. I'm
not gonna rat them out."

"Stubborn motherfucker. Just give me those fucking
beaners and I wouldn't even have to have you lift a finger.
Mexican Mafia is just another shit bag in the wind, son. I
guess I'll have to give you the hard way out." Hanna reached
into a desk drawer that was full of files and he pulled out
a picture from one of them, with a sheet attached to it. He
wordlessly handed it over to Ranma.

"Who's this guy?" Ranma asked. The picture showed a
middle aged Caucasian with a ponytail. Guy looked pretty
enough to be a model. He flipped to the attached sheet.

"He's a professional thief named Chris Shiherlis, got
away over six years ago after a shootout that resulted in
one dead detective. One of my own. Had a chance to get him
then and blew it. He's been clean since and resurfaced in
LA. We haven't been able to tail him with anything
substantial."

"I remember this case," Ranma said frowning. It was a
really big matter, something he had remembered watching on
the news and later studied in the academy. The version he
heard though from both the media and through the academy was
that all suspects involved had been killed. "There was
someone who got away?" He looked at Lt. Hanna with thinned,
accusing eyes, he couldn't believe someone of Hanna's
caliber would let someone slip away.

"I fucking did what I could you fucking brat," Hanna
spat, anger rising from past wounds. It was a case that had
festered and haunted him for years, and finally a favor from
SIS would work in his favor to resolve it. "Just get rid of
this fucking cockroach, and we're even."

Ranma looked away in disgust but not in surprise. A
grave mistake he had made earlier in his career was covered
up as a favor to later cash in on this. Ranma had known for
a while that he would end up pulling a hit to pay for his
sin. "How do you want it done?"

"Simple and straight, no bullshit involved. Get
something messy, come back here to dump the gun to your
buddies, and fly the fuck out of the country. You won't get
caught. No one will pursue a thing. I'll take care of that
myself."

"Will he be at this address?" Ranma said, getting up to
his resigned fate. He knew the older detective in front of
him was a self-righteous bastard through and through, this
assignment at least gave no moral qualms as to whether the
suspect deserved to die or not. Cop killers gave him an
extra absence of mercy.

"No guarantees he'll be home, he might be out. You might
have to camp out. I don't give a fuck really, not my
problem. I just know you're gonna get it done, or someone
else is going to pay what you owe."

"I'll take care of it." He got up and picked up the
photo from Hanna's desk, and turned to walk out.

"For what it's worth," Hanna blurted suddenly, causing
Ranma to spin in surprise, "You've been a good cop. Better
than most. I just pray to God your soul is salvaged from
where you've dragged it."

Ranma barely finished listening to what the senior
officer had to say, shuffling out the door and closing door
behind him as quick as possible.

* * *

March 31st, 2001.
Pacific Palisades Luxury Condos. Hermosa Beach, California.
8:59 PM.

Cursing at the digital clock on the Crown Vic's
dashboard for the umpteenth time, Ranma threw another empty
beer can into the back of the seat. Bad habits died hard, he
had bought a 12-pack of Bud Light to keep him some company.
The locale was far better than he could've wished for
himself, with an empty, dark and desolate parking lot that
had a clear view of his target's cream colored Cadillac
Eldorado. Hermosa Beach was a regular hotspot for the young,
a laid back beach town that had a connecting boardwalk
promenade with the neighboring beach towns. It was just a
sheer stroke of luck that this particular block was
unusually empty and free of almost any traffic.

It was easy surveillance for the pigtailed detective,
his only problem being the constraint of time. He had just
seen his target through the windows of the condos, getting
dressed and probably ready to head out soon. Ranma noticed
how carefree his behavior was for a known bank robber and
wanted cop killer, but since the guy had stayed clean since
and the heat from his escapades had subsided years ago he
probably didn't find anything to worry about. He certainly
didn't mind little paranoid details like leaving his blinds
open or even scoping out his surroundings to track any
tails.

Ranma shook his head, dead cops and their ghosts were
never forgotten.

Resting on his lap was a synthetic black stocked
shotgun, a Remington 1187 semi-automatic with a gas cycled
action. The magazine tube was extra long and it extended an
inch or two beyond the eighteen inch barrel.

After what seemed like an eternity his target came out.
Chris Shiherlis was an average looking man, not overly tall,
not really a big build, and a normal blonde haircut. His
features were sharp and he looked like a pretty boy, but he
didn't fit any stereotypical archetype for a professional
criminal.

The quiet, unassuming ones are the most dangerous, Ranma
thought. Not because they looked like they could, but you
wouldn't expect that they CAN. He was already up and about
and blending with the shadows of the buildings near his
victim's car. Professional he may be, it was no match for
Ranma's sublime stealth.

Shiherlis walked over to his parked Cadillac and stepped
inside, fumbling with his keys into the ignition. He barely
managed to crank the starter when he saw a thin shadow
across his dash which reflected the moonlight. His heart
instinctively paused as he panned to the left, his shoulders
tensing up.

His brown eyes passively locked onto a set of dull gray
blue ones, which were also aligned down a cold steel barrel
that was aimed at his face. Ranma gave Chris a moment to let
the situation sink into his head, and get a good accusatory
look into his soul. Ranma wanted him to know without a
shadow of a doubt, his time for retribution had come.

Most people flinched and screamed or shivered
pathetically when confronted with the last moment of their
lives. Chris Shiherlis wasn't most people. He had done
things, evil things, that he had forced through so many
times that he had been able to sleep at night without gut
wrenching regret despite his sins.

With this 12-gauge muzzle pointed right at him, he
dared not blink or look away. He wordlessly accepted his
fate as the last thing he saw was a blinding spark.

* * *

April 1st, 2001.
JAL Airlines, Boeing 747 Jumbo Jet. Somewhere over the
Pacific Ocean. 3:01 AM.

Mechanical marvels were always fascinating to Ranma,
ever since he was introduced to the world of auto clubs and
motor sports thanks to some friends he made in college.

This huge jet he was flying in was no exception. It was
awe-inspiring to see a huge hunk of metal like this could
fly so high and so far, while at the same time being as
comfortable and hospitable as the finest limousines you
could hire. Ranma snuggled comfortably in his nice khaki
pants and handsome polo shirt and vest. He was pleased to
find out that his seat reclined all the way back, although
it was disappointing to know that the comfy and cushy
leather seats absorbed the spine compressing thrust of the
jet during takeoff.

A young and attractively cute stewardess pulled up next
to Ranma with a cart full of various beverages and snacks.

"Would you like anything to drink, sir?" she politely
asked.

A nice slug of sake would sure be nice to fall asleep
to, Ranma thought. "I'll have some Onikoroshi, please."

"Certainly." The stewardess pulled out a bottle from a
cooling compartment and handed it to Ranma along with a
traditional square wooden sake cup. "May I get you anything
else?"

"That'll be all, thank you." He slowly sipped the
chilled sake, savoring the fine wine as it slithered down
his throat, wishing he had some fine sashimi to accompany
such a fine drink. Onikoroshi was an expensive drink,
something he indulged in quite rarely because of its price.
The alcohol took its effect almost immediately, easing off
Ranma's mind into a more tranquil state.

He progressively drank some more, his visage softening
and his mood relaxing. His mind seemed to crawl back to old
memories, some which he preferred to forget. That didn't
stop his brain from picking on some of those sore spots,
however. Ranma slowly cycled into a flashback as his eyes
closed, his mind falling asleep.

------------------

* * *

<Flashback>


June 28th, 1997.
Living Room, Tendo Home - Nerima, Japan.

The room was dead silent to those who were present. The
wind could be heard quietly whistling against the wooden
sliding doors. The light splish-splash of the fish in the
koi pond reverberated ever so quietly among the three people
who were standing in the room, facing each other.

Ranma barely had the strength to eek out the words past
his tongue. "This can't be happening. Please tell me you're
playing a cruel joke Akane," he whispered out.

Across from him was his fiancee of almost six years. The
girl he had fallen in love with and pledged his life to.
Right now his vision of heaven was turning into a tunnel of
despair that led straight to hell.

"I'm not playing a joke on you, Ranma," she quietly
replied, her eyes unable to meet his. Akane looked down on
the floor, feeling guilt and remorse over the whole
situation.

To her right was Ryoga, who looked just as grim as she
did. "This isn't something that formed out of the blue,
Ranma. You couldn't possibly understand right now," Ryoga
said.

Ranma clenched his teeth and closed his eyelids,
breathing in and out a couple of times, to deal with this
catastrophic wave of emotions. One part wanted to just
scream and lash out, the other part wanted to know why the
hell this had happened.

Unfortunately, more of the former broke loose within
him. "Damn it, Akane! How could you do this to me?!" he
yelled. "Why?!"

Akane couldn't take it anymore either. The tears started
streaming down her face. "I'm sorry, Ranma!" she said, guilt
welling up in her. "I..I..." she stuttered.

"Why!? Why'd you betray me?!" Ranma yelled again, a
cracked cacophony of despair in his voice. He almost had
tears in his eyes himself. "I...I... I told you I loved you!
I wanted to marry you! Why the hell did you bother telling
me you love me?"

Not able to stand by doing nothing any longer, Ryoga
stepped up to Ranma with one of his arms around Akane. He
had a menacing look on his face, shadowed by composed and
controlled patience. "She was lonely, Ranma. That's why she
fell in love with me," he said. The tension was strong in
his voice. "It was your fault you weren't there." His eyes
narrowed at Ranma. "You were too busy in that gaijin
college!"

Ranma stepped right into Ryoga's shadow, only a couple
of centimeters away from his face. His eyes were only seeing
red. "You bastard!" He poked Ryoga in the chest. "How could
I help it?! I didn't have time to visit! That's why I worked
my ass off to graduate in three years! Do you think that was
easy? I suffered my first year, trying to get everything
done as soon as possible! Does that mean nothing to you!?"
he spat, although carefully leaving out the part where he
used various methods of cheating to pass classes thanks to
some clever friends. "What did I do to deserve this? Tell
me?"

"I'm sure ditching your fiance to study abroad doesn't
count, ne?" Ryoga scoffed.

He was quickly responded with a punch to his face but
dodged it easily as Ryoga saw Ranma's furious aura flare out
of control. In Ranma's current angry state, he was too
unfocused to get a cheap shot at a veteran fighter like
Ryoga.

Ryoga retaliated by shoving Ranma back, but he didn't
attack him. Instead he pointed his finger at him and
shouted. "It didn't happen overnight, Ranma! God damn it!"
Ryoga yelled in frustration. "Stop acting like a girl and
face it like a man! Akane is in love with me! With ME!!"

"No!! It can't be true!" Ranma said, frantically. He
looked into Akane's eyes, his eyes bloodshot and his
complexion yelling desperation. "You can't be serious,
Akane!"

This time, Akane finally looked into his eyes. Ranma saw
the deep sadness and melancholy there. "It's true," she
quietly replied. "I still love you, Ranma. But only as a
close friend, now." She looked over to Ryoga, and back at
Ranma. "Like he said, this didn't happen overnight." Her
face went through several pain stricken expressions. "Ryoga
helped me out at some bad times, times where I wished you
were next to me. Times where I wished you weren't overseas.
He's been real supportive of me. I grew to love him. I love
him very much right now. We're going to get married, though
not anytime soon."

Ranma was grief stricken and his jaw hung open. He
looked down at the ground. "No..."

"I'm sorry too, I didn't think things would end up this
way," Ryoga said, as he was feeling genuinely remorseful at
the complexity of the situation. His relationship with Akane
didn't seem so regretful with Ranma out of the picture,
three thousand miles away. But it had gone too far, over a
year of trust and mutual companionship from Akane had sealed
something far stronger than a short fling.

A look of deranged madness crossed Ranma's features. He
took one look at Ryoga and turned his head towards the koi
pond. With a nasty look on his face, he grabbed Ryoga before
he could react and chucked his body into the pond as hard as
he could. "I got you now, Pchan," Ranma mumbled to himself.

"What was the point of that?" Akane asked, accusingly.
Now she was mad.

"Wha-?" Ranma's jaw dropped in confusion as he saw Ryoga
emerge from the pond, still completely human. His eyes were
wide and bewildered.

Ryoga walked up to Ranma and spit some water into
Ranma's face, transforming him. "If you're going to act like
a girl, you might as well be one, RANKO!" A smile settled
onto his face, showing that he'd won.

Unable to comprehend what had happened, a female Ranma
continued to stand in place, looking on in shock. "What the
hell happened?" she asked to anyone who was listening.

However, Ryoga and Akane didn't hear his question. Now
it was their turn to gawk, however this time it was directed
at Ranma's curse. What used to be a cute, peppy looking 5'
4" girl was now a gorgeous, 6 foot tall woman.

Akane's brain shifted out of neutral and into drive.
"Ranma, why didn't you become smaller as a girl? You-you
actually grew taller!" She looked at the aquatranssexual up
and down."

Ranma frowned at that comment. It was true, she did look
a dramatically different from what she used to look like
three years ago. She had much more prominent curves in the
right places, a more seductive and sexy body, and beauty
that would shame even Ms. Hinako. Her current female body
was only a little bit taller than her male form, albeit of
course with a smaller and feminine frame.

She wiped her face of the excess water, her eyes still
trembling with anger. "Over the past couple of years I
realized that my cursed form was still growing, although my
male form had matured completely long ago," Ranma said. This
seemed to give Akane and Ryoga a bit more understanding.

"Apparently my other side had naturally grown into a
much more adult body. I actually called Cologne once to ask
about it and she surprised me when she told me that what my
cursed form was doing was only natural, however it will
remain young and adult for the rest of my life."

In that moment the two bumbling fathers of the home,
Soun and Genma, entered tumbling into the room. They were
both red with anger and shock. It seemed Nabiki had just
informed them of the love triangle. Ranma's ears passed off
the ensuing chaos as a numb drone. His mind couldn't quite
grasp the mess that he'd gotten into this time.

<End Flashback>


* * *

-----------------

That wasn't too pleasant, he thought idly. It had been
years since the breakup happened, and he got on with his
life. But every now and then the very thought of Akane
sucking Ryoga's dick really hurt his head.

"Damn that Ryoga," Ranma mumbled to himself, his eyes
drooping from fatigue. He turned his eyes towards an LCD
screen that was attached to his seat, a special novelty that
First-Class fliers were able to use. The onboard flight info
on the screen showed that there was still approximately
three and a half hours left in the flight.

"I wonder what people will think when they see how
different I've become," he idly thought, before his mind
drifted to sleep.

----------------

* * *

<Flashback>


July 20th, 1997.
Saotome Home - Nerima, Japan.

"Thanks anyway, I appreciate the offer, but I'd really
like to be a sensei instead," Ranma spoke to the hand piece.
He hung up the phone on the receiver and breathed a large
sigh.

After an entire week of pining over Akane and venting
off an endless supply of frustration, Ranma started looking
for jobs around the Nerima area as a dojo sensei. But he was
out of luck. No one seemed to need an extra hand, either
that or they couldn't afford one.

