Everything started innocently enough.

Genma thought that one little job wouldn't hurt. Both
Father and Son hadn't eaten for days, so things could be
blamed to survival. After that, he was pretty sure another one
didn't matter. After all, it's all for boy's sake, isn't it?
That he was given a hefty sum for the theft hadn't registered
in his brain. Or rather, he conveniently forgot about that
piece of information.

Their employers had been extremely impressed by the
spectacular performance of the duo that they *persuaded*
the Saotome patriarch with money several times what he had
received earlier. Genma immediately jumped at the chance.
Didn't wise men say 'Third time's the charm'?

Genma promised himself that this would be the last. The
sound of thick wads paper bills slapping against each other
was too seductive, though. So agreed that himself and his son
would be willing for one final endeavor.

This turned out to be a huge mistake. One that he'd be
paying for the rest of his life. The task seemed simple enough.
'Retrieve' a certain experimental curiosity from an old
inventor's humble lab. Things went smoothly enough, at first.
Then they found out that their employers had deliberately
understated the dangers, so their chances of survival would be
reduced to nil. No one would be able to pin the source of
the previous thefts and their machiavellian origins.

The Saotomes found themselves hip-deep in government
soldiers inside a heavily fortified research lab. Needless
to say, all hell broke loose.

The both of them fought valiantly. Incredible feats of
strength and speed rendered some speechless. Years of
martial-arts training clashed against the most sophisticated
of modern weaponry. Armored bodies lay broken and bleeding in
various painful poses. It was a brilliant tribute to the strength
of the human spirit against the power of technology. They were
winning.

The soldiers, that is.

Bodies continued to pile up. But more continued to come
in, replacing those that had fallen. It was a never-ending tide
of elite footmen against the two bare-handed warriors. The
melee seemed to stretch forever.

Genma knew if they kept up, he and his son would die.
Every hope he had lay on his son, so he chose the most noble
way out. He had no choice, but to stave off their attackers
himself and have his son escape. Telling his son to leave, the
hankied master fought with his every skill, evading metal slugs
and gauntleted fists.

A bullet hit him, then another, and another one, until
he could barely even stand on his feet. Still, he struggled to
rise.

The sight of his Father standing torn and bloodied made
young Ranma's blood boil. His Oyaji might a jerk and an asshole,
but he was still father, and he loved him like a good son ought
to. The boy screamed in primeval anger, his howls turning
everyone's blood run cold. His pigtail stood straight up,
hackles raised. Eyes feral and cold. The Nekoken unleashed.
Only this time powered by a conscious mind, and deliberate
intent, to kill.

The boy tore through the remaining soldiers with inhuman
grace and speed. Weapons and limbs alike were sliced cleanly.
Fear ran rampant within the once orderly squadrons. Crimson
pools flooded the once stark-white floors. In less than a
minute, the facility became silent, except for the dripping
droplets of blood and the pained hisses of the few survivors.

Ranma smiled with cold pleasure. The delicious scent of
fear from his enemies and the ease in which he cut them into
ribbons gave him a heady sense of...freedom. This was what his
skills truly stood for. Everything he knew, Ranma now learned,
was the knowledge in which to hasten the death of his opponents,
by his hands. He was the master of life, the bringer of death.

His earlier persona, however, would not lose the fight.
This was the very thing he stood against, the murder of
innocents! Wasn't a martial-artist supposed to Help, not to
hurt? Where was his fabled honor? The 'man amongst men' his
mother waited for? Was the Oath he took to follow the Way
of the Warrior, Bushido, as meaningless as his Father's
promises?

The boy swayed on his feet. The influx of conflicting
information was too much. He collapsed against the unconscious
form of his Father, amidst the bodies of dead men and broken
weapons.

A few hours later, the remaining survivors called for
support. Several more hours later, the Saotomes were
manacled and placed in a maximum security cell. When they
both woke up, both wished to wake from the nightmare their
life had turned into.

The nightmare had only begun.



