(C&C welcome. Not to mention needed)
Last Revised: 12-07-08

THE PROTECTOR
By Angela Jewell

An Alternate Reality Fanfic: Same beloved characters, but whole new situations

Standard Disclaimer: Ranma 1/2 is the property and creation of Rumiko Takahashi—there are lots of other names that are supposed to go here as well, but sadly, they all escape me. And more importantly, none of them are mine.

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Chapter 1
Here Comes… Ranma?
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It wasn't like the last time.

Last time had been easy—no challenge there. But now, he could actually feel himself tiring. His legs and muscles ached from the strain and his back burned from where the knife had cut him. Despite all of this, he kept on fighting. Ignoring the pain, he'd found, was the easy part—besides, he'd survived worse. The solution was surprisingly simple: Push the pain to the back of his mind and concentrate on the problem at hand. In this case it was a Chinese martial artist, who— despite his supposed skill— felt the need to carry a knife to even the score.

The problem was, so far, it seemed to be working.

As a martial artist himself, one rule had been ingrained into his brain for as long as he could remember: Never, under any circumstance, underestimate your opponent. Unfortunately for his opponent, that particular rule was not one of Ranma's strong-points.

Yet, somehow, still… Ranma Saotome never lost.

"Come on!" he laughed, dodging another thrust of the knife, goading his attacker on. "I've seen grannies that could fight better'n you! And they look better to boot!"

The assassin's face twisted into an angry scowl, the veins straining at his neck as his grip on the knife noticeably tightened.

Ranma, seeing this, smiled.

It had taken awhile, but the guy finally seemed to be cracking. He was getting angry now—and with anger, came careless, stupid, mistakes. Only a fool would let his emotions control his actions like that, especially in a fight that could prove fatal. But Ranma couldn't be happier—a fool for an opponent was exactly what he had been counting on.

"That's it, you little shit," his attacker hissed, "keep talking yourself right into your grave!" With astonishing speed, he launched himself at Ranma, his anger and indignation propelling him forward.

But Ranma saw him coming a mile away; he jumped above his outstretched arm with plenty of time to spare. "Man, talk about predictable," he grinned. In the midst of his flight, he kicked the knife out of his adversary's hand and far out of his reach.

The man clenched his fist as he glanced around the surrounding area, trying to find where the knife had flown—that alone was surprising, seeing as how Ranma knew he could fight just as well without it. Maybe it was his lucky knife, he thought with a smile—some assassins were known to carry some real strange attachments.

But his opponent wasn't distracted for long; soon he had resumed his attacks, coming at him with renewed vigor. But whether he realized it or not, he had begun driving Ranma in the general direction his knife had flown—a thick patch of tall, unruly grass that wouldn't trap or restrict Ranma's movements in the least. "Ya know," said Ranma at last, dodging another uppercut aimed at his chin. "It ain't a good idea to depend on weapons too much, seeing how it can make ya sloppy an all."

"What do you know?" the man snarled angrily. "I don't need a weapon to kick your ass!"

Ranma raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Oh, really?" he laughed. "That's not what it looks like from where I'm standin'."

The assassin gave another loud battle cry as he launched into a series of complex and flashy combination attacks—kicks, jabs, aerial strikes—all of which Ranma avoided easily. And he could see his opponent getting more and more furious as his attacks remained ineffective—and with his knife gone, another disadvantage Ranma hadn't even counted on, emerged—his rival was distracted. Even now, his eyes kept straying to the tempting patch of grass off to his left; searching for a gleam, a glint, anything that would alert him to his precious knife's location.

Definitely something weird about that knife, Ranma decided. Family heirloom, maybe…? Passed on from assassin to assassin…? Hell, from what he remembered of his own family, they'd had some pretty bizarre customs… who was he to knock this one?

Finally, the man seemed to realize his attacks were getting him nowhere. Just as abruptly as they started, they stopped. Now, keeping himself at a distance, he stood across from Ranma—breathing deeply as he silently appraised his rival for any noticeable weaknesses.

Ranma, not worried in the least, and confident that the fight was now strongly in his favor, crossed his arms against his chest; taking pains to look relaxed and untroubled. It was all an act, of course—in seconds, he could be back on the defensive without even breaking a sweat. But even now he could see the effect his apparent indifference had on his rival—his jaw tightened, his body grew rigid and angry, his eyes, full of fire. Nothing was more aggravating than a rival who no longer viewed you as a threat—if anything could push his opponent over the edge, this could.