He scratched the back of his head, thinking about the
details of the past week. He found out that Ryoga had taken
a trip to Jusenkyo and brought back bottles of Nannichaun
for himself and the other cursed Nerima citizens. Shampoo,
Mousse, and even pops, were now all 100% human. This was
actually quite a shock to him, he'd never really figured
that re-cursing himself with the spring of drowned man would
actually work. It certainly didn't work for Pantyhose Taro,
who had cursed himself multiple times to become the freak
that he was.

What made things awkward was that Ryoga had even offered
a bottle of the stuff to Ranma, even after what happened.
Ranma had refused immediately, not wanting anything more to
do with him. To say that he was peeved would have been a
gross understatement, he was kicked out of the house
forcefully after he had gone berserk again and spit in Akane
and Ryoga's faces. His female form was considerably weaker
and smaller in body mass to his male form, allowing Ryoga to
restrain him with his own incredible strength and tossed him
He'd gotten used to the curse anyway, and the thought of
becoming fully male wasn't even on his mind at that moment.
He was much too hurt and blinded to see that Ryoga had
actually been genuinely sincere enough to make amends
despite what had occurred, but for now Ranma had to get
away.

There was also another thing that sort of frustrated
him, although it bothered him to think this way. He hadn't
gotten any since he'd left Nerima over three years ago.
Since then he had stayed true to Akane and stayed abstinent
the whole time, which was an incredibly remarkable feat. And
it wasn't like he could just run over to his friend Ucchan
or even Shampoo either for a quick lay, he respected them
more than that.

"Oh, man," Ranma sighed. He looked down at a phone
number that was written on a small business card in his
hand. It wasn't a local number, but a long distance one.
VERY long distance. He pondered for a second whether this
would be the right choice to make.

After switching glances from the card in his hand and
the telephone, he made up his mind. Nerima had nothing left
for him anymore. "Alright. Beggars can't be choosers, I
might as well take a chance at the unknown."

Ranma picked up the phone to make an international call
to Los Angeles.

-----------

Genma was lying on his side, watching some sort of wacky
cooking show on the big screen TV he'd acquired from a pawn
shop. He had some various snacks in front of him and several
cans of beer, all empty.

Despite how lazy he was and how useless he used to be,
Genma had found a fitting job that made plenty of money to
support himself and his wife. What made the job bearable was
that it suited the things he was best at. He'd actually set
himself a reputation for being a top notch repo-man for
banks and small time creditors, getting paid to steal back
items from people's homes and cars from right under their
noses. Genma found out that he was especially good at
boosting cars, but what he did wasn't illegal, it was
repossession of assets in which the owners were unable to
pay for. Suffice to say, Genma liked it, and so did his
employers.

Currently, he eyed his son walking into the living room
to where Nodoka was sitting on the couch, reading a novel.

"Boy, you make your father shameful. You can't find a
job as a sensei let alone keep a fiancee. Aren't you ashamed
of him, Nodoka?" Genma mocked,

"Shut up old man," Ranma replied. He kicked his pops in
the ribs as he passed him by, knocking the air out of him.
It wasn't anything overly rough, just a quick jab made out
of annoyance. Ranma was incredibly surprised to learn his
father was now an honest working man now, and better yet
making a respectable amount of money to take care of his
mother and live a relatively comfortable life that she
dearly deserved. It comforted him greatly that he now had a
father he could be proud of and he could respect.

"Don't mind him son," Nodoka said, her nose still
planted in the paperback she was reading. She set it down on
her lap and faced her only son. "What's on your mind?"

Ranma fiddled with his fingers behind his back, and eyes
sort of wandered, hesitating at what he wanted to say. "Mom,
I want to be a police officer," he said, trying to sound as
serious as possible.

This took the elder Saotome matriarch by surprise; this
was totally out of the ordinary. "A police officer?" she
replied. "Tokyo Police?"

How was he going to explain himself out of this one,
Ranma wondered? He scratched his head and breathed a sigh.

"No, no. Let me explain." Ranma pulled up a stool that
was in the corner of the room and sat down facing his
mother.

Genma turned his head away from the TV, he too was also
surprised at Ranma, and faced mother and son to hear the
conversation.

"When I was going to college over in UCLA I studied
Physical Education as a major, but I was also quite
interested with Criminal Law. It was interesting to learn,
and I actually liked it," Ranma said. His face scrunched
slightly at what he was about to say next, but it was for a
good purpose. "Remember how I got Nabiki to forge some
documents so that I could pretend to be a US citizen to
qualify for the ROTC scholarship? I did it so that you guys
didn't have to pay for my education, since it gave a lot of
benefits."

"That was thoughtful of you," Nodoka said, smiling.

Ranma continued. "Right after I graduated, I deferred
from going into full military service and turned to just a
reserve officer, although they'll never be able to track my
records down to draft me, thanks to Nabiki." He pulled out
an envelope from his pocket. "Funny thing is, the Los
Angeles Police department sent me a recruiting letter asking
if I was interested in becoming a cop. I don't know why they
sent me a letter, but I guess it was because I was
registered as an Army reservist, or something. I don't know
the real reason for sure." Nor did he care.

"Of course, I didn't reply back until today," Ranma went
on. Next week I'm heading to Elysian Park, Los Angeles to
start training in their Academy."*

This didn't go by too well with Genma. "Shame on you,
boy!" he scowled. "Turning back on martial arts?! How is it
an idiot like you can get accepted that easily into a police
academy?"

He flinched back as Ranma glared daggers at him for the
remark. "For your information, I worked my butt off and I
was very well educated in college. I did a lot of things in
my spare time to become a better person." Ranma started
shouting. "And I didn't turn my back on martial arts! I was
the president of the martial arts club in college, even
though I wasn't experienced as an administrator! I practiced
everyday! I can beat you now without even trying! I might be
able to take on Happosai, maybe!" He left out the part where
he'd also spent lots of his spare time with friends, having
fun and partying, and oddly enough, getting into the world
of motorsports. Cars and bikes were really addicting to work
on, he'd learned.

"You're good, I'll give you that one. And you do train
as hard as you've always have," Genma commented, his stature
turning more serious. "But you're still young. And you're
still a bit arrogant. You know better than that Ranma. You
really think just PRACTICING alone makes you better? From
what I've seen you've barely done any serious street
fighting. And that dulls anyone's edge."

His father's small but rare bit of advice sunk into his
head, a part of himself knew that his father was right.

Nodoka tapped the hilt of her katana on the top of
Genma's head, making him nervous. "You should be proud of
your son, Genma." She placed the katana behind her once
Genma started sulking. She turned to face her son again.
"We're both very proud of you Ranma. Being a police officer
is a very noble job. It's comes at a bit of a surprise, yes.
But you're an adult now. And part of being a man is learning
how things are by yourself."

For a second there Ranma wondered how his mother knew of
something like that. He only had a vague idea himself.
"Arigato-gozaimasu, Okaasan."

"You must still swear that you will still carry on the
family art and practice to perfect it so that you may carry
it on, Ranma," his mother said.

Ranma scoffed at that. "Of course." Fighting was still
his life. There was no way he'd go soft with that.

She tsked to herself and got up to make some tea for the
three of them to drink. "I really am proud of you, son. It's
a shame about Akane, such a nice girl. I'm sorry about what
happened, but it really isn't your fault. As honor bound as
I may be, I understand what happened. Love is a very fickle
thing. It's unfair for you, but it's also unfair for Akane-
chan to marry someone she doesn't love either."

Nodoka knew that lashing out at the Tendo family was
going to cause unnecessary turmoil that would later turn to
regret. She sighed inwardly, some people, her own son
included, still saw her as the somewhat stone cold honor
bound woman that Genma had first described of her. But that
was ridiculous. What was she going to do, use her sword to
eradicate the whole Tendo family?

The 21 year old was slightly crestfallen. "Yeah..."

Genma's lips thinned at the emotional scene. "Stop
pampering the kid."

The lazy father was greeted by two angry faces in front
of him, with glares to match. "Shut up!/Quiet!" mother and
son simultaneously yelled.

"I'm going to be leaving in a couple of days, mom. I
don't want to cause another havoc by leaving Japan again.
Can you tell everyone else about where I'm going for me? I
don't want to deal with a bunch of complications."

For now all he had to worry about was producing the
proper documents to get back into the US to be properly
registered and inducted into his upcoming career. Luckily a
few counterfeit ID's that he'd kept for use in college would
come in handy.

Nodoka nodded. "Of course, son."

"Thanks, mum."

<End Flashback>


* * *


-----------------

Fate had taken quite an interesting twist on his life.
It was fate that had decided to take Akane away from him,
and have him venture into a career and lifestyle that he
never would have anticipated. And it was now fate that was
taking him back to Japan to make amends with his ghosts and
start over.

But that was just a mildly comforting excuse. Ranma knew
better than to blame his path on an unwritten fate. He
reminded himself that he also had plenty of ghosts he was
leaving behind in America as well, too many in fact. He'd
been subjected to enough bullshit in his life, consciously
he knew that returning to Japan would be a welcome change to
his life, his subconscious knew that if he didn't he'd
eventually blow a fuse.

Right now he would sleep, there were only a few hours
left in the flight anyway. His mind drifted to an earlier
memory, one that had thoroughly changed the very core of his
being. It was inevitable, he had accepted, long before the
incident had even occurred. A lifetime of work was bound to
bring it on.

-----------------

* * *

<Flashback>


March 22nd, 1998.
Oakland and Highland Ave. Hollywood Division, Los Angeles.
3:15 PM.

"You know, one of these days I swear I'm gonna try for a
lunch break that's longer than five minutes."

"No problem, pup. I'm not stopping you. If you can find
a way to shut the radio up, be my guest."

A marked black and white LAPD Ford Crown Victoria
coasted to a stop behind the crosswalk. This particular
cruiser was a newly cycled car for the department, marked as
unit 642 on the roof in bold black lettering, a lucky and
random privilege given to the officers who were assigned to
it. The paint was still shiny and crisp under the bright
sunlight, despite the smoggy filter that consumed everything
in the Los Angeles atmosphere. Sure, the street was fairly
empty and traffic had been unusually light for this time of
day and place in Hollywood, and the red traffic didn't
really mean much to the two officers occupying the police
cruiser. They could've coasted right along, and no one would
dare say a thing to such an action.

However, Ranma decided as he sat in the driver's seat of
the Crown Vic, there wasn't really a need to rush things,
especially when getting into a rush was something you did
all day long. Getting a few minutes of peace at a red light
every intersection or so was a welcome rest, one that he
wouldn't take for granted.

He glanced over at his partner, who was sipping soda
from a fast-food cup. Really friendly guy, Ranma had learned
in the beginning of their partnership, even if he was
extremely thorough and uptight with rules and regulations.
He was a S2 rank patrol officer, very typical in his
appearance for a cop, short buzzed and neatly kempt hair for
practicality, a bulky upper body that hinted at his
strength, and a uniform that looked as if it had been
pressed clean and arranged neatly at all times. He wasn't an
educated man, but he knew the street beat and was a capable
officer to handle the civilian masses.

"I bet some of my classmates from the Academy* are
living it off easy with their requested posts," Ranma said.
He chuckled. "I guess it's my fault for choosing the busiest
division in the city?"
*Los Angeles Police Academy in Elysian Park.

Sergeant Dick Stensland nodded his head. "Yeah, you did.
We gotta meet our quota of suckers to reel in too, you
know?"

Both officers laughed to that. In the background were
chirps and crackles of the police-band radio, from incoming
and outgoing transmissions in the West Bureau.

"Dispatch, this is 6-Mary-34. I have a silver Cadillac
sedan, late model, speeding recklessly southbound on La
Brea, passing Sunset. My bike is stuck in gridlock and I
can't maneuver around."

"10-4, unit 6-Mary-34. Maintain vis..."

Stensland ignored the dialogue from the radio, it was
probably just another punk going on a joyride, even if it
was a Cadillac. The motorcycle cops were more suited to
handling the duty of a traffic maid.

"Nice to know the traffic rush hour is back in swing.
We're pretty close by, we can help out," Ranma said, much to
the dismay of his partner. Stensland was rolling his eyes.

"You make the call, kid."

Ranma picked up the receiver phone piece and clicked on
the transmit button. "This is 6-Adam-42, we'll tail that
Cadillac. Code 2."

A series of chirps accompanied his message.
"Acknowledged, unit 6-Adam-42. Code 1."

With a nod from his partner, Ranma took a right at the
next street and his foot mashed the gas pedal. This was a
routine call, so the sirens and lights were left off. Ranma
took a half eaten burrito that had been sitting on his lap
and ate it with his free right hand, using his left to steer
the car. His partner had already finished his food since he
didn't have to bother with driving and keeping his hands
occupied with the controls. At most all he had to do was
answer the radio.

"I've got an excuse at least to stay occupied with a
simple task instead of driving around in a craze to respond
to some incident," Ranma mumbled with the stuffed tortilla
in his mouth.

The radio blared with a sharp bleep. "West Traffic, this
is Valley Bureau, that late model Cadillac was involved in a
211 at a jewelry store, we were sidetracked and now they're
in your area, be advised!"

Stensland sighed and picked up the radio, as Ranma
nearly choked on his food and continued to scarf it down.
"Acknowledged, code 3."

"I didn't expect that to happen," Ranma said. He drank
and finished a bottle of water that he had opened earlier.
He turned on the sirens and lights.

The radio chirped again. "West Traffic, this is 15-
Lincoln-52 entering Hollywood division, intercepting to
assist. There is an unknown number of gang members in that
Cadillac, they are definitely armed and extremely dangerous.
I'm heading southbound on Formosa."

Ranma took a left and then took a sharp right, drifting
across the lanes. "15-Lincoln-52, this is 6-Adam-42, I'm
heading northbound on La Brea."

"I'm now going eastbound on Melrose, meet you at the
intersection."

Surely enough, Ranma saw what appeared to be a growing
commotion way in front of him, he saw a car driving
recklessly on the sidewalk, barely missing pedestrians.

"There he is," Ranma said. He pointed out with his
finger. "The guy is trying to get through the gridlock on
the wrong side of the road!"

"It looks like these pricks are on the run, let's step
on it!" Stensland said.

"Unit 6-Adam-14 coming in to assist, we're heading
southbound on Mansfield, approaching Waring Avenue!" the
radio blipped again.

The car being pursued popped back into the paved street
and raced down south on La Brea, about 200 yards away from
Ranma's car. From here Ranma could see exactly what car he
was chasing, a dingy grey 80's Cadillac Deville, with
multispoke wire hubcaps that flew off and rolled on their
own as the tires landed on the asphalt from jumping off of
the sidewalk curb.

The driver of the Caddy saw the flashing red and blue
lights in front of him, and made a dangerous left swerve to
go east on Melrose, miraculously missing hitting any of the
other cars in the intersection.