====*====*====



"These are your orders. You shall follow them word for
word. A standard B-2 assault bomber will a send you to a
designated pickup site, then a modified SR-71 will transport
you to the Drop Zone at 0130 tomorrow. Is everything clear?"

He nodded.

"Very well. That is all."

He turned abruptly without preamble, leaving most of the
'Lackeys' behind the desk-stuck figure angry and insulted. It
was gross insubordination of a superior officer! All of them
were newly stationed in the Base, so were quite surprised when
the General showed no outward reaction to the disrespectful
exit.

The General eyed the newbies standing file with an
amused eye. "Alright, since you're all new here, I would first
like to congratulate everyone for being chosen as the
Government's most elite members of your specific branches. Each
of you will be given an assigned team, which will be the
template for the mission parameters issued to you. As your
Highest ranking officer, and head of this project, you will
answer only to me. Other officers will be delegated my commands,
though. For now, go to your assigned quarters and unpack. Then
report to the briefing room in 1300 hours. Dismissed!"

"Sir! Yes, Sir!" Came the chorus of replies.

"Oh, One more thing, gentlemen." The General stood up,
and walked towards the window behind his desk.

"Sir?"

"That guy you saw before, the one I talked with before
you?" Nods. "Word of advice: Don't ever piss him off." He
snickered at their incredulous faces. "Well, what are you
waiting for? Get out of here!"

They snapped smartly, "Sir!" and about-faced, leaving
the General within the privacy of his thoughts.

'I wonder, how long will the newbies learn before they
heed my warning?"


====*====*====



"Hey, I'm all done here. And we still have a coupla'
hours to spare, too!"

"Man, can you believe the last thing he said? 'Don't
ever piss him off'? Why'd we have to watch ourselves with the
kid?" Complained one of the recruits.

"Maybe he's the Boss's son. He probably wouldn't want
us to hurt his 'precious' boy." Said another, contemptuously

"Nepotism isn't really that rare, you know."

"I wonder what he's doing in this base, though. This
place's as far from the cities as can possibly be. This is no
place for a kid."

"Maybe, he's..."

All speculation stopped the moment the subject of their
conversation stepped inside the barracks. He wore a pair of
tattered fatigues tucked into soft, ankle high boots. And a
black leather jacket over a white, sleeveless shirt, nearly
obscuring a black choker from view. His raven black hair
was tied into a loose ponytail, his bangs extending to cover
most of his face. The said boy walked slowly towards a locker,
taking out a small bag and started to pack, occasionally
placing a few things on the bed.

"Speak of the devil..."

"Hey, what's he doing here?"

"Ya think a general could give his progeny a decent
room..."

"Maybe he's not really the General's son?"

"Let's go ask him."

"Yeah."

Two of them proceeded to where the boy. They struck a
nonchalant air, seemingly relaxed and carefree.

"Hey, Kid." Said the blue-shirted soldier.

There was no answer.

Annoyed, but keeping cool, he tried again.

"Hey, KID!"

The boy continued to arrange things into the pack.

"Are you deaf kid?!"

"No."

By now, blue-shirt was irritated.

"Why didn't you answer earlier?"

"You didn't ask."

The new recruits a ways behind them began to laugh.
They didn't notice the other occupants, those stationed here
for some time, grew exceedingly nervous.

Blue-shirt narrowed his eyes. 'Smart aleck.'

"So, the general your Father?"

"No."

Puzzled, he continued to grill him.

"Are your parents in the base, then?"

"No."

He began to grow angry at the casual monotone the boy
answered him with.

"Then what the hell are you doing here, anyway?!"

The Barracks went silent. The recruits wondered why
every other soldiers inside began to look the other way. It
sounded like their teeth were chattering. And they call
themselves Men, they snorted.

The boy stopped his packing for a while, turning around
to face his inquisitor. There was the barest hint of a smile in
his lips, the first emotion they'd ever seen until now.

"I do what I'm told."

The recruit got tired of the way their conversation circled
around.

"An what are you usually told to do, *KID*."