"Jeez, can't you tell when you've had enough?" Ranma asked, his voice flat and bored as he shook his head. "There's no WAY you can beat me without your little toy over there." No longer bothering to be discreet, he motioned to the spot where the knife lay hidden, not at all surprised to find the assassin following his gaze.

But unlike Ranma, he must have seen something he liked—a smile spread quickly over his face, only to be replaced by an expression that was both guarded and unreadable. The hired assassin stepped out of his defensive position and took a stance similar to Ranma's. "You're right," he replied flatly, his tone dead and hard as he slowly and sadly made his way towards the mount of grass by his side. "I give up. There's no point in continuing this stupid fight—I know when to call it quits."

Ranma fought back a smile. Seriously—did this jerk think he was born yesterday? But if that's the way he wanted to play it, Ranma would gladly play along. "Ya mean it?" he asked carefully, suspiciously. "You're really ready to give up and surrender?"

The man hung his head, his spiky hair falling just enough to cover his eyes. "That's right," he replied, sighing. "I know I can't beat you, so why continue? Even a guy like me knows when it's better to cut my losses and just give up—you are simply too powerful for me to beat."

This time, Ranma really did smile. The guy was laying it on a little thick—but that's not to say Ranma didn't like it. "So you DO have a brain," he replied, laughing lightly. "I stand corrected."

The hit man kept his head lowered, his expression hidden behind the spiky-shadows of his hair. Ranma took a cautious step forward, his legs braced and ready for anything. "Well, I gotta tell ya, you're doin' the right thing…not many people do. To tell you the truth, no one's ever actually, uh...given up before…well, voluntarily, I mean." His hand slipped unnoticed behind his head as he continued to advance closer. He could see the knife as well now; its hilt just barely visible within the grass. Not that it mattered in the least…

"Oh, really?" the man asked innocently, finally lifting his head to meet Ranma's eyes. "I wonder WHY—" With a burst of energy, the assassin lunged forward, swinging his right leg through the air and straight towards Ranma—but Ranma was ready and blocked it easily with his right arm. But of course, that wasn't the true purpose of the assassin's attack. Without pause, he threw himself to the left—towards the clump of grass where his abandoned knife lay.

Ranma smirked. How completely unexpected…

While the assassin was reaching for his knife, Ranma kicked him swiftly in the back of the head, forcing him down till he was lying flat on his stomach. "Did you REALLY think I was that stupid?" he asked, kicking him once more for good measure. He could see his rival's hand pawing at the ground behind him, searching frantically for the knife he could no longer see. But Ranma could—and he was almost tempted to pick it up and hand it over; to humor the poor sap right till the end. But the fight had already lasted much longer than necessary.

It was time to end it.

Before the assassin even knew what hit him, Ranma placed two fingers against the base of his neck, and pressing firmly, watched the man's entire body begin to tense and freeze; his arms and legs jerking in place where he lay. Two seconds later, and he had stopped moving completely. Ranma stepped back in satisfaction, admiring his handiwork. The assassin's body was lying prone on the ground, his knife two inches from his outstretched fingers.

Feeling generous, Ranma bent down and retrieved the knife—and then proceeded to stick it firmly into the ground, pinning it directly through his opponent's shirt. "Now then," he began, crouching down lower to the ground, bringing himself level with his adversary. Grabbing the man's hair in his hand, he yanked his head up, forcing the man to meet his gaze. "Ya wanna start talking… or do I gotta get mean?"

Lying immobile and helpless on the grass, The Chinese Assassin's eyes widened ever so slightly. And Ranma tightened his grip to illustrate his point. Five minutes later he had all the information he needed, including the name of the assassin's contact, along with a brief history of his knife—it had been his father's last possession; the only thing left to remember him by. Typical and predictable—disappointing on all fronts.

Finally, Ranma released him, the sound of sirens approaching in the distance. His earlier worries had disappeared long ago—now, in hindsight, this entire battle had seemed almost too easy.

Shaking his head sadly, Ranma sighed.

He couldn't help but wonder if he was getting too good at this job...

…Or if his opponents were just getting worse at theirs.