Unfortunately, this led to the Cadillac being tailed by
another police car responding from North Hollywood, unit 15-
Lincoln-52.

Incoming traffic from all sides of the intersection
halted as drivers saw that there was something serious going
on, which gave the officers in pursuit a chance to maneuver
around and chase the Cadillac.

Stensland pressed a button under the dash, and a
mechanical click unlocked the shotgun rack next to his
shoulder. "There's our North Hollywood guy," he said.

Ranma steered the car right to tail the other officer
onto Melrose Avenue, and a few seconds later the third
police car popped into view, causing the Cadillac to take
another right turn into an empty street, popping a tire in
the process. It seemed the turn was taken too fast, and the
friction on the tires coupled with the resistance from the
suspension caused a blowout. The grey car fishtailed out of
control and slammed on its side on a light pole, and stayed
in place.

All three police cars strategically blocked off the road
into a cul-de-sac, with Ranma's car in the middle, placed
perpendicular to the street.

The single sergeant from North Hollywood got out of his
car first and ran towards the Cadillac, his gun drawn.

Ranma was moving his arm to shift the car's column
transmission into park, and right as he looked out the
window to his right, his breath stopped.

It happened in a blink of an eye. Sergeant Jack
Vincennes never saw it coming. "Get your hands up, LAPD!" he
had yelled, and just as his lips finished moving, the dark,
limo-tinted windows of the Cadillac blew out in shards and
all he saw were two bright flashes of fire aimed at him.

One second, Vincennes was standing in front of the doors
with his pistol in his hands, the next second there was a
squirt of red that seemed to unexpectedly explode out the
back of his head and his body flopped to the floor
lifelessly in an awkward angle. Dead before he even hit the
ground, Vincennes dropped like a brick.

Panic struck Ranma, and Stensland was first to react.
"Jesus Christ!"

The two didn't even get a chance to reach for the radio
to call for help. 5 hooded and armed gangsters got out of
the car, all of them wielding cheap and illegal, street
bought, 9mm submachine guns. Two men raised their weapons,
aimed at Ranma's car, one with his Tec-9 and another with an
Ingram MAC-10, and sprayed a burst of fire through the
windshield.

"Get down!" Stensland yelled, as he and Ranma struggled
to get out the driver's side door.

The two weren't faster than the bullets; however, as
several rounds struck both of them as they pierced through
the glass. Ranma yelped out loud in pain as three shots hit
him in the center of his chest, pounding his rib cage
thoroughly as the Kevlar vest he wore elastically stretched
at the violent impact.

Ranma tumbled out of the car and landed on his shoulder,
amidst broken glass from the door windows. He immediately
regained his composure, and leaned against the front fender
of his car, the safest area since there was the engine block
for cover.

"You got the shotgun Stens!?" Ranma yelled out for his
partner amidst the chaos. He could hear panicked swearing
coming from around the corner, the third patrol car that had
responded was currently under fire and Ranma had no idea if
they were hit too. His mind was in too much of a flurry to
notice that his partner wasn't answering him.

He yelled for him again, in confusion. "Where the hell
are you Stens!?" he yelled, and he crawled backwards on his
hands and knees, facing the car. He took one look at the
driver's seat of his car, and his jaw fell.

All other noises seemed to mute as he stared forward, he
could feel his heart thumping in his chest and reverberating
all the way in his skull. His partner was lying on his left
shoulder, motionless. There was a trail of blood on his
right arm, tracing back to the side of his ribs.

It was then, Ranma understood just what in the hell had
happened. His partner was shot in a small, unprotected area
of his torso, where the front and back of his protective
vest velcro-ed together.

Wordlessly, with his jaw still hanging open in shock,
Ranma scrambled to yank his partner out of the car, grabbing
a fistful of his shirt and nearly dragging it off of his
head. Stensland wasn't a small guy, his bulk was difficult
to move around.

"Fucking cops!" the voice of one of the gangsters
bellowed, as he kept shooting at Ranma's temporary
barricade.

"Hang on, Stens, hold on buddy," Ranma pleaded to his
partner, who was still motionless but was at least grunting
out loudly, signaling that he was alive. Ranma flipped him
so that his back would lean against him, and this way he got
a closer look at Stensland's wound.

The moist blotch of blood that was tinting his already
dark blue uniform was rapidly spreading across his side.
Ranma could already tell that the bullets must have hit a
vital organ to knock him out incapacitated and possibly
fatally, and either way he would be bleeding to death real
soon. He did his best by placing pressure on the multiple
high velocity puncture wounds on his side, but it did little
to delay the bleeding.

Ranma looked over his shoulder to see that the other two
officers were currently mercilessly under fire, they were
clumsily ducking and shooting in the heat of the moment,
their pistols were no match against the combined firepower
of five automatic weapons. Ranma gasped as he saw the two
officers go down, their upper torsos were hit by a melee
spray of fire by one of the gangsters, hitting them both in
the collars and nicking one in the neck.

He was all alone now.

With a shaky hand, drenched in his partner's blood,
Ranma reached for his radio mike on his shoulder, and
clicked the transmit button. "Officers down, officers down!
This is 6-Adam-42, on the eastern section of Mansfield and
Clinton!" His voice was raggedy and strained. "I need backup
RIGHT NOW! Backup goddamnit! SOMEBODY HELP ME!" he screamed,
his lips quivering and eyes bloodshot with nervous tears.

Right after he had finished sending his cry for help,
Ranma could've sworn he heard at least three different
sirens pop up and echo throughout the streets, and even the
shrieking wail of a fire truck. His mind was jolted back to
the reality of the moment as the gunfire continued to erupt,
this time it would be focused all on him.

The Motorola radio that was attached to his Sam Browne*
chirped, "All units, all units, we have an officer down on
Clinton and Mansfield Ave, tactical command has been
alerted. 10-David is en-route." The dispatcher's voice was
disturbingly calm and sterile, devoid of emotion under the
circumstances.

"Die, you fucking pigs!"

Another burst of 9mm ammo pounded against Ranma's bullet
riddled patrol car. The door panels of all the recently
issued patrol cars were lined with armor, however with the
amount of shooting that was happening the door wasn't going
to last much longer. Ranma could feel the door popping on
his back and pushing him as the bullets impacted against the
armor plates.

He picked at his radio again. "Damn it dispatch, where
the fuck is my backup!?"

"Officers are on the way, ETA less than two minutes."

Ranma cursed the shitty Los Angeles rush hour gridlock.
"I won't be here in another two minutes!" he screamed,
bitter rage building in his eyes. This was bullshit! He
could hear sirens within earshot, and still it would take
precious time that he didn't have for help to come. "Tell
them to get here fas-"

Six bullets weakly penetrated through the shredded door,
and hit him in the back before he could finish his sentence.
The surprise shock felt electrifying up the nerves of his
spine, and caused him to yelp out in a painful shriek of
agony, which the gangsters took as a death rattle.

Several whoops and shouts of cheering could be heard
behind Ranma's back. "I think we got 'em!" Being the
criminal idiots that they were, their victory cry included
emptying their weapons into the air.

This opening was not missed by Ranma. He set his
partner's body on the ground, his trained reflex and
instincts to survive finally kicked in and he crouched
behind the hood of the car with his pistol extended hand in
hand. His eyes were blank, focusing only on the combat
pyramid of the three white dots that were fixed on the top
of his pistol. His stance was picture perfect, a result from
hours of training a competition-style shooting stance, just
for this certain circumstance.

He shot out five rounds quick and crisp with the
trigger, aiming at his enemy with surgical precision and
lightning quick acquisition. It looked almost like dominoes
falling down in sequence from right to left, a round in the
central area of their faces. The whole cycle was so quick
the last guy to be put down was barely able to get his gun
pointed in the general direction of Ranma again, only to
have the connection between his brain and spine be severed
from a piercing bullet.

A downed officer several yards away saw the whole scene
take place while he was barely conscious, struggling to stay
alive. "Holy shit...how'd he do that?" his voice rasped.

Ranma stood up, his eyes were now a bit watery and he
still had his pistol aimed at a group of dead bodies. He
strengthened his grip on his pistol because it felt slippery
with the blood of his partner drenched on his hands. Slowly
and carefully he walked around and approached the downed
gunmen, his feet stepping in several new trails of blood
that were seeping from their perforated skulls.

"Y-y-you're under a-arrest!" Ranma yelled, although he
was speaking to a corpse.

No reply came to him, and Ranma calmly holstered his
pistol and stepped backwards until he was up against his
battered car. He slid down and sat on the hood, the sound of
sirens slowly flooding his ears as other units arrived at
the scene.

-----------------

"Relax, you're going to survive nearly being shot to
death only to die from a heart-attack if you don't calm
down."

That was easier said than done, Ranma thought to
himself. The paramedic checked him over one last time with a
stethoscope and a small flashlight before he patted him on
the shoulder.

"That'll do it. Other than a couple of bruises on your
back and chest, you're perfectly fine. Your adrenaline is
probably still pumping so your pain sensors are all blocked
out, you might find out if you have bruised or broken ribs
later when things are normal," the medic advised him.

Ranma just sat on the curb, looking out in front of him.
They were already bagging up Sergeant Vincennes' corpse,
along with Ranma's partner. The other two officers had
survived apparently, although with serious injuries. But the
initial outlook was good, and the paramedics on site had
deemed that they shouldn't be life threatening. They were
both quickly rushed to Cedar Sinai Medical, not the closest
but the finest hospital in the region.

There must have been at least 20 officers surrounding
the area right now, with several dozen more to come soon.
All news trucks and reporters were aggressively pushed away
from the scene, and with the grief of two officers deceased
hanging on the minds of every officer in sight, they meant
business.

The medic cleaned off the last of the blood that was
stained on Ranma's hands, the blood of his late partner.

"It's amazing what you did here, buddy," the paramedic
said. "It's a miracle you survived." He pointed to a
shredded armor vest that Ranma had taken off minutes ago.
"That thing saved your life."

Ranma tried hard to ignore his words, right now he was
feeling more miserable than he had ever felt in his life. "I
was all wrong for this job, I'm not cut out for it." His
lips started quivering and his eyes went runny. "I-I-I
killed those guys back there."

A sympathetic hand pat his shoulder. "They got what was
coming to them," the medic said, nodding his head slowly.

Ranma buried his face in his hands to cover the
miserable look on his face. "But I'm a killer now! Jesus
Christ, look what I've done!"

The paramedic looked stern, and he smacked his hand
against Ranma's face lightly. "Hey, listen to me." He
grabbed Ranma's chin with his hand to get his complete
attention, and looked him straight in the eye. "You're a
hero, not a cold-blooded killer like these fucking assholes.
Two officers kept their lives because of you. What you did
was hand out justice."

"And what about my partner, huh?" Ranma wiped away the
medic's hand away. He had been the driver; it was he who had
parked the car in a way that made his partner vulnerable.

"You can't blame yourself for that, you didn't kill him.
He was a police officer too, he knew what he was getting
himself into. That's what being a cop is all about. It means
laying down your life to protect and serve. You did your
job, he did his."

"......"

"Don't worry," the medic responded in a softer voice
"This happens to all cops and their first homicide. When you
get back to the station you're going to be assigned a police
psychologist to help you out with the trauma, and be given a
standard two week leave of paid absence. But just remember,
no matter what happens... none of this is your fault. You
did something truly brave and noble today."

His words proved comforting and Ranma felt a little
relaxed. "Thank you, sir."

"Good then!" he exclaimed with a smile. "You're all
patched up now, and I'm gonna go help some others now."

The paramedic packed up his kit and walked away, looking
back and giving him one last nod. Ranma weakly acknowledge
him with a nod of his own. Another man was walking his way,
wearing a heavy uniform with tactical gear. The pouches on
his chest were packed with flash grenades and several other
tools. There was a sling on his shoulder attached to a
short, carbine rifle of the AR variety. He simply stood in
front of Ranma, and gave him an uncomfortable thousand-yard
stare.

"Who are you?" Ranma asked.

"I'm Lieutenant Stevens." He stuck out his hand to shake
Ranma's. "I'm from the Metropolitan Division." The senior
officer extended a hand to shake and help Ranma off the
curb.

"Nice to meet you," Ranma said, standing up and grabbing
hold. He noticed an eagle patch with a large insignia on
Stevens' sleeve. "You're from SWAT?"*
*SWAT stands for 'Special Weapons And Tactics', in case you
don't know.

"Yep. I'm the commanding officer. Had to come over and
check you out son, you're quite the buzz right now."

"What do you want from me, sir?" Ranma wasn't too eager
to speak with anymore people.

"I was looking over the short statement you gave, and I
find it impossible to believe. Did you really shoot five
guys in the head, in that short time, all by yourself?"

This didn't sound good, in Ranma's current boggled and
panic ridden state of mind the only thing cycling through
his head was the remorse of pulling the trigger and now the
fear of a possible unfavorable shooting board judgement.
"Yeah, I did. Is there something wrong, sir?" he replied,
fear creeping into his voice.

Stevens shook his head in awe. "Amazing. And from the
looks of things, I can't say that you're lying either. Are
you a crack shot?"

Ranma nodded, curious as to see where this was going. He
didn't want to hear anymore of guns and shooting at the
moment, and this guy was poking right at the flesh of the
wound. "Yes, sir. I graduated at the top of my class in the
academy."

"That still doesn't explain how you can be so skilled.
Tell you what. Come to Parker Center tomorrow at 2 in the
afternoon, so we can talk some more. I'll have the lobby
know that you have an appointment, so just report to the
Special Ops and Tactics Bureau."

"What? I'm not even sure they'll let me back to work for
the next few weeks, can I even do that?"

Stevens smirked. "It's mandatory." He walked away, but
turned around for a moment. "By the way, this doesn't mean
you're being recruited for SWAT. You remember that."

Arrogant, assumptive, asshole, Ranma thought
disgustedly. I've got enough to remember today already,
goddamn it. He looked around in the war zone in front of
him. It was too much for him, still. He grit his teeth and
closed his eyes, and opened them again.

In front of him he saw a revelation, a sight that struck
him out of his misery, even if it was only for a moment.
There was a flock of schoolchildren being escorted away by
several paramedics and police officers, including a teacher
who was on a stretcher. It looked like she was hit in the
leg from a stray bullet, obviously from the direction of the
gangsters because they had been stranded on a street that
was behind Ranma at the time of the shooting.

This entire time, he had been thinking of signing a
resignation form as soon as he got home, so that he could
quit this job. Now, with what he saw in front him, it didn't
seem so bad. He had saved a class of children and a teacher
who had just happened to be walking down the street for a
class project.

He looked over at the side of a police car that was
parked nearby. The white letters that were painted on the
black panel seemed to demand his attention, drawing his eyes
towards it.

"To protect, and serve", he read. "Just like a martial
artist." Maybe this wasn't so bad after all. Perhaps this
was a sign, that his duty as a martial artist wasn't being
forsaken, but instead being used in a different way.

A young cop who was done helping out a detective with
chalking up the bodies ran up to Ranma, excited beyond
words. "Dude! You just wasted five people just like that!"
He snapped his finger for effect. "That's totally KILLER!
You're a hell of a good fucking shot!"

Ranma's brain fell back to reality. "Oh my god," his
voice shook. "I'm a killer..." The burrito he had wolfed
down earlier wasn't feeling so good down in his stomach. He
turned around and vomited on the sidewalk.

"Whoa, I didn't mean to say you were a killer," the
young officer said nervously. "Man, that stinks."


Ranma spit a few times, and stepped away. His face
looked almost translucent from a pale loss of color. "I
gotta get outta here."

-----------------

Two Years Later...

Detectives Bureau - Rampart Division, Los Angeles. 1:22 AM.

A drenched Ranma-chan walked into the room, soaking wet
from head to toe. It had been quite an unpleasant evening,
the pouring rain being the least of his/her problems, and
there would be hell to pay tomorrow.

Ranma sat down at one of the many desks inside the large
detectives' room, her own actually. She was the only one in
the room; all the other detectives were out responding to
cases of their own. Her left hand was still stained with
blood from a bust that had gone wrong less than an hour ago.
She and her partner were assisting a couple of vice
detectives in taking down a small group of pimps that were
exploiting teenagers in a prostitution ring. The suspects
were reluctant to give in, VERY reluctant, in fact. The end
result was a bloody melee of bullets.

For now she was authorized to go home for the night and
take the paperwork with her. Ranma cursed to herself over
the hassle, by next week she'd be going under the
department's shooting board for review for the umpteenth
time now. She jotted down some important info on a notepad
to take home with her, before she'd forget it later.

The phone on her desk rang, and she picked it up. "This
is Sergeant Saotome, Rampart robbery-homicide." She
struggled to keep the earphone in place while she continued
to write things down.

"Hello, detective. How are you?"

She blew out a breath in frustration. "Listen, buddy.
I'm really busy right now, so if you've got something
important say it."

A chuckle could be heard on the other line. "Just the
kind of spunk I expected. I'm Captain Davis, from Metro."

Aw, crap. She chose the wrong person to be rude to.
"Heh, heh, sorry about that sir. I was filing a report on
four dead suspects, I was a little busy."

"Yeah, I heard that over the tactical broadcast. Are
they suspects you killed?"

"One of them, yes," she said nervously.

"You are a very interesting officer, Saotome. I've read
the case file on you. Three years on the job and you've made
nearly 150 busts. A high number of legitimate kills,
marksmanship status given by SWAT, advanced martial arts,
and you were made Sergeant after only 3 fuckin' years? I'm
impressed. Not to mention your Jusenkyo curse, too."

Eyes narrowed, she was curious now and apprehensive.
"What do you want?"

"I head a unit in the Investigations Bureau called the
Special Investigative Section. We are a group dedicated to
bringing down hardened criminals that regular cops can't
handle. We're composed of only a few officers, but they're
all one in a million. Sergeant, I'm giving you the
opportunity, to do more than you ever could as a homicide
detective. As an SIS detective, you can save the lives of
more people than you ever can as a regular cop. With it
comes the prestige of being part of the best. Although they
won't admit it, we are above SWAT in operational priority.
Bottom line, we kill bad guys so they won't be back for
more."

"I know what you guys are," she replied, narrowing her
eyes suspiciously. "You're pretty infamous for being a death
squad, killing criminals on purpose instead of arresting
them."

"If that's what you want to call it, yes." Unnerved by
Ranma's response, Davis continued, "The best part of it is
that there's not as much paperwork."

"Give me one reason why I should join," she said,
unimpressed.

"Let me ask you something. There are a lot of fuckers
out there who rob banks, steal, or kill on the street, and
they're smart enough to not get caught so they can do it all
over again. Or how about those nuts who prowl at night to
rape women? Kill kids for joy? Murder for fun? What is that,
hmm? I know, just by looking at your file that you are a
MAN of justice, helping the innocent and laying your life
down for them. To protect and serve. That's what we do. We
protect the innocent by doing the dirty jobs that the public
demands but are too cowardly to admit it."

Ranma sighed. She already knew he wasn't going to take
this job, but she felt the least he could do was meet this
captain face to face and acknowledge him properly. "Alright,
I'll give it a thought. How about we talk about this, face
to face? Tomorrow maybe?"

"Sure."

"Where at?"

"Elysian Park. Near the target shooting range, 4 PM."

"I'll see you then." Ranma hung up the phone.

A female voice shouted from outside the door. "Stop
lagging and come downstairs, Ranma! We don't have all
fucking day!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm comin'!" Ranma replied. She looked at
her blood stained red hand, and concentrated on it for a few
seconds. She made a fist and a dark blue ball of light
seemed to glow around it, a manifestation of her ki. She
reopened her hand again and brushed off the now dried and
crusted blood, which came off easily and flaked on the
floor. As the ambient glow dissipated slowly it made it look
as if her hand was purified and cleansed magically.

She took a few seconds to gather up a pile of forms and
her notepad and placed it in a manila folder, and walked
out.

<End Flashback>

-----------------

* * *

April 2nd, 2001.
Narita International Airport - Tokyo, Japan. 6:30 AM.

Ranma walked outside of the terminal and took a deep
breath, only to end up coughing. At least the smog that
polluted Tokyo (the same way it polluted LA) was better than
the stale, re-circulated air of an airplane. He strolled
along with a single suitcase in his possession and looked
around. There were a couple of American SUV's, old, early
90's Chevy Suburbans with red and blue police lights
attached to the top, parked alongside the loading dock of
the street. He idly wondered if they were there for him.

"Damn, this place is crowded," Ranma yawned. He
stretched his arms and twirled them a couple of times to get
his blood flowing into his tired body.

An older Japanese man in an expensive, dark grey suit
walked towards Ranma to greet him. He bowed to him first,
and then reached out his hand for a shake. "Ohayou, Saotome-
san."

Ranma bowed back, and shook the man's hand. "Ohayou."

"We've been expecting you, please come with me in the
RV*," he said in Japanese.
*I believe the Japanese refer SUVs (Sport Utility Vehicles)
as RVs, recreational vehicle.

"Thanks," Ranma replied. He looked over the old man, he
seemed friendly enough. His hair was slightly gray and he
was only a few centimeters shorter than himself, but for a
guy his age he looked surprisingly strong and well built,
Ranma noticed. He looked to be in his mid fifties or so.

"I'm Commander Takayama. I'm very pleased to meet you."

"Thank you, Takayama-san. Please, call me Ranma."

"It's great to finally meet you, Ranma," he said,
smiling. "We're heading to our main building in downtown
Tokyo. We just have to take care of a little paperwork, get
you registered and outfitted for duty. Did you enjoy the
flight here Ranma?"

"Yes, I did," Ranma said, appreciating the great
service.

"We're really excited to have you with us," Takayama
said. "It is very rare for us to find Japanese agents of
your caliber. Our division is referred to as MaxFor, for
Maximum Enforcement. But we prefer that you refer to
yourself as an NSA officer."

"Of course, no problem," he replied. "I just got one
question though. Why are we riding in these big American
trucks in Japan? I'd assume you guys would get something
smaller."

Takayama nodded. "To give you an idea on Japanese
government and politics, a lot of the powerful branches we
have are looked over by the American government. I'm sure I
don't have to explain to you some basic history as to why
they might have this authority, right?"

Ranma shook his head. "Nope, please continue."

"Anyway, the building we're heading to was newly built
just last year. Our old headquarters was given to the JDA,
the Japanese Defense Agency, which is actually only a few
minutes away. The JDA is primarily involved in domestic
matters and mostly with military administration and are left
alone as an independent agency, but since the NSA deals with
intelligence, everything we deal with is overlooked by the
CIA."

"You're kidding?" Ranma said, greatly surprised.

"I'm not. You have to understand, this country was
rebuilt with America as a powerful benefactor. They infused
their own protocols into our government as watchdogs. They
actually have a couple of floors that are solely occupied by
CIA operatives, and naturally the floors right above them
belongs to our own intelligence bureau. They used to work
out of the US Embassy, but they needed more space and took a
couple of floors above our own, actually. They're setting
themselves up bigger here because North Korea is close by,
and the potential for acquiring even more valuable intel
against them is quite worthwhile. Japan has had some serious
abductions made by NK operatives in the past, so at any
given time all of our seas and beaches are given close
surveillance by our very own spy satellites launched by NASA
under the cover of weather satellites. Naturally, South
Korea has an even bigger CIA presence; they have an entire
floor occupied by them at the US Embassy in Seoul. Of
course, they'll never admit this. They're all listed as
either Army researchers or workers of the Embassy. No such
thing as a 'CIA agent' for their job descriptions, even on
paper. With this, they designated armored American RVs as
the official transportation of the NSA."

"Wow," Ranma replied, awestruck. Did he get into a job
that was way over his head?

"You don't have to worry about any of this. You won't be
doing anything related to them, you'll only have to report
to me. You didn't sign up for any spook work. At best you
will be supplying reports to them using anonymous call-signs
and receiving various bits of info from them when
specifically requested."

That was comfortable to know, Ranma thought. But only
slightly.

-----------------

"Retina scan and latent scan complete, data input
finished," the computer's synthetic voice chirped.

Ranma looked at the screen in front of him to verify all
of the info was correct. The contraption was one huge ugly
looking piece, reminiscent of a giant Xerox machine that you
would find in a cubicle enriched office. Nevertheless, its
high tech scanners and state of the art laser markers
detected and referenced over 3,000 unique identifying points
on both his hands and eyes. Takayama assured him this was a
safeguard measure for when Ranma was ever to access the
JNSA's highly guarded and secret archives in case he was
authorized to research something. This, along with the fact
that in the case that an imposter would try to pass himself
off as Ranma, this painstakingly meticulous ID method would
rule out any mistake. Clever forgery was now entering a new
era of high-tech wizardry and allowed identity fraud of an
unprecedented level to those who had the resources and know-
how to utilize it. A composite "living" mask like the kind
people saw in spy-thrillers like Mission Impossible were no
longer science fiction, the real thing was even better than
its imaginary counterpart.

{System Online}

Subject - Ranma Saotome

Date of Birth - XX/XX/1976

Height - 5ft 11in.

Weight - 195lbs

Hair - Black

Eyes - Blue

Gender - Aquatransexual* Refer to Specialty File

Operational Status - Captain

Occupation - Japanese National Security Agency/Public Safety
Commission/MAXIMUM ENFORCEMENT UNIT

ID Num - XXX_XXX_XXXXXX

{Identification Created and Confirmed}

"That looks about right," Ranma said.

"Great, now to make your ID card," Takayama said.

A large machine next to the screen spit out an ID card
for Ranma, which was laminated with a special, holographic
material that had JNSA written in reflective silver letters.
The card showed his picture, ID number, and some other info,
and also had an interesting looking paper-thin silicon chip
imbedded on the back of it, next to a black magnetic stripe.

"Sugoi! That's pretty neat."

"For many doors you'll be able to unlock them by just
stepping near them, the sensors will read the chip that is
in that card. For accessing some of the file cabinets,
lockers, and the MaxFor HQ, that magnetic strip should
work," Takayama said.

"What places do I have access to?"

"Just about everything from the 46th floor and below,
although a lot of the floors are for non-essential records
and public affairs offices, such as liaisons for local
police, nationwide departments, and et cetera. Anything
above the 46th floor is the Directorates of Intelligence and
Operations. Very few people, me included, are allowed
there."

"Fair enough."

"You're also going to want this." Takayama handed Ranma
a small golden object.

Ranma took it, it was his badge. The design was nothing
like the big oval badge the LAPD used; it was a lot smaller
and had a beveled round profile around the chiseled shield,
all on top of a rectangular box. In fact, it looked
remarkable similar to the NYPD detective's badge that
McClane kept as a souvenir, except there was an eagle
engraved in the middle, with an intricately carved
multicolor crest on top of it. The bottom rectangle part had
his rank and "JNSA" carved into it. Definitely unique and
good looking, Ranma thought to himself.

"Captain Saotome...I like the sound of that," he said.

"Better get used to it, my boy," Takayama said, smiling.
"Once you progress through and get used to the job, there
will be a lot of people addressing you of that rank. By the
way, that's the official JNSA badge for all of our non-
clandestine operatives, and you only show it when it
absolutely must be shown. I'm sure I don't have to explain
every little detail as to why, right?"

"So, where to next, commander?"

"You have to pick out your weaponry, next. We have an
in-house armory upstairs."

-----------------

Ranma's jaw dropped. "I can have whatever I want?"

"Anything within reason," Takayama told him.

"Alrighty, then." He cracked knuckles and thought for a
bit. "I'll need a Beretta 92FS Inox with a match grade
barrel, with a laser-sight rod guide, Novak tritium Nite-
Sites, and 6 spare 15 round clips. I need a Sig Sauer P226
9mm with the same specifications as the Beretta. I'll take
the Heckler and Koch G36K with ten 30 round box magazines
and five 100 round drums. And last, I need a Heckler and
Koch MSG-90 sniper rifle fitted with a Hensoldt scope with
five 20 round magazines."

"You certainly know your stuff, don't you?" Takayama
said, jotting everything down.

"I keep myself updated," Ranma smirked. The G36 and MSG-
90 were super toys that he had only read about and never had
used before, but what he did read about them in professional
magazines and reviews was impressive and awe-inspiring. The
Beretta was a no-brainer, it had been his issued weapon for
years and it was most familiar to him, despite the fact that
it was quite large and tended to be bulky. The Sig P226 was
a full size backup gun, primarily. Its size was slightly
smaller and less bulky than the Beretta, and its flatter
profile would make it somewhat easier to carry. In the past
he had only a small revolver as a backup weapon mainly due
to a lack of choice (he hated how Smith & Wesson pistols
handled), but this time he had any choice and money wasn't
an object of consideration.

"Anything else you need?"

"Yeah, actually. Make sure that the barrels on all four
guns are threaded, and I'd appreciate access to suppressors
that would fit them."

"That won't be a problem at all." He pointed at Ranma
with his pen, appreciatively. "Good to know you're thinking
ahead, using silencers to discreetly use your equipment.
Good man."

To someone who doesn't know any better, one would think
of a silencer as an assassin's tool, a tool used in the
black-arts. But in truth they came in very handy for close
quarter use inside buildings, especially when teammates were
nearby. A single, unsuppressed gunshot has the potential to
be loud enough to disorient and nullify the audibility of an
operative, which could lead to serious trouble in an
operation where speed and finesse is vital. Suppressors are
not whisper silent as portrayed in movies and in fact still
attract a lot of attention, but at least it sounded more
like a loud pneumatic nail gun instead of an explosion.

Ranma whistled. "Jeeze, I bet all of this must cost a
fortune!"

Takayama laughed at that. "You have to remember just how
rich this country is! We extort billions from the big
corporations. Besides, we are one of only six units in Japan
authorized to carry firearms on a regular basis. I just
don't happen to set a limit on what you can carry."