*          *          *

His boss wasn't a large man. At first glance he appeared meek, quiet, and unassuming—definitely not the type who'd choose a living dealing with bodyguards, killers, and hit-men on a daily basis. But Yamamoto Yuuto was living proof that you could never judge a book by its cover. Ranma had seen that same quiet, be-speckled man, take down a ruthless, angry killer three times his size in thirty-seconds flat—impressive, even by Ranma's standards.

Still, he couldn't say he exactly liked the guy. Ever since he hit it big in a high-profile kidnapping case, Yamamoto had become too arrogant; too cocky; too full of himself to tolerate for long. Not only had he won some dumb award for protecting some rich and snobby councillor's son, but he'd even been given a promotion to any department of his choosing. He quickly chose internal affairs, and now had a cushy desk job where his only task was to assign and oversee cases for the talented rookies from the academy.

Ranma respected him for the agent he was, and for the agent he still had the potential to be—but that didn't mean he had to like him, and he sure as hell didn't trust him. As far as Ranma was concerned, trust was something you earned—and you didn't gain it by sitting safely behind a desk somewhere while other agents risked their lives out in the field.

Of course, if Yamamoto realized any of this, or felt guilty in the least, he didn't show it. When Ranma finally walked into his office, he was leaning back in his chair, his feet on his desk, looking relaxed and content.

Skipping the formalities, Ranma dropped the large folder down on his boss's desk and then took a seat in one of the overstuffed chairs across from him. Putting his hands behind his head, he leaned back in the chair, taking pains to look just as relaxed and satisfied as his superior—hell, he figured, if anyone deserved a break, it was him. He was the one still sporting a fucking knife wound.

Yamamoto raised an eyebrow as he regarded his subordinate with mild curiosity—curiosity that bordered on annoyance. "What's that?" he asked, gesturing vaguely towards the folder while not relaxing his position in the slightest.

Ranma grinned. "A closed case," he said simply, trying hard not to sound too proud of himself.

His supervisor's eyes widened slightly. "What? Already?" he asked, his voice doubtful.

"Yup," Ranma replied, stretching leisurely in his chair. "Megumi's safe and the assassin's already been put into custody."

"Has he been questioned yet?"

"Damn right. And he's already started talkin' about the whereabouts of Suzuki."

"Terrific!" Pushing his glasses more firmly onto the bridge of his nose, Yamamoto finally took his legs off the desk as he leaned forward to peruse Ranma's folder. He flipped through it quickly, nodding several times—and then threw it into a bottom drawer of the desk. "I'll finish going over it later," he said before proceeding to withdraw a different, larger folder from another drawer, placing it on the center of the desk before them.

Ranma eyed it dispassionately, waiting for his boss to tell him what it was. Instead, Yamamoto remained silent, and Ranma watched as a small, barely noticeable change, came over his superior. Yamamoto was tapping his fingers lightly on the top of the table, his lips pursed. It was the closest Ranma had ever seen the man to looking unsettled and on edge—and with narrowed eyes, Ranma began to look at the case-folder in a new light.

There were only a few options he could think of that would account for his supervisor's sudden change in behavior. Either this was a very important, dangerous case—or all the others had turned it down, leaving Ranma as his last hope. He guessed it was the latter. But curiosity, as always, won out in the end. "What's that?" he asked at last, tired of waiting for his boss to broach the subject.

Yamamoto leaned back in his chair, trying to look nonchalant and as far from desperate as he could get. Ranma wasn't fooled… his boss was no actor. Swallowing nervously, Yamamoto took pains to look anywhere but the desk, and then began gesturing at the mysterious folder with one of his hands, his voice light. "Just some new case," he explained, a little too quickly. "Yours if you want it."

Now Ranma knew he'd been right. Yamamoto had to be desperate—that, or losing his mind. Only an idiot would accept a case blindly, not knowing the details. And Ranma didn't fancy himself an idiot. "What's involved?" he asked, eying the file distastefully.

"Oh, you know... typical case... a father wants someone to protect his daughter..."

Silently, Ranma scoffed. He didn't believe that for a minute. "A typical case, huh?" he asked, eyes narrowed. "And just who does she need protection from?"

"Oh, you know..." he began slowly, trailing off, delaying the inevitable for all he was worth.

Ranma found his patience quickly waning. "No," he deadpanned, "Actually I don't."

Slowly, Yamamoto looked up, and with a long, suffering sigh, said softly: "An Amazon."