"Nice, nice," Ranma complimented.

"I'll need some time to get all this stuff ready for
you, so why don't you head down and wait. By the way, the
car you requested for is down in the underground garage."

"What?" Ranma's eyes grew wide open. "You actually got
it?"

The elder commander shrugged as if it was no big deal.
"Of course. It's brand spanking new, with almost all the
mods you asked for."

"Almost?"

"We had to alter the engine to make it more reliable. As
much as American cars appeal to me, their durability don't
exactly match the Japanese," he replied.

"Hey, I'm shocked you guys even honored my request, let
alone giving me something that big. Let's go check it out."

Takayama coughed, and shook his head. "I will have
someone come up and escort you to the garage, this place is
quite big and easy to get lost in."

"No problem."

-----------------

The intoxicating aroma of leather made him shiver in
delight as he took another whiff of the interior, a lavishly
furnished mix of only the highest quality materials. It was
a far cry better than his old duty car, which was scented
with spilled coffee and stale donuts and chips.

Ranma was actually quite familiar with cars, it had been
sort of a hobby that he had quickly picked up on during
college and had stayed with him all the way. The 2001 Chevy
Tahoe that was in front of him was something he quickly
noticed was not "stock", to properly describe it.

He had specified for an all black exterior finish,
outfitted with run-flat all-terrain street tires and
internal police lights and sirens hidden in the grill and
bumpers, with additional blue/red lights stuck at the base
of the windshield on the dashboard.

But the moment he opened the driver's door to take a
peek inside, he could tell that a lot of the stuff inside
definitely wasn't GM material. The leather, which he first
noticed because of the aforementioned fragrance, was of much
higher quality than anything General Motors even produced.
The seats were completely different, and felt almost custom
contoured to his body. The fit and finish of everything
wasn't flimsy and plasticky, as almost all American cars
were accustomed to. The console of the car had a large LCD
screen neatly and tastefully installed above where the
stereo controls were supposed to be, and the stereo itself
looked like a custom unit. He examined the engine bay next,
to see what Takayama had been talking about earlier. As he
lifted the self supporting hood he expected to see a pushrod
motor with Vortec inscribed on the valve rails, and perhaps
even the supercharger he had requested. Instead, there was a
large silver cover on top of what looked like a double
overhead cam V8 engine.

"I see you've noticed the alteration I was talking
about," said a voice from behind Ranma.

He looked around to face Takayama. "Yeah, I did." He
turned around to look at the logo on the silver engine
cover. "This is a Toyota engine?"

"Toyota in Japan, but if this were America I guess it
would be Lexus to you," he answered.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm sure you've noticed that the interior isn't exactly
stock Chevy material either, right? We had this car sent to
Toyota so that they could convert the interior into a more
hospitable place and we also had them implant a custom, 5.5
liter V8 taken from a Toyota Celsior*. The block was bored
out and the heads are custom made. We can't risk bolting on
a noisy supercharger in case you use this car in a noise
sensitive situation. Nevertheless, the engine still makes
over 400 horsepower and 490lbs of torque, mated to a 6-speed
automatic transmission. The gas tank has been enlarged to a
35 gallon capacity. The car can be silenced by pressing a
button on the dash, it closes the bypass valves for the
exhaust and silences it."
*The Toyota Celsior is the Lexus LS430 in America. More on
this at the end.

"Again, I can't help but wonder how much this must've
all cost."

"Nothing at all, actually." Takayama shook his head.
"Toyota is legally contracted by us to support in all
necessary operations deemed important to the national
security of Japan. The same applies to Fuji Industries*,
Honda, Matsushita, Mitsubishi, and Nissan. We give them an
invoice, they deliver. In return, the PM of Japan influences
the US Government to allow unrestricted sales of Japanese
vehicles, as long as they are made in the US. The Japanese
employ Americans to build their cars, on their competitor's
own home turf, and they get to collect most of the profits.
Anyway, here's a 2001, Chevrolet Tahoe LT 4x4 equipped with
a police package spec transmission, high intensity discharge
xenon lights, internal siren and emergency lights, an
upgraded engine, and a tough shell of armor. Everything you
asked for, right?" Takayama said.
*Fuji Heavy Ind. makes Subaru.

Ranma looked flabbergasted. "Are you kidding me? I can't
even believe this! This is awesome. It looks like a blacked
out cruiser, not a squad car."

Takayama threw him two sets of keys, which looked more
like plastic fobs. Interesting little pieces of technology,
these things. You left it in your pocket and the car
recognized it like a transponder, and it sent an encrypted
electronic code to activate the car and to deter any form of
tampering. The car had a push-button starter. "It's all
yours. This isn't exactly a good car for undercover use or
for low key assignments, so we can issue you a loaner at
anytime if the situation permits. But this big thing is
definitely the right thing to be in when the shit hits the
fan. Another thing you need to know is that whenever you
need to refuel this car or any vehicle of yours for that
matter, you should be charged gasoline before state taxes
once they know you are operating a government vehicle."

"And how do I accomplish that without blabbing to the
whole world what my occupation is?"

"Don't worry, since you signed up for the credit
union we have, you should use only the credit cards we send
you and our accountants should automatically deduct the cost
from your final bill. By the way, remember what I told you
over the phone before you got here, you only have one week
to decide on a place to live instead of the one month I
originally promised. Some difficulties came up and we need
you to run some operations as soon as possible."

"I got it, I'll probably decide by the end of today. Do
you have my weapons?"

A cart pulled up next to Takayama. "Two pistols, two
rifles, four suppressors, all checked out by our in-house
gunsmith and modified to your request. I also got the
ammunition you requested, loaded up in your sidearms."

"Thanks, I can't even begin to tell you how much I
appreciate you giving me this job," Ranma thanked him. He
grabbed his Beretta and put it into a conceal carry strong-
side holster that he had earlier attached to his belt.

"So where you headed now?"

"Nerima," he simply replied. He opened up the Tahoe's
tailgate and loaded the rifles and heavy cases of ammunition
into the back. He pulled and latched the cargo cover over
the weapons to void prying eyes.

"To meet your parents? What a faithful son you are." The
commander pulled out an object from his pocket. "Here,
you're going to need this."

Ranma caught the small object. "A cell phone?" Just his
luck, he didn't even have to go through the hassle of
getting a new phone again.

Takayama clicked his tongue. "It's more than just a cell
phone. It's also a GPS tracker and a radio transmitter. I've
already had some of the important phone numbers you'll need
stored in there, clearly marked. It's our only reasonable
way of tracking you and your whereabouts short of locking a
collar around your neck. You can put it to silent mode like
a regular telephone if you need, but don't turn it off
because it can't. It has a weird battery that I myself
haven't been able to figure out yet but the bastard never
has to be recharged. All of our important duty cars, your
Chevy included, have this same battery so that we'll never
have problems."

Ranma nodded appreciatively. "Thanks. But I think I'll
get out of here now, I really want to get out in the open,"
he said eagerly. He gave a quick wave and hopped into the
car. The onboard wireless telemetry instantly recognized his
plastic transponder and all the electronics onboard lit up.

"Don't get lost when you leave this place, you're quite
a bit away from Nerima so use the GPS navigator," Takayama
said, reminding him.

He simply nodded and started up the car, emitting a very
refined and audible growl from the tailpipes. The engine
itself was very quiet.

"Have fun! And I'll contact you, or vice versa,"
Takayama said through the window.

All Takayama could see was a quick nod as the large SUV
scooted off in a hurry, almost in a lurch with a puff of
smoke. The driver apparently was surprised by the immediate
power of the throttle.

The big black tank awkwardly merged into the busy
metropolitan traffic of the city, and did so with little
opposition. A Chevy Tahoe towered over most of these cars,
and the normally aggressive mid-afternoon drivers let it
through.

It was a bit of trouble at first to drive on the left
side of the road after learning how to drive in the US, but
Ranma quickly adjusted. He fingered the one-touch power
window button to let in the city air. Sure, the smog was
heavier and most likely the same as the polluted conditions
of Los Angeles, but this was different. He took a quick,
snappy whiff. Oh yeah, and that extra burnt diesel in the
air was definitely more unique here. This was home, this was
Japan.

He managed to finger through the LCD panel of the
onboard computer that was staring straight at him from the
dash. The navigation system proved to be more intuitive than
he'd expected, he plotted a course to Nerima in no time.

As he got on a local expressway, Ranma nearly did a
double take. He looked into the rearview mirror, and chided
himself. With all the bustle and hustle of packing up and
moving here, he had completely forgotten to tell his parents
about it.

"Where's that phone Takayama gave me," he mumbled while
digging through his pockets. He dialed in the number to the
Saotome home.

"Moshi, moshi?" a very polite voice answered.

"Okaasan!"

"Ara? Ranma?" the voice dawned with recognition. "My
goodness, how are you son?" Her voice lit up right away.

"Fine, fine," he said cheerfully, a big grin painted on
his face.

"How nice of you to call home? How are you?"

To Nodoka Saotome, a woman who still barely knew the joy
of having a full, happy family with her, even a simple
telephone call from her only son was a rare and treasured
occasion. Although they weren't necessarily pleasant. Those
few phone calls she did receive were more like the calls of
a distressed young man pleading for support and comfort.

Ranma craned his neck to barely see the highway sign he
was just passing. "Mom, I'm actually in Japan right now," he
said simply. He didn't know quite how to explain everything
to her, so he decided to be straightforward. "I kinda just
moved back today."

Nodoka nearly forgot to exhale. "REALLY?" she said, her
eyes sparkling.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about the late notice." He scratched
the back of his head. "Is it okay to come visit right now?"

"Of course, son!" Nodoka yelled to her husband with the
phone on her shoulder. "Genma! Ranma is coming home!"

After hearing several pleased background yells, Ranma
heard his mother again on the phone. "Your father is glad
you're coming too."

"Good, good. I'll be there in about thirty minutes. See
you soon!" He cut the call and set it on the center console,
only to hear it ringing as soon his hands left it.

He answered it promptly. "Moshi-moshi?"

"Hey Ranma, I forgot to tell you a couple of important
things that slipped my mind while you were here. They're
pretty important too, so that's why I called."

"Well, I'm glad you decided to let me know," Ranma
replied, looking a bit worried.

The next few minutes was spent with Ranma listening to a
couple of important jurisdictional protocols and standard
operating procedures, and most importantly his range of
authority when confronted with clashing forces within his
own allies.

When Takayama said he didn't have to worry about
paperwork and bureaucratic bullshit, he wasn't kidding.

---------------

It had been difficult navigating such a behemoth of a
car in the narrow streets of Greater Tokyo, Ranma made it to
his destination without a hitch. Speeding on the expressways
wasn't a problem as all the automated speed detecting
cameras that snapped away at license plates didn't apply to
a government vehicle such as his.

He parked his car in the tight street right in front of
his parents' house, garnering some attention from the locals
who were befuddled by the big black SUV's presence. Ranma
honked the horn twice as he stepped out.

"Mom! I'm home!"

The gates of the Saotome home flew open as the excited
Nodoka scurried out eagerly with Genma right behind her in
tow. Her eyes sparkled in delight and her mouth wide open at
the sight of her son, it was a sudden surprise that even her
reserved self couldn't contain.

"Ranma!" Nodoka gave her son a great big hug as he ran
into her arms and scooped her off the ground. Her eyes
watered, enchanted in the moment.

"Okaasan, I've missed you so much," Ranma said happily,
still embracing her.

She released her son and looked up to caress the face of
her son that she hadn't seen in years. "You've changed even
from the last time I saw you, you could give your poor
mother a visit every now and then you know!" she chided him,
a smile still glowing on her face.

"I know mom, I know," Ranma replied, holding his
mother's hands. He wasn't going to make a long winded excuse
and recap his life.

"Ranma m'boy, this your truck?" Genma whistled
appreciatively at the expensive looking foreign car. He
walked up to his son and gave him a firm handshake."

"Good to see you too, pops," Ranma said, returning his
father's strong handshake. "I'm glad to see you're looking
healthy."

Genma stood strong with arms crossed at his chest, but
he couldn't help but show a smile as bright as his wife's.
Inside, he was ecstatic and immensely content to see his son
again. He'd never admit it, but as the years eroded away he
found himself pining for his son's companionship or even the
comfort of him being close enough to visit. His old callous
treatment as a father had slowly evolved into a more
compassionate opinion of his family.

"I'd feared sometimes that you might've gotten soft, but
just from taking one look at you I can see you've been
training hard and keeping up," Genma said, pleased. "What
are you doing here, showing up out of the blue? Your mother
and I almost didn't believe you on the phone. Did you
finally decide to take a vacation and visit your parents?"

"Actually, it's more than that," Ranma said. He wasn't
quite sure how to explain this, as it really had been very
last minute. He wasn't sure how to handle his appearance in
Japan again. "I have a new job here. The Japanese National
Security Agency offered me a great job. I'm a Captain in
their public safety division."

"Captain!?" both parents replied in dual shock.

"Su-geh! You've really worked yourself up, my son! I'm
so proud!" Nodoka beamed.

Even Genma had to admit, seeing his son be an
overachiever was still a proud victory for him as he did his
best in whatever he tried.

"I got a nice salary, nice living compensations, and a
free car," Ranma said, pointing to his Chevy. "I took a
chance in trying to start my life here again. I don't want
to stay away from my home forever."

"Well your mother and I are glad to see you, period.
Let's go inside, and your mother will fix us some tea."

"I'm so happy to see you, Ranma." Nodoka didn't bother
containing her excitement. She grabbed her son's arm as they
all walked inside, her wishes come true as her son had
returned to her. "Do you know how much we've missed you?"

Ranma simply nodded, happy for both his parents and
feeling a bit guilty himself. He hadn't really thought too
much about visiting his parents back, as usual he had been
so focused on his own life that he figured phone calls and
letters were enough to appease his parents.

As his mother went inside the house Ranma and Genma
stood in the Saotome yard which had been greatly revamped
and renovated with concrete paths. There was a large area
that had been well maintained and used for Genma's private
training. Ranma was surprised at how mellow his father was,
it seemed time apart had made him grow fonder of him. It
went both ways, as Ranma realized how much he had missed his
father the moment he shook hands with him.

"So, you learn anything new, son?"

"I learned a few tricks or two, pops."

Genma looked over at his hip; his trained eyes
subconsciously always looked for any sort of weapon in any
person he came in contact with from years of conditioning.
"Your workplace gave you a gun to carry around? What a cheap
tool that is, dishonorable in combat don't you think?"

Ranma scoffed. "I got special authority to carry this
with me at all times, no badge carrying nobody can do that.
And it's not quite cheap when all the bad guys are using
these against you. It kinda levels the playing field."

Genma looked at him with narrowed eyes. "And here I
thought you kept up with your martial arts. For all I know
you could've been using a gun to get your way across all
your problems."