Ranma found himself actually laughing. "You've gotta be kidding!" he said at last, once his laughter had died down and he could properly breath again. "Why in the world would I be stupid enough to pit myself up against an Amazon? It's kill, be killed, hide forever, or get hitched... And none a' those options really appeal to me."

Yamamoto shrugged as he began to tap his fingers on the file, his resigned expression changing to one of disdain. "No problem, Saotome. If you don't think you're qualified enough for this case, then I can always find someone who is."

…Ranma froze instantly; a weird buzzing sound filling his head. It suddenly felt like a thousand needles were digging into his side.

…Not. Qualified…?

His brain, sensing his idiotic thoughts, began screaming in warning. but the other voice—the one that controlled his sense of honor and ego—it was screaming louder.

Frowning, he sat up straighter. "Don't get me wrong," he replied, laughing lightly, his eyes on his boss. "I never said I wasn't qualified. I just—"

"—no, no, it's all right," his supervisor continued, effectively cutting Ranma off. "I can find someone else, no problem."

…You're not good enough, the voice continued, unmerciful. The needles dug in deeper…

"Now, wait just a minute!"

"I'm sorry I took up your time," Yamamoto apologized, standing up from his chair. "With your outstanding record and dedication I just thought you'd be up to the challenge, but I guess I had you pegged wrong, Saotome. Since you don't seem interested…"

"Who says I ain't interested?" he demanded, slamming his fist on his boss's desk. His internal warning senses were on red-alert, but he ignored them all. "Yamamoto— I *want* this case!"

Yamamoto looked at him with uncertainty. "I'm not so sure—"

"Who's better qualified for this assignment than me?" Ranma continued hastily, his determination and stubbornness driving him on. "I haven't lost a case yet— don't intend to— and my martial art skills surpass everyone else in the academy. Plus," he added, counting the numerous points he was making off with his fingers. "I'm one of the few people in this whole damn place who can transform with just a splash of cold water! Having me is like having two bodyguards in one. It's a package deal!"

"Well that's all well and good..." Mr. Yamamoto replied sincerely, trying to hold back a smile, "but..."

"Dammit!" Ranma shouted, jumping up from his chair. "I'm the best god damn person you've got here! Besides, who else would be brave enough to take on this assignment?"

Yamamoto merely smiled. "I'm sure Ryoga wouldn't mind. I planned to ask him, but he's not here at the moment."

Ranma frowned as he threw himself back down in his chair. "Well yeah, okay," he admitted reluctantly. "Ryoga's definitely 'brave' enough, if that's what you wanna call it, but the idiot's got no sense of direction. Do you honestly think he can handle a tough case like this? Hell, the chances of him wandering away from his client are ten-to-one—there's no way she'd survive his first day! Besides, even if he did try and go up against the Amazon, he'd probably end up back at the chick's village and get himself engaged to the whole tribe! Then you'd be down one more agent, and still have an angry Amazon to deal with."

Yamamoto nodded, but didn't say a word.

Breathing hard, Ranma leaned back in his chair. "So, do I got the assignment or what?"

His boss looked thoughtful for a moment, his eyes locked on the now precious folder. "Well, you've argued your case relatively well," he said slowly, his words trailing off. After several moments of drawn, tense silence, Yamamoto sighed loudly. "Heck, Saotome, if you really want it that badly, it's yours..."

Grinning triumphantly, Ranma leaned forward in his chair. "Yeah," he said with a shrug. "I'll take it, I guess..."

Pushing the folder towards Ranma with both hands, Yamamoto watched in satisfaction as his subordinate readily took it. "Well, good luck," he added sincerely; thinking silently, you're going to need it.

Ranma stood up quickly. "Heh, I depend on skill, not luck—but thanks anyway." With that, Ranma left the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

Once Ranma was gone, Yamamoto leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile lighting his face. "That was a lot easier than I thought it was gonna be," he laughed. "I always knew that boy's ego would get him into trouble someday. Geez, going against an Amazon… I sure hope that kid knows what he's getting into."

Turning back to the huge filing cabinet that sat behind him, Yamamoto pulled out a huge stack of folders and dropped them heavily on his desk. There were so many more cases to assign, and fewer and fewer rookies actually willing to do them...

*          *          *

Ranma sat cross-legged on his bunk, the huge folder spread open before him. "Now," he said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "To see what I've got."

Inside were pictures. Lots of pictures.