"Oh for crying out loud, oyaji!" Ranma knew his dad was
just picking for a good old fight to satisfy his itch. He
took off his cotton vest and polo shirt, he didn't want to
get them dirty. "I'll take you down in five seconds, old
man. I won't even break a sweat."

"Did you just become a bigger comedian while you were
gone?" Genma bellowed. He got into a karate stance. "No
holding back Ranma, you know how it's been."

"If I can't beat you in five seconds I'll give you my
life savings that I've collected for the past four years.
There's about 70 grand in US dollars in my bank account."
Ranma smirked.

That sealed the deal for Genma, who yelled out an attack
and lunged. Ranma simply shifted and twisted Genma's arm in
an Aikido counter and made three lightning fast kicks to his
torso. Genma fell down like a pile of bricks, paralyzed and
suffocating.

Nodoka walked out to the yard in time to see a mangled
Genma being treated by Ranma as he struck a few pressure
points on his body. Genma gasped loudly for breath and
groaned in pain, his head spinning dizzily.

"I'm speechless, Ranma," Nodoka said, breathless.
"Where'd you learn that?"

Genma finally croaked. "What the hell was that?"

"I told you I learned a thing or two. That was just
simple pressure point attacking, it was extremely difficult
and taxing to learn. I also learned a Korean martial art
called Tuk-Gong. I've mastered it into the Musabetsu
Kakutou Ryuu."

"I was going easy on you boy," Genma muttered.

He made a sucker jab right at Ranma's face with left
hand as he was being helped up. The pigtailed boy didn't
move and took the punch, with nary a wince or a bruise.

"You can try all you want, that slow cheap shot won't
hurt me easily."

"Enough violence in the house you boys," Nodoka said
irritated. "The tea's getting cold."

"Hai~."

-------------

The reunited family spent a few hours reminiscing and
catching up on lost time together and Ranma was completely
at ease at his current peaceful state. Nodoka had apologized
for not being able to cook a feast for her son since she
hadn't known he was coming, but even something simple like
udon had been more delicious than any Japanese meal he'd had
in America because he was eating with his family. His
parents were reminded rather quickly that they also had a
daughter for a son, part-time, as emphasized by a splash of
water that hit Ranma's face while she helped clear dishes.

Ranma was genuinely surprised at his father, who had
been thoroughly rehabilitated over the years. He still ate a
lot, slept a lot, and liked being lazy. But he had done
quite well over the years as a repo man with an extremely
successful reputation, and the income reflected in the
household. The kitchen was renovated, they had all sorts of
new appliances from refrigerators, to washing machines, and
even a kick-ass plasma TV and the sort in the living room.
All the furnishings were new and they'd completely redone
the lighting for a brighter home. Thank god for Genma in
getting a job where stealing was the profession. At this
rate, his father had been making quite a living for himself!

He hadn't noticed it earlier, but his parents were more
like a real married couple now. He saw them holding hands,
helping each other with washing the dishes, and on his
mother's hand he noticed there was even a new diamond ring
that was never there before. Just watching them idly talk to
each other and their interactions was a far cry better than
what he last remembered, although their relationship had
slowly been improving then too.

Genma noticed his son looking at him curiously as he
looked away from the big screen TV. "What are you staring at
Ranma?"

Ranma casually waved his hands. He wasn't going to press
the subject, especially if his father was being a better
person on his own. But it did make him wonder, who was this
man and where was his old father? The whole concept of his
responsible dad made him chuckle.

And what kind of person had he become in these past few
years, Ranma thought to himself. His parents were proud now,
sure. His accomplishments were right there to show in their
faces. But what would they have thought of the things he had
done, and the sins he had left behind to start afresh on new
ones here?

Nodoka walked into the living room with a tray of slices
apples and pears for everyone to eat. She places them on the
ground and handed a slice to her husband and son, who gladly
accepted them.

"So what are you going to do now, Ranma?" his mother
asked.

"Well, I need to choose a place to live pretty soon. The
government is going to pay for it, but I have about a week
to choose. I'm not sure about living in Nerima, or even
Tokyo. Nothing's permanent, and I can relocate wherever I
want as long as it's Honshu."

"I could use a sparring partner, you ungrateful lout,"
Genma said lying on the floor, with his back to Ranma.

"Can't indulge ya, pops. I'm gonna be a busy man. And
don't tell me I'll get soft or nothin' because I literally
destroyed you in a blink."

Genma would've said something but the difference in
skill between him and his son were too staggering to argue
against.

"Actually, if you two can excuse me I'd like to go visit
Ucchan," Ranma said, getting up.

"Oh? Why don't you visit Akane-chan while you're at it
Ranma? I'm sure she'd like to see you again too," Nodoka
said.

Ranma froze in his tracks. "There are still some scars
that I'm not over mom. I was actually hoping to avoid her
for a while, but I'll talk to her sooner than later."

Nodoka bit her tongue, forgetting that the last time her
son disappeared from years was because of her. Genma winced
too, he had made a slight comment on Ranma marrying one of
Tendo's other girls, but was almost burned away by Ranma's
fiery glare. They didn't want to risk any more heartbreak to
their son that they hadn't seen in so long.

"We won't bug you about it son, you just make sure you
enjoy your stay here now that you're back home," Genma said.

Again, his father managed to surprise Ranma. "Wow,
thanks pops. That means a lot coming from you."

Genma chucked a remote control at his face. "That
doesn't mean you can get all mushy on me. Remember, you have
to stay manly."

Of course. "Yeah, I remember it well old man." He peeled
the remote control off his face and tossed it back. "I'll
see you later tonight. Bye mom, bye pops."

"Take care, we'll leave the gate unlocked!" Nodoka
yelled out as her son gracefully hopped the yard walls.

-------------

"Eeep!"

That was the third person he almost hit as he drove
these streets, more crowded than he remembered from many
years ago. But Ranma's eyes couldn't help but wander as he
was seeing all sorts of new buildings and establishments all
over Nerima that were simply empty lots last time he'd
roamed these streets. And this was just from a quick glance
as he sped through, reaching his destination at Ucchan's
Okonomiyaki.

It was still early in the afternoon, and he suspected
when schools were out and night set that these once familiar
streets would be bustling with energy. He slammed the door
of his Tahoe shut and patted it as it locked itself. Damn
nice bonus, he thought to himself.

Ucchan's familiar sign greeted him as he walked towards
the entrance, but as he got closer he noticed that change
had affected this place as well. The entrance was remodeled
larger, and the curtains were replaced by nice, glass
swinging doors with laser etched logos with Ucchan's name.
When he walked inside, he nearly gasped.

What was once a comfortable and cozy small operation was
now an upscale joint with a bright, dazzling atmosphere and
fine furnishings all around. Space was expanded with walls
being broken down to accommodate many more tables as well as
a number of private rooms. The familiar grill where Ranma
had indulged in countless okonomiyakis was astoundingly
bigger, wrapping around like a giant sushi bar as the tour
de resistance of the restaurant. He had expected to see
Ukyou's pretty face and androgynous attire behind the grill,
but instead there was an employed chef working the grill
with another behind him preparing ingredients. The lunch
rush had just passed, but there were still a dozen or so
people eating at various tables.

"Holy shit, now this is different..." Ranma mused by
himself.

A brunette figure in a plain white sundress ran up to
him half laughing from the private room she had just came
out of and came to greet him at the door, where a sign
instructed all customers to wait before being seated.

"Irrashaimase!" a bubbly voice greeted him. "Please
choose any seat you wish, sir! Someone will help you..."

Ranma looked down and looked just us surprised as she
did, the words taken out of both their mouths.

"R-r-ranma?" she said quietly. "Is that you?"

"Ucchan!" he blurted, startled. No wonder he hadn't
recognized her, she was in a dress!

Ukyou's face went from shocked, to confused, to full
blown thrilled as she picked up her jaw and her smile lit up
Ranma's face. "RANCHAN!!"

"Long time no se- OOF!"

Ukyou crushed Ranma in a big bear hug as she squealed
euphorically and a tear or two squeezed out between her
eyelids. "Oh my god! I can't believe you're here!"

"Hehe, surprise?"

Ukyou punched Ranma in the shoulder, albeit a little to
enthusiastically. "You're damn right this is a surprise! I
haven't seen you in... Jesus, 4 or 5 years! When'd you get
here?"

"I came back to Japan this morning, Ucchan. I got a job
as a cop here, I'm going to live in Japan again," he said,
smiling.

"You don't know how much I missed you, Ranchan! I'm so
happy to see you, and you're here and I can't believe it!"

It was kind of cruel, but Ranma smiled slightly amused
at the reactions so far to his return, and Ukyou's was
definitely a welcome one. He laughed with her and hugged her
again himself, his heart warming to the sight of his beloved
back home.

"This place is like the Ritz, now! Man, what else have I
missed out on, ne Ucchan?"

"You came at like the perfect time! What are the
chances! Everyone is here Ranma, over in that private room!
Come on in, we were all just having a big get together and
drinking and having fun." Ukyou grabbed his hand and pulled
him but stopped as he didn't budge.

"Everybody? You mean everybody we knew? Who are you
talking about?" Ranma replied, his voice quiet.

"The Tendos, Shampoo, her granny, Tofu-sensei, Mousse,
even Kuno! They're all here, we all keep in touch every now
and then."

He continued to stay still. "Even Akane and Ryoga?"

"Yeah, they're here too," Ukyou replied without a hitch,
wondering what he was hesitating about in all her
excitement. "Hey guys! It's Ranchan! Ranma's here!"

Ukyou walked back into the large private room ahead of
him, returning to thoroughly confused group.

Ranma trailed slowly behind her. "Ucchan, I don't think
this is such a good idea..."

He could almost hear his own footsteps clicking on the
newly polished tiles of the floor as he slowly walked into
the room. All noise stopped, with the only person still
smiling being Ukyou. Ranma almost felt the energy dissipate
as he had entered this room, as if it had been abuzz with
fun and good times before he had arrived.

There were nearly a dozen set of eyeballs staring at
him, looking at him as if he were a ghost. Ranma didn't
stare back, and merely glanced at each of them in
succession. From left to right, he saw Kuno, Tofu and
Kasumi, Soun, Nabiki, Cologne, Shampoo, Mousse, Ryoga, and
finally Akane.

"Hey," he weakly greeted in the friendliest voice he
could muster.

The table continued to stay silent, as all eyes were
either fixed on Ranma and his badge which was glinting in
the light for all to see and his pistol on his belt.

Someone finally perked up. "Ranma, is that you?"

He almost blinked, as the voice had come from Shampoo.
He found it hard to see anyone as familiar in this room,
excluding Cologne, Soun, and Tofu, who had managed to look
the same over the years.

"Yeah, it is. I came back to Japan this morning. What's
everyone doing here?"

Akane finally spoke up, broken out of her reverie.
"We're here to just have a get together party. Everyone was
invited, even Kuno over here."

Ranma dumbly nodded at her, barely making eye contact.
He saw Ryoga, who seemed to be looking at him curiously with
annoyance, but no anger. He had his arm wrapped around
Akane's waist, leaning back comfortably in his chair. Soun
was sitting dead silent looking down, not daring to utter a
word.

"So what made you show your vile face here, Saotome? As
I recall you disappeared, tail stuffed between your legs,
pitiful cur," Kuno slithered.

Leave it to Kuno to be an asshole on command, Ranma
thought. He gave him a menacing glare that was mean enough
to cause even Kuno to flinch, furthering the tension.

"How have you been, Ranma-kun? It's been so long!" a
voice piped up from the back.

That soft welcome voice was immediately recognizable, as
Ranma faced to see Kasumi. "I'm fine, Kasumi. I'm moving
back to Japan. I got a new job here, and I'm not going back
to America." Even she looked different from the last time he
saw her, Ranma noticed. She was a bit thinner and a lot
svelter and she looked like a wife, being married to Tofu
for the past few years now.

The continuing silence was proving more and more
uncomfortable for Ranma, and he cursed himself for timing a
visit as horrific as this.

"So, what you doing back here?"

Ranma turned to look at Ryoga. His anger was instantly
triggered as he noticed his smarmy grin and condescending
laid back attitude. "I just told you, I got a new job here.
I don't live in LA anymore, I quit the LAPD and I took a
high ranking position here."

"When did all this happen?" Tofu asked.

Ranma thought for a second before he spoke. "It all
happened real fast and recently. I got a good job offer here
and I felt like returning to Japan. I still can have a job
back in LA but I felt like reliving a Japanese life again
for old times sake."

Nabiki took a sip of her beer that she had in front of
her with a catty grin. "Well, well, well. What are you now,
commander of patrol officers in Nerima? Are we gonna be
seeing you around in the local kouban boxes, Ranma-kun?"

Everyone laughed at the comic relief, while Ranma was
the only one fuming in place in embarrassment. He felt like
an outsider, and didn't know what to say. And with those
comments coming from Nabiki, he felt that much more
humiliated.

Ukyou noticed this and started feeling uncomfortable as
well. She had a feeling she was the only one who had been
ecstatic to see Ranma. "Now, now. I'm sure knowing Ranchan
he's doing something fantastic."

Ranma grit his teeth. "I'm a Captain in the Japanese
National Security Agency's Public Safety Commission. I have
direct authority over every law enforcement figure in the
National Police and a direct monopoly in the domestic
security of this country." Ranma's voice took a sharp tone.
"For your information I could pretty much do whatever the
hell I want. The Supreme Courts themselves wouldn't be able
to do anything about it."

Everyone was speechless at his outburst, and Nabiki
especially looked taken aback. The elder Cologne merely
looked at him from the corner of her eye, she was neutral in
this quarrel of a bumpy congregation and listened on. Ryoga
and Kuno were the only ones who looked angry.

Ryoga stood from his seat. "Just who the hell do you
think you are? Barging in here out of nowhere and ruining
our fun?"

Ukyou looked like she was about to shout at Ryoga but
was cut off by Ranma.

"I didn't barge in here, asshole. I came here to meet
Ucchan. And how did I ruin your fun? Jeez, P-chan. I'm here
for five minutes and you're already trying to pick a fight."

"Come on Ryo-chan," Akane pleaded, tugging on Ryoga's
sleeve. "Leave him alone, we don't want to start any
trouble."

"Ryo-chan?" Ranma looked confused.

Akane looked annoyed this time. "We got married a
couple of months ago. I sent you an invitation, remember?
Not that anyone expected you, but I sent it out of respect
and at the request of my dad."

Something snapped inside Ranma's head. "I did get it,
you kawaii-kune tomboy. I remember taking it to my fireplace
and burning it."

Akane looked hurt and was visibly upset, and Ryoga's
temper took a dive.

"Get out of here RANKO!" Ryoga shouted at the top of
his lungs. He wasn't going to cause a scene yet, he had the
vantage point in degrading Ranma. "No one wants you here,
don't you get it! If you're going to act like a bratty girl
again," he stopped to pick up a glass of water and chucked
the contents at Ranma. "You might as well be one!"