On top of the stack was one large photograph of a 16-year-old girl with long, flowing blue-black hair. The girl was smiling brightly, her hand shading her eyes from the blazing sun above. Attached to the photo was a small note with the girl's name—Akane Tendo. Ranma observed the photo for several long moments, his gaze lingering on her happy, smiling face. "Geez," he breathed at last. "She's really cute." She looked so... well, *nice.* Not the type that went around challenging Amazons, that was for sure. And she was so young—only a year younger than himself, and she already had some crazy person after her head. He couldn't help but wonder what she did to piss this Amazon-woman off…

Placing the photo off to the side, he saw several smaller pictures of Akane directly beneath. In one of the photographs she was in a school uniform, walking down a street with a couple of her friends, laughing. In another, she was in a martial arts dogi, breaking cider blocks with her bare fist.

Ranma raised an eyebrow.

Okay, on second thought... maybe she was the type that went around challenging Amazons...

Underneath those pictures were photographs of her family: Her father, Soun Tendo, and her two older sisters, Kasumi and Nabiki. He couldn't help but wonder if they studies martial arts too. Beneath those were pictures of miscellaneous friends—kids they hung around with at school or casual acquaintances. There was also a picture of their family doctor, Ono Tofu.

Ranma pushed all of them aside, anxious to see exactly *who* he was protecting her from. There, in the very back of the pile, was a small snapshot of a purple haired Amazon. The girl was wielding two banborrie weapons through the air, her expression grim and determined, eyes focused on an unseen target. Moving that picture aside, Ranma began to search for another—and finding none, he frowned. It must have been the only picture the researchers could find.

"Just great," he muttered, thoroughly annoyed. "As if I don't got enough crap in this case piled against me already—all they give me is one crappy photo they probably took while pissing behind a bush. If that girl cuts her hair or starts wearing contacts, I'm screwed."

Turning the photo over, he gave a small sigh of relief as he spotted two Chinese characters in the right hand corner. "Well, at least they managed to give me her name," he thought, surprised that they'd at least managed that much. He wasn't exactly fluent in the language, but he knew enough to recognize certain characters when he saw them. It looked like her name was Xian Pu—though some half-wit had scrawled the English pronunciation—Shampoo—beneath it.

Ranma picked up the large photo of the smiling Akane and placed it next to the one of the Amazon warrior. He had a name, a picture, and nothing else to go on...

In the very least, this case was sure to be a challenging one.

Luckily, Ranma thrived on challenges.

*          *          *

Soun Tendo continued to pace nervously back and forth, a small beat-up postcard held tightly in his hands. His three daughters were seated before him, warring expressions on their pretty faces as they watched him tear excitedly through the room. One looked calm, patient and understanding… another, mildly curious and thoughtful… but the last looked impatient, angry, and very, *very* annoyed.

Tears streamed down Soun Tendo's face as he reread the short, concise message written neatly on the back of the card.

Congratulations, your request has been approved. Expect our best agent, Ranma Saotome, to arrive at your residence shortly.

It was signed, The Hanahora Protection Agency: (Free of charge if victim harmed).

A koi fish leapt through the air from the large pond, oblivious to Soun's tears as it landed with a small splash back into the awaiting water below. "Finally," Soun cried happily, holding the card out before him like a beacon. "Finally, I can rest in peace. Soon, very soon, Ranma Saotome will come… and my little girl will be safe at last."

"Hey, let me see that," a voice interrupted, grabbing the postcard from his hands before he had time to protest.

"Nabiki," Soun whimpered, wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of his sleeve. "Why do you have to be that way to your own father, huh?"

Nabiki ignored him as she skimmed through the card; eyes narrowed in concentration. "Jeez, daddy," she said at last, handing it back to him with a shake of her head. "I can't *believe* you actually went out and hired some bodyguard. Do you have any idea what this will do to business?"

Soun Tendo frowned, his arms crossed stubbornly against his chest. "Well, I—"

"Imagine," Nabiki went on, disregarding her father's feeble protests. "The owner of the Tendo dojo—master of the Tendo School of Anything Goes Martial Arts—forced to hire a professional bodyguard to protect his own family. I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, daddy, but isn't that the whole reason people take up martial arts in the first place?"

"Nabiki," Kasumi gently chided, "I'm sure father knows exactly what he's doing, don't you father?"

Soun Tendo coughed uncomfortably and then turned a grateful smile on his eldest daughter. "Of, of course I do," he replied, a little too loudly, his eyebrow twitching. "Thank you for your support, Kasumi. It's good to know that *one* of my daughters trust my judgment."