With a quick wave of his right hand Ranma emanated a
glowing red shield of ki that blocked the water from
touching him, evaporating it on contact. As quick as his
hand, the shield disappeared.

Everyone looked on, flabbergasted at the new trick he
showed off. Cologne in particular now felt her spirit
kicking.

"How did you do that son-in-law? You've managed to
stay interesting after all these years," Cologne cackled.

Ranma was still upset, his features burrowed with
aggravation. "I did a lot in the past four years. Don't ever
mistake the fact that while I've been gone I've gone soft. I
only came here to meet Ucchan, and not bother any of you.
And don't ever call me that again, you old ghoul."

Cologne cackled again. "Haha, of course. Old habits
die hard, I hope you understand?" Her smile disappeared,
replaced by disgust. "Don't worry about that Ranma, a
simpering cowardly fool like you who runs away from
everything he's ever known is unworthy of a betrothal to an
Amazon warrior. Especially one as dignified as my blood
line. You disappointed me you know. The only reason we left
you unbothered in college was so you could be educated and
skilled, wise enough to bring valuable knowledge and wealth
to our tribe. I would've pursued you, but seeing how
pitifully you just hid from the world, even my resolve broke
in your faith."

Shampoo looked heartbroken as she averted her eyes
from everyone elses, and Mousse sat looking uncomfortable as
he had grown out of this fiasco long ago.

Ranma was looking for an escape from this humility and
personal torture, as he felt the primal urge to strangle the
living bejeezus out of everyone he resented.

"Do you still hold the beauticious pig-tailed girl
captive you sorcerer? I will defeat you somehow, fiend."

"Get out of here Ranma. Nobody wants you."

"Four years away and still a foul-mouthed jerk. How dare
you talk to me like that even after I was nice enough to
think of inviting you to my wedding."

"Ranma-kun being a Captain in Japanese law-enforcement?
Please, that was a good joke. If these were the old days I'd
be taking bets all day to such nonsense."

All the voices swirling, taunting him and ridiculing him
filtered through his ear and seethed out the other in a mist
of heat. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, wondering
why the hell he was dealing with all this bullshit around
him. Breathing in and out he tried to control his temper, as
this was the time to repair broken ties.

But maybe perhaps that would come another day.

"You know what?. Shut the fuck up."

"What was that?" Ryoga said, lifting his head.

Ranma slowly remembered just how bad things had been
when he left. Apparently his wrath still had a few bones to
pick.

"I said..." Ranma held his breath. "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Ryoga's expression stayed neutral and he seemed to be
looking for a reply. Kuno was looking furious, and the rest
were speechless.

"Ranma, where did you learn to talk like that?" Tofu
said, upset.

"Now you've really gone off the path, Ranma. Are you out
of your mind talking to us like that!" Ryoga yelled right
back.

"I said shut your fucking hole Ryoga! You're always a
goddamn pain in the ass and I'm not even asking for trouble
this time!"

"Calm down, Ranma!" Tofu shouted, worried this might
escalate into something regrettable.

"So now Saotome speaks with a vile tongue as well? I see
you've gone to great lengths to disgrace your soul and even
your very name. The Saotome name reeks with the stench of
dishonor," Kuno spat.

"You shut your fucking mouth too, Kuno! I ain't the one
with the family of loonies hanging around that attic you
call a noggin'! You're a fucking joke! Who the hell are you
to question my honor? What do you know of mine and what I've
done? You know nothing!"

"That's enough!"

Tofu sprung up to disable Ranma with a pressure point
to his neck and render him unconscious. His strike was
sluggish in comparison as Ranma grabbed his hand and twisted
it down, arm barring the doctor towards the ground in a
painful hold. Ranma's own finger shot down and he poked the
doctor in the neck, putting him to sleep.

Kasumi shrieked for her husband and landed at his
side, grabbing a hold of his unconscious body.

"I'm sorry Kasumi, I didn't hurt him. He'll be awake
in a few minutes."

"Cur!"

Ranma pivoted quick to see Kuno's bokken thrusting
straight towards his head, yelling with all his might. Ranma
lifted his finger and thrust back at the tip of the bokken
as it neared him, splitting the wooden sword into mere
splinters that fell to the ground.

"What sorcery is this!?" Kuno yelped.

"Your own screwed up mind," Ranma replied in between
clenched teeth.

He grabbed Kuno's face with his right hand and poked his
right eye painfully with his thumb, and right as Kuno
started screaming Ranma kneed him in the throat as he yanked
his head down. Tatewaki Kuno felt his throat shut tight and
his lungs catching fire as he croaked on the ground,
completely incapacitated and struggling for air.

Ryoga looked on and had enough. "I'll take you on,
Captain."

Ranma pointed a derisive finger at Ryoga's face. "You
and me. Outside."


The delayed truce didn't even make it that far as Ryoga
started throwing blows as soon as they neared the restaurant
exit. Ranma tumbled out and dodged skillfully as Ryoga broke
out in a flurry in full force out on the street, with
pedestrians passing by looking on in terror.

Each of his strikes were wasted as Ryoga continued to
punch and kick one after another, with Ranma effortlessly
dodging them. Ranma yawned, swiftly moving left to right,
his attention not even completely focused on their grudge
match.

"Are you done, P-chan? This is getting tedious."

"Die Ranma!"

Ryoga's legs were swept out from underneath him and he
managed to flip back on his hands and back on his feet only
to see a grinning Ranma. Taunting him, making a fool of him.
His anger reached a boiling point, and his fury caused his
vision to blur red. With all disregard for those around him,
he prepared his final attack.

"Oh, what do you think you're doing?" Ranma calmly
walked towards him even as Ryoga was gathering a growing
sphere of dark ki around him.

"It's over for you, Ranma! SHI-SHI HOKODAN!!"

To those who were in viewing proximity of the fight,
their eyes were fixed on the huge yellow pillar of energy
that shot up to the sky and gathered like a dark and heavy
spherical sun that instead of providing warmth, shot out a
breeze of chilly air to everyone around.

The ball slowly stopped climbed and formed into a
perfect ball, and slowly proceeded to drop as Ranma walked
closer to Ryoga who was currently lifelessly standing amidst
his pillar of despair.

Ranma sighed as the ki started to plummet. "I didn't
want to have to do this." He cupped his hands and aimed it
up, before screaming. "TUK-GONG MOUKO-TAKABISHA!!"

An immense, almost indescribably large boulder of
intense glowing blue chi formed around Ranma's body
passively enveloping himself and Ryoga as it rocketed out of
his hands and sucked up all the ambient air around them. The
blue ki clashed with Ryoga's despair chi in an electric fury
and was forced back as it was shot into the sky and out of
view, propelled by the blue ki.

Ryoga nearly fell down in shock, his legs shaking. He
was tired and his breath was ragged as he looked to face
Ranma, who looked like he was only sweating.

"How is it possible you're so damn strong!"

Ranma shook his head, and looked appalled. "Four years
of blood, sweat, tears, and losing some of your peers and
losing some of yourself as the years past go by. It doesn't
come for free. But the bigger question is, how are you so
STUPID, Ryoga? Do you know how many people are out here? Do
you know how many people you could have killed?"

"Die!" Ryoga panicked and threw tired, clumsy punches at
Ranma.

Ranma swooped under one of Ryoga's right hooks and
grabbed his arm in a twist over his left shoulder, seizing
him in pain. "Your little piss-ant attitude is going to kill
someone, Ryoga. You need to be restrained."

Ranma snapped down Ryoga's elbow on his shoulder and
broke his arm, leaving him screaming in pain. Ryoga's
horrified look only worsened as he saw the look on
everyone's face as they had watched the fight, too shocked
to say anything. Akane was the only one who ran to his side,
crying.

"Oh my god! What did you do?" Akane wailed, tears
streaming down her eyes. "How could you do that to him
Ranma! You knew you could beat him! Why'd you break his
arm!"

Ranma grit his teeth again, unrestrained bitter anger
flowing from his calloused heart. "Akane you bitch... I
risked my life for you, saved your life, give you my love,
gave you everything! And you betray me and turn me into your
enemy!? Ryoga needs to learn a damn lesson! He could've
killed someone out here!"

Akane wiped away her tears, even though they
continued to flow. "You're not the Ranma I remember! What's
wrong with you!"

"See, that's the problem with you people! What's
wrong with me? You haven't seen me in four fucking years,
and you make your simple assumptions! You all might've lived
your perfect sugar cookie sunshine lives here, but I didn't!
Okay!? I'm violent, ruthless, and foul mouthed. But I came
back to do a good thing and do good for my country!"

"Since when were you the fucking saint, Ranma-kun?"

Ranma whipped his head to see Nabiki, her narrowed
eyes looking coolly at him. "When I got a clue that my life
wasnt worth spending around here, four years ago."

Cologne hopped forward on her cane in the midst of
all this nonsense she witnessed. "Then what did you come
here for? To rile up old acquaintances? To have a fling or
two?"

"The only person I wanted to meet was Ucchan. But all
of you had to ruin that."

"Always the selfish, foolish, young boy, Ranma. But
such fervor. Maybe I should make you Shampoo's groom after
all."

"Don't even joke about that bullshit, Cologne. I'll
break you myself if you try it."

"Forgive me for trying to crack a joke," Cologne spat
back, insulted. "And either way that's no way for you to be
talking like that to me. I won't take it from you, do you
hear me? You won't get your way with such insolent
arrogance."

Ranma's patience just about ran out. "How about I
just snap your fucking spine in front of Shampoo, would that
be enough?"

Cologne's hairs tingled and her aura rose at such a
careless remark. "How dare you! How dare you say that to an
elder of the Amazons, one who is much older than you! You
think you'll get away with that!"

Shampoo was being held by Mousse as she proceeded to
freak out with her hands to her mouth, fearful for both her
grandmother and Ranma. Ryoga had already been dragged off
the street, with everyone keeping their distance at the
volatile Cologne. With the awesome prowess of these two
martial artists in front of them, there was no telling who
could get hurt.

"Perhaps I didn't make it clear," Ranma sighed. He
seemed to almost disappear in presence and reappear within
inches of Cologne, his movement quicker than the eye could
see. His battle aura flared a visible crimson flame burning
from a cocoon shielding his body. "I said I'm gonna break
your fucking spine and rip your fucking heart out if you
don't get out of my fucking face!" He drew his pistol and
pressed the muzzle against Cologne's head, who first the
first time in many years of her old life, was paralyzed by
the sheer awe-inspiring envelopment of someone else's ki.
"I've had enough meddling from you before, and I'm not going
to take it anymore! Leave me alone!"

Shampoo finally broke free from Mousse and ran to
clutch Ranma's body, sobbing on his back. "Please Ranma!
Don't kill hibachan! Shampoo beg of you!"

Jolted out of his uncontrolled rage by Shampoo's
heart wrenching weeping, Ranma holstered his weapon and took
a step back. His face was flushed with shame, and he didn't
know what had come over him.

"I'm sorry about this, all of you," Ranma said,
unable to look any of them in the eye. He only looked over
to Ukyou. "Ucchan, can you afford to leave the restaurant
with me? It'll only be an hour or so."

Ukyou looked uncertainly at the rest of the shell
shocked Nerima crew and Ranma's miserable visage. "Let me
got tell Konatsu to look over the restaurant while I'm
gone."

Ranma walked over to his car and touched the handle,
automatically unlocking it. Ukyou ran out with her purse in
tow and Ranma pointed to the other side of his SUV.

"Get in, let's go somewhere."

"Uh, sure."

He closed his door and started his car preparing to back
out, until Nabiki stamped up to his window and pounded on
it.

Ranma rolled down his window. "What do you want,
Nabiki?"

Nabiki was just about out of patience herself. "Where
the hell do you think you're going? Get back here, Saotome!
You've got some explaining to do!"

Ranma rolled his eyes and rolled up the window just
below his eye level. "I've got two words for you, Nabs. FUCK
and YOU. See you around."

Nabiki's jaw dropped as he rolled the window up
completely and drove away and out of sight. Akane ran up
behind her, worried.

"I can't believe that just happened, onee-chan." Akane
wiped her face. "He's so different, I don't know who that
was just now."

Nabiki was grinding her teeth, boiling with anger. "I'm
going to find out what happened to him these past couple of
years. That guy can't possibly be the Ranma we know."

------------------

After a few minutes of wondering what to order, Ranma
brought over a tray of French fries and chicken nuggets to
munch on with Ukyou. They were seated at a booth, and were
surrounded by a bunch of teenagers who had been out of
school.

"Mmm, McDonalds french fries always does the trick for
me. Never get sick of em," Ranma mumbled with a handful of
fries in his mouth. "Mom sure did give me an earful for what
happened back there. But she'll get over it, I'll tell her
what happened exactly."

Ukyou looked sullen as she sat on the other side, trying
to look for something to say. She remembered Ranma picking
up a phone call from his mother on the way here, and she had
not been pleased about what had just occurred.

"What's wrong, Ucchan? Have a nugget."

"What was that back there, Ranma."

Ranma finished chewing his food and grabbed a napkin to
wipe his fingers. He looked out the window for a moment
before replying, "Four years of pent of frustrations."

"......"

"I only went there to meet you Ucchan. Just wanted to
see how my friend was doing."

Ukyou looked up to see eye to eye with Ranma. His
gorgeous steel blue eyes seemed the same, but the radiance
that mystified them was now different. "You've changed so
much. I don't recognize you anymore."

"I thought you might say that," Ranma casually replied.
"A lot's happened in the past four years, Ucchan. Things
none of you could've possibly understood, things I've
experienced as a cop that I was never prepared for."

"Where'd you learn to swear like that? And hurt people?"
Ukyou looked like she was on the verge of tears. "You broke
Ryoga's arm and threatened to kill Cologne like it was
nothing."

"I guess I can only blame myself for being the sadistic,
ruthless thug you see in front of you. There's a lot to it,
Ukyou. I wish I'd written to you or even called you once
while I was abroad."

"That's in the past, Ranchan," Ukyou sighed. She didn't
feel like going through a trip down memory lane. It was an
abused and painful path to take.

"I can't even begin to explain to you how I became what
I am now, Ucchan. I've had friends die in my arms. I had to
see innocent people getting killed. Seeing children killed.
Drugs. Sex. Violence. Too many things that have plagued me,
the old me. I've been forced to adapt, improvise, and
overcome. And what I've become isn't pretty, Ucchan."

"Stop this, Ranchan. You're back home, you've left it
behind. Let's not dwell on the bad."

"I've killed before."

"!"

"On more than one occasion." Pfft, that was a massive
understatement, Ranma thought disgusted at himself. "I've
gone through shrinks, counseling, personal anguish. All that
stuff. But I'm telling you this much, because I want you of
all people to at least believe in me. You're one of my few
friends, maybe the only one I have here left in Japan,
Ucchan. I don't think I can live here or live with myself if
you can't accept me."