Nabiki waved her hand in dismissal. "It's not that I don't trust you, daddy," she corrected. "It's just that… in a business sense, this isn't practical. The majority of your clientele are learning the Anything-Goes style in order to protect their families—they aren't going to pay money to learn it from someone who can't even protect his own daughter. Besides, don't you think you're overreacting just a bit? Akane's a big girl—she can take care of herself."

"That's right," Akane spoke up, voicing her opinion for the hundredth time. "I do not need a bodyguard, dad!"

Avoiding the critical eyes of his two daughters, Soun Tendo stared down at the postcard briefly, silently summoning his courage. The small action must have given him some sort of strength, because when he finally looked up, his expression was firm. "What's done is done, Akane," he told her, holding a hand up to silence her protests. "I realize you're strong and skilled in your own right, but I'm not taking any chances—that girl is relentless. All it takes is one lucky shot and you're done. As for you," he continued, turning his attention to Nabiki. "Akane's life is at stake here—not the dojo—and I will not risk her life in order to ensure more clients. Is that understood?"

Crossing her arms against her chest, Nabiki silently nodded.

"Good," Soun continued, nodding sagely. "Now then, this doesn't mean we need to give up hope! Perhaps the guide was wrong and this Shampoo-woman has already given up—then we won't need this Ranma Saotome's services after all."

"Yeah, after the damage has already been done," Nabiki muttered under her breath.

Soun pretended not to hear her. Feeling reassured, he glanced up at the bright blue sky, allowing the peace and tranquility of the view to flow through him; for a moment, he felt like he could breathe properly once more. He wasn't the type of man who would allow his arrogance or pride to stand in the way of his own daughters safety—when faced with the truth of his own skills, he knew there was a possibility—slight as it were—that it might not be enough.

Once again he found his eyes returning to the beat up postcard, his grip on the card involuntarily tightening. Soon, very soon, Ranma Saotome would be here. Soon, his little girl would be safe.

He'd make sure of it.

*          *          *

Ranma stood just outside the Tendo gate, his travel bag slung over his shoulder, surveying the house before him with a critical eye.

He was happy to see it was fairly large, with two stories and a broad, walkable roof. The size would make it loads easier for someone to sneak in—but it also made it easier for someone to sneak out. And getting out Ranma had learned, was the crucial part. Even in a one room shack with no doors and no windows, the truly determined could find a way in. Getting out after they'd gotten in then, could be the difference between life and death. And Amazons, he recalled, were definitely not short on determination—they had a tendency to make their own doors.

As for the dojo, the martial artist in him couldn't wait to get a look inside. From the photographs he'd seen, he knew it was connected off the main house by a covered walkway, though the building itself had looked a bit worn-down. Only the sign outside the gate assured him that it was still in use. It read: To challenge owner in savage combat use rear door.

"Well, this is it," he said, cracking his knuckles while pumping himself up, "it's show time." Adjusting his pack, Ranma smirked with confidence as he prepared to enter the place that would be his home for the duration of his assignment.

But before he'd even taken a step, he froze…

Something soft and warm was rubbing against the back of his legs, and distantly, some part of him was *sure* he heard it start to purr. But it couldn't be what he thought it was—no chance, no way. It was probably just the wind, or maybe some dog—a very small, furry dog, that thought it was a ca—cat.

Heart racing, Ranma stood stock-still, afraid to move lest he upset or startle the little thing… maybe, he reasoned, if he just closed his eyes, it would go away.

So thinking, Ranma closed his eyes.

And then, to his horror... it meowed.

All sense and reason immediately left Ranma's brain at that moment. Eyes still closed—much more tightly now—his entire body froze, though his fingers began twitching nervously at his side as speech failed him. He could hear it perfectly—softly purring as it began to wrap its small body around his feet. And he could feel its soft fur rubbing against his black pants and the brush of whiskers resting against his leg.

Nope—no dog. Definitely not a dog.

Almost against his will, Ranma opened one eye and glanced down. The kitten was looking at him innocently, its eyes wide—then, with a small jump, it placed its two front paws on Ranma's pant legs as it tried playfully to climb up his leg, meowing all the way.

Small pin-pricks in the form of the kitten's claws broke through his thin dark pants, pinching him ever so lightly—and Ranma felt the initial terror he'd tried to stifle from the start, rise, until he could contain it no longer.

It wasn't very manly to scream.

But Ranma screamed.

*          *          *

"AAAHHH!"

Three heads shot up in unison as the Tendo sister's eyes widened in surprise. Soun Tendo immediately stopped pacing as he turned around to meet his daughters' shocked, concerned faces. "Did you hear that?" he asked them, all traces of his excitement and exuberance gone.

"Yeah," Akane replied, looking worried. "It sounded like someone screaming."

"Close by too," Nabiki added.

Kasumi bit her lip as she frowned."Oh, I certainly hope no one's hurt," she said.

Soun nodded in agreement before turning to regard his youngest daughter, his eyes narrowed and alert. "Nevertheless, it may be a trick by that Amazon, Akane," he warned.

Akane, remembering similar tricks by the crazy Amazon, nodded. She didn't need reminding—she had planned to watch her back regardless. Standing, she began to follow her father outside, her sisters trailing close behind.

*          *          *

Ranma was running blindly now, no longer aware of his surroundings. Up ahead, he could just make out the shape of a roof towering before him.

Gathering all of up his strength, he jumped.

*          *          *

The Tendos searched their yard, looking for any signs of trouble… but all they found was their neighbor's cat, Yeichi, whimpering in front of the door. Hearing something strange, they looked up and noticed something else—a person crouching on the roof up above.

"Help me," the person whispered softly as the black and white kitten continued to whine beneath him.

"What's his problem?" Akane whispered to Nabiki.

Her sister shrugged. "Beats me."

Soun shaded his eyes from the darkness, trying to put the quivering figure on the roof before him into focus. "And who are you, stranger?" he demanded.

Kasumi walked up behind him and lovingly scooped up the small kitten in her arms. "Oh my," she gasped, following her father's gaze. "Who in the world is that?"

"We don't know," Akane replied, glancing once more at the shaking figure on the roof. "All he's said so far is, Help me."

Upset at suddenly being restrained, the cat in Kasumi's arms began to hiss and claw as it struggled to get out of her grip—giving a small cry of surprise, Kasumi reluctantly released the small kitten and watched as it scurried away.

Ranma, hearing the commotion, finally glanced over the side of the roof. "Is— is it gone?" he asked, his voice slightly shaking.

"Is what gone?" Akane asked.

"The ca—cat," he managed, with difficulty.

Nabiki glanced in the direction the cat had run of in, and then turned her gaze back on Ranma. Her eyebrow was raised, and even she couldn't keep the skepticism out of her voice. "You mean to tell me that you're afraid of *Yeichi*?"

"Yeichi?" Akane asked, trying her best to stifle back a laugh. "You mean… he's afraid of the neighbor's *cat*?"

"Damn it," Ranma interrupted angrily. "Is the little fanged beast gone or not?"

"Oh yes," Kasumi assured him. "Yeichi's probably on his way back to the Tomodachi's right now." Ranma sighed in relief, as his trembling body slowly began to calm. "It's a pity too," she added sadly, oblivious to Ranma's relief. "It's such a cute little kitten after all."

"Uh, yeah. Sure it is," he muttered under his breath.

Soun coughed uncomfortably, shattering the uneasy silence. "Now, young man, would you mind getting down from there? If you'd like to challenge me, you're supposed to use the rear door."

Ranma did several quick flips in the air before landing neatly in front of Soun's startled form. "Um... I ain't exactly here to challenge ya," he began nervously. "I'm, uh... Ranma Saotome."

Soun's eyes widened in surprise... and disbelief, shock, denial, horror... "Ranma? R— Ranma Saotome?" His name, strangely enough, wasn't a comfort.

The boy who only moments ago had been cowering on his roof, nodded his head sullenly. "Um… yeah. Sorry 'bout this…"

His apology fell on deft ears.

With a small, gasping sob, Soun hit the ground.

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End of Chapter 1
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Author's Notes

Okay, there you have it—my revision for chapter 1. I tried rereading this story a while ago, and it seriously made me wince. I am so embarrassed. Hopefully it's a little more readable now. Next, I'll probably try to tackle Chapter 1 of The Game, which is pretty much in the same condition (but don't worry: I am still working on the latest chapters of all my stories). Wish me luck! ^_^

(ORIGINAL: 11 pages, 4015 words. REVISION: 14 pages, 5968 words)

~Angela