Ukyou stepped out of her booth and into Ranma's, and
gave him a warm hug. "You're my friend, no matter what
you've done. The Ranma I know, always at least atones for
what he's done, right or wrong regardless."

Ranma let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
"Thanks... it really means a lot."

Ukyou leaned against Ranma, sighing as well. "You came
back to us and in less than an hour you stir up a hurricane.
Sure is good to have you back."

"I made quite an entrance, didn't I? And I sure like
what you've done with your restaurant. It's a classy
establishment."

"You don't even know half of it, mister. I've got two
restaurants goin' now, and a third one I'm going to open in
Okayama some time this week. Got myself a little chain
going. The Nerima one is going to be the flagship
restaurant, and Konatsu is managing my other one in the
Sumida area."

"You've been busy, haven't you?"

Ukyou laughed. "I went to night school and took some
business managing classes, and used my savings to open up a
second restaurant as soon as we graduated high school. You
never knew about the other one because I didn't give you a
chance to see it last time you came, and you were already
gone next thing I knew."

"You move on with your personal life and get a boyfriend
or two all these years?"

Ukyou blushed in surprise. "Where'd that come from? I've
tried to see if I could go around with a couple of guys
after the shock of not being able to have you, but I haven't
found anyone yet. I guess nobody around is anything like
you."

"Ack, you know I never meant to hurt you," Ranma said,
feeling he shot himself in the foot by asking that question.
"By the way, I wanted to give this to you."

Ranma pulled out an envelope from his pocket and handed
it to her. When she opened it up she almost dropped it.

"What's the meaning of this? There must be at least
500,000 yen in here!" She flipped her finger through the
numerous 10,000 yen bills.

"I wanted to pay you back for all the free meals I ate
when I was younger, and man did I eat a lot back then, ne?"

Ukyou looked like a deer caught in a pair of headlights,
and she shook her head. She shoved the envelope back into
Ranma's hands. "I can't take this. I don't know what you're
thinking giving me this. You're like family to me Ranma, and
I can't charge my family. Please take it back. Don't you
need it?"

Ranma smirked. "Fine. If you see it that way then
it's a present for all the birthdays, Christmas', and
whatever days that I missed for you. Besides Ucchan, I don't
need any of that money. I'm not the poor martial artist like
I used to be. I get paid a LOT for what I do. And if you
still refuse it, I'm gonna force it into your bank accounts
and scatter it so you can't trace it to send it back."
Ranma's smile turned wider as she looked at him curiously
for even knowing how to do such a thing. "It'll just be
there, for you to use."

"Ok, ok." Ukyou raised her hands in defeat. "You win.
Thank you. I think I'll use this to buy a used car. I've
been thinking about getting one to get back and forth from
my restaurants."

Ranma waved it off. "Don't even mention it." He
stuffed his mouth with some more fries. "You know, I have a
week to choose a place to live. The NSA says I can live
anywhere I want in the eastern half of Honshu. They pay for
everything too. I still haven't chosen where."

Ukyou leaned over. "How about settling down with me?
Have a lil' fun with your best buddy?"

Ranma gently pushed her back, and gave a sad smile.
"That would be fun, Ucchan." He saw her face light up, and
winced. "It would've been great if we could've gone to
college together. But I can't do that. You know what I
mean."

"Yeah." Ukyou straightened up and ran her hand through
her hair. "I know exactly what you mean," she sighed.
"That's why I stopped waiting, Ranchan. Friends forever,
right?"

"Friends forever. Don't ever doubt it." He looked at her
carefully, and to her surprise gave her a wet kiss on the
lips. "I don't see you as a lover or a wife, but I love you
all my heart as a friend."

As soon as his lips released from hers Ukyou slid a few
inches away and her face glowed like a scarlet veil. She
brushed her lips, which were still quivering, too
embarrassed to say anything.

"You've been my only real friend around here Ucchan."
The smile he gave reminded her of his bright, young face
from back when they were younger. "The reason I love you so
much is because you were selfless enough to give me up. You
don't deserve me Ucchan. Look at me. These hands," he said
as he grabbed hers. "...are tainted. I've killed with these
hands, do you understand? I want you to give up on me
completely, because I'm not the same guy. Being your
friend...that in itself is a miracle enough for me."

Ukyou could only fluster, still embarrassed. "J-jeez
Ranchan! You turned into a chatter bug! Who could've guessed
you would talk so much about your feelings like that!" Her
voice turned more compassionate. "And don't think of
yourself as a killer or a bad person. I can still see a lot
of the old Ranma in you," she said, flicking his eyebrow.
"All I see is that you've matured into something that you've
carved yourself over the years. So you have a dark past,
you're sorta like a soldier who just came back from war."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know I used to talk so little,"
Ranma mused to himself.

Ukyou shook her head vigorously. "No, not at all. Just
you're not the type... well at least you weren't the type to
be all down about yourself. Cheer up, yeah? Tomorrow's a
brand new day, Ranchan."

"Well, that's that. Now how about you help me choose a
place to live? I haven't thought about this at all yet."

"Well, where do you want to stay?"

Ranma thought about it, stroking his chin. "I'd prefer a
place where I can visit my mom and dad, and YOU of course,
on the weekends. But I want to be away from Tokyo, and away
from Nerima."

"You can just live on the outskirts of Tokyo, that's
plenty far enough you know," Ukyou replied.

"Nope, my gut instinct tells me Tokyo will be only
trouble," Ranma said, thinking. He continued to munch on
tidbits of food, and he snapped his finger.

"You got an idea?"

"Hey Ucchan, you said you're opening up a restaurant in
Okayama, right?"

"Yeah, it's almost done. I'm going to open it in a few
days. I opened it up after property values plummeted out of
nowhere when a high school in the city exploded, and people
started talking crazy like the city was under terrorist
attack or some other nonsense like that."

"Are there living quarters in your restaurant?"

"Of course," she replied. "I make them so that I can
stay indefinitely in any of my locations when I need. I'm
building these from scratch to my specifications, so I
figured I might as well be able to live there too."

"How's about this? You can move to Okayama and I'll
station there! It's close enough to visit Nerima on the
weekends, and it's plenty far enough away from this loony
bin."

"Hey, hey," Ukyou chided. "This loony bin is our home,
you know."

"I'll get over the loss," Ranma replied. "But anyway,
I'd be able to visit you everyday."

Ukyou thought about it. She was a self sufficient
business owner, and she could move to and fro as she
pleased. And... she had a chance to be close to Ranma. And
only her. "That's not a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all."

"Not fuckin' bad at all." Ranma winced when he saw Ukyou
raise an eye. "Sorry, bad habits die hard."

"It'll definitely take some time getting used to," Ukyou
chuckled.

"Hey, take it or leave it, babe." Ranma swept his shirt
exaggeratedly. "It comes with the package."

"Oh, you Casanova!" Ukyou shoved his head into the
window, laughing. "Don't try to trick me with your cheap
pickups!"

"I'm sorry, I couldn't resist," Ranma said, also
laughing. He peeled himself off the glass, catching glances
from other patrons in the restaurant.

"It's so great to have you back, Ranchan," Ukyou purred.

"It feels great to be home," he sighed in content.

<End of Chapter 1>

Disclaimer: Ranma is not owned by me, it is a copyright by
Viz, Rumiko Takahashi, the other big companies, so on and so
forth. John McClane is a trademark of 20th century Fox, John
McTiernan, and other big company big wigs. Don't sue me
cause I don't have any money, and if you plan to, go fuck
yourself.

Author's Ramble: If only you guys could know how much I
anguished over this one stupid rewrite, then perhaps you'd
understand why it took so long. And why it's so damn LONG.
Wow. Just kidding, at least 40% of the lag time is just a
bullshit excuse of not having time to work on this. But now
that it is finally done, I feel like a load has been taken
off my chest and I'm very satisfied.

This rewrite has been over three years in the making, and I
started it because when I originally started Officer Saotome
5 years ago it was in script, it was shitty, I wasn't a cop
yet, and it just plain sucked. It's a shitty first attempt
at a fanfic and this is just an attempt at redeeming it. No
cocksucking script fic can compare to a prose piece of
fiction, in my opinion. Thermopyle taught me that, years
ago. I certainly had lots of fun writing this too, as I
intertwined it with future elements I want to introduce to
the plot in future chapter of the series. Even some elements
of chapter 6 (which was released before this in a rough,
uncut release from my eternal lagdom) will make more sense
after reading this rewrite.

Okay, so here come the technical notes. To those of you
reading for the first time (and rereaders ^_^), here's the
scoop.

By the way, THIS version you're reading is a rough cut. It
has not been preread yet, and I'm sure there's a few glaring
errors in grammer/spelling/bullshit what not. So
forgiveness, PREAASE!

Obviously Ranma's character is very OOC, but hopefully I
think I developed hints of his scarred life in this chapter
(and continued in subsequent chapters) to explain this.

The Special Investigations Section [SIS] is a real working
unit of the Los Angeles Police Department's Metropolitan
Division headquartered at Parker Center, in the city of Los
Angeles California. It is a search and destroy surveillance
oriented force that works under official LAPD protocol and
guidelines and has been around since the 1960's to combat
repeat hardened and hardcore criminals. Now the action
sequences I've put up are of course over the top because
it's Ranma we're talking about here, but the general
missions are pretty real and they happen. They track repeat
armed robbers, rapists, and other hardened criminals under
careful surveillance and wait for them to commit a crime and
provoke a shootout. Whine all you want about how immoral
this is and how cops shouldn't watch a woman be raped or
what not. I don't like it either. But if you see Los Angeles
even for a day or two in the shoes of a police officer... I
have to admit, the past few years have been harrowing and
traumatizing and I've definitely learned a lot about the
misery of life. Some parts of Los Angeles are an invisible
cesspool, and even to those who live there and visit
frequently, there is a mystique to Los Angeles' unforgiving
crime.

I borrowed quite a few movie elements to incorporate, the
three most obvious being Lethal Weapon (the intro shootout
at the schoolyard), Die Hard of course, and from Michael
Mann's Heat. I've always been a big fan of Die Hard, so I
have to give Bruce Willis' character John McClane some
props. The entire first car chase was inspired direct from
Die Hard with a Vengeance, same car, same maneuvers and all.

Al Waters and Vince Thompson are comedic relief characters
who even though I haven't written about them much, I've
grown really attached to, and you will see them in the
distant future. Vince Thompson especially is modeled about
as close as I could to a modern day Doc Holliday.
Specifically Val Kilmer's godly portrayal of Doc Holliday
from the movie Tombstone. You know that's a winner right
there.

And for the references to the movie Heat, Al Pacino's
character Vincent Hanna is an obvious one. And another Val
Kilmer plug, Chris Shiherlis, the one guy who got away in
the movie. He's cool and all, but seeing as how they fucked
it up for me by killing off DeNiro, it pissed me off to see
Shiherlis get away. I used this as a plot device to A)
Satisfy my annoyance B) Add some more depth to Ranma's shady
past, which is still mostly unknown at this point in the
story.

Other movie elements I borrowed from is LA Confidential in
the LAPD flashbacks, specifically Ranma's partner and one of
the officers who get killed. If you like good movies,
PERIOD, and you haven't watched LA Confidential, watch this
classic now. I think you'd appreciate this fic immensely
just from the noir aftertaste that movie leaves after you
finish it in its entire glory.

The council shooting board is based loosely off the movie
Extreme Justice, which by the way is a movie about the
LAPD's SIS specifically.

Now there is mention of Ranma learning a new martial art
from the Korean special forces. Yes, Ranma would be able to
kill them all with his pinky. Yes his ki attacks and massive
strength are no match. But I tried to portray the skill
versus skill aspect, and try to ingrain some more technical
knowledge into Ranma's noggin. Like the fatality moves,
cheap moves like throat jabs and eye gouges, and specific
moves involving firearm use while combining martial arts.
Tuk-Gong Moo-Sul (literally the "Specialty Art") is used by
the Korean 707th Counter Terrorism Battalion in South Korea,
and is also passed down to the 686th National Police's
Gyung-Chal Tuk-Gong-Dae (Literally Police Special Unit),
which recruits from aging and cross traded 707 soldiers. It
is Korea's equivalent of the "SWAT" team, and they are
deployed nationally as a quick reactionary force for minor
to moderate incidents. The 707th are among the best in the
world, and they are one of the privileged few to cross train
regularly with US Army Delta Force, US Navy DEVGRU (SEAL
Team 6), British 22nd Special Air Services [SAS], Israeli
MOSSAD, and German GSG-9. I'd mention others, but I think
they're pitiful compared to these powerhouses, hehe.

The JNSA is something that I made up, I have no idea what
kind of methods the Japanese government uses, let alone
which units get to carry concealed handguns. I tried to base
it on the KNSA, the Korean National Security Agency,
formerly known as KCIA, the Korean Central Intelligence
Agency. Yes, I know. Us damn Koreans like to copy off of the
US government. The KNSA is the equivalent of the American
FBI and CIA combined, making them very powerful with
authority. I took a LOT of liberties concerning Japanese law
enforcement, funding, operation procedures, and a million
other things. So for here, I will concede to my passion for
being technically accurate with things.

The car that was originally issued to Ranma by the JNSA in
the script version of this fic lacked some of the cooler
features I went in depth with, but the biggest notable
change is the motor. Whereas originally I had him get a
supercharged pushrod Vortec V8, I realized that shit can be
done a step better and I had a customized Toyota Celsior
motor dropped in. The Toyota Celsior is better known as the
Lexus LS here in America. ^_^ The motor is bored out to a
big 5.5 liters to propel the huge Chevy Tahoe, and yes
anyone with enough money can get such a mod done. Money can
do anything, don't you know?

As for the police phonetics and blotter used, I'll be real
brief. A "211" is an armed robbery call, one of the highest
priority calls in the LAPD. Code 100 means "Execute, or
ready to roll", as used in the context. The vehicle
designations, such as Ranma's personal 5-King-90-16 is a
special one, as 5-King-90 is specifically for SIS use, and
the last number is just a specially designated one. Regular
designations like 3-William-56, indicate 3 being Wilshire
Division, William indicating a detectives unit, and 56 being
another specially designated individual number. That's about
it.

I also had to give a shameless plug in for pho as a cure for
hangovers, as it is my absolute favorite thing to have when
I need to recover from drinking and one of my favorite
dishes, period. Ahh, pho... how I love you so much.
Especially dac biet with all the trimmings.

Alright kids, until next time. I'll be working on the
chapter 2 rewrite (oh dear I wonder how fun this will
be...), as well as finishing up chapter 6 now and outlining
chapter 7. For all you doubters thinking I quit my work...
well honestly I don't have too much clout to keep you from
blaming me for quitting considering how much I lag. But,
until this shit's finished I won't give up. ^_^

PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE SEND ME FEEDBACK!!! I write way
faster when people give me feedback! My e-mail is
SgtRanma@yahoo.com .

Visit my website at http://sgtranma.anifics.com for any
updates, as new material always shows up there first.

Finished August 15, 2006.