If anything, the boy's smile grew. But it never reached
his eyes, now revealed as a pair of ice blue orbs, when he
raised his head. The air dropped a few degrees at the sight
of the azure irises.

"I kill people."


====*====*====



The fools. They think their posturing would be enough to
intimidate anyone. All they rely on is their weapons. To them,
it is what makes them soldiers. Idiots.

I return to packing a few paraphernalia's needed for a
week of reconnaissance. A mission that would end with the
termination of all personnel inside the secret lab that the
Government deemed as illegal, and potentially dangerous to
the state. Typical operation.

I ignore the whispering behind me. The new recruits are
being educated in the standard rules inside this base, by the
veterans. They have only one rule : Stay out of my way, and do
not piss me off. Smart people. And here I thought an old dog
couldn't be taught new tricks.

The recruits listen with unbelieving ears, and whisper
urgently in outright skepticism. They do not know that I can
hear them as clearly as if I had been beside them. The Veterans
try to shush them, but are only partially successful. I know
of one way, out of dozens, to expedite silence.

Slowly, I reach for the blades that I am feared of. One,
a standard Katana, with a plain hilt and leather wrapped handle.
The other blade was slightly longer, but it hid a most unusual
secret, in a plain, wooden facade. Simple, they were seen as at
first glance. That's where the true deceptions lay.

Each of the blades were crafted by the finest of Japan's
sword makers, The smiths that were known for their skill, that
surpassed the weapons made by the well-known Toledo smiths.
Their skill shaped the blades, and the Governments most
intelligent of physicists and metallurgists provided the
technology to do so. And the strangest fact of all, the blades
did not bear an edge, on both sides, but that did not reduce
their effectiveness. A masterful combination of Centuries-old
Techniques, and the latest modern science could offer. These
were the sigils that signified my status in the upper echelons
of the urban predators.

I slowly draw the Katana out of its sheath. Softly, the
blade hissed, as if in relief for being out of its prison. It
was the sound of its whisper, I knew, that chilled their bones,
and made their blood run cold.

Instantly, all sound ceased. I smile ever so slightly,
having achieved my goal. As softly as a falling leaf, The
katana went back in its sheath. I returned to my preparations.

A few more moments, I was finished. I shucked the duffle
bag over my shoulder, and proceeded towards the entryway. Before
I left, I stopped for a moment. There is something I forgot to
do...

"Masayo."

The said soldier gulped as I graced him with my attention.

"Uh...Yes?"

"I expect these Chambers to be immaculate when I arrive
in a week."

"Yes, Sir!" He trembled.

I nodded in response, and continued outside. The transport
would leave in 13 minutes, dropping me to another pick-up station.
It might be best to keep any delays in this endeavor.



====*====*====



"I'm so dead..." Masayo paced around, slightly out of it.

"Cheer up, Masayo-kun!" Another soldier tentatively
offered a cheer. "We'll help you in any way we can. Don't
worry!"

"Easy for you to say! You're not the one who has to do all the
bleeding!"

"Look on the bright side," Another ventured, "At least he'll
be gone for a week."

One of the new recruits couldn't take it anymore. "I can't
believe this shit! You're letting an Anti-social brat walk over
you, just because he says he kills people! Big deal, well, so do
we! Maybe it's high-time somebody put him in his place."

The one named Masayo suddenly grabbed his collar, and
hauled the surprised recruit from his position in the bunk.

"Listen kid, and listen good. You will follow our rules
here, and we'll be here to make sure that you do." Spittle
flew out in his frenzy. "I have no intention of dying just
because some hotshot graduate from the Academy thought he
knew better than me. So just sit back, and follow our lead!
If my mates get their heads decapitated, I'm taking you with
them!"

Stunned, the recruit sat back on the bunk. He truly
was awed by the sincerity of the man's words, that his very
survival relied on a boy that had yet to reach adulthood.

"You're serious, aren't you?" His comrades gathered
around him, as Masayo weaved a story he had told a hundred
times.

"Mate, I simply can't stress the importance of staying
out of his bad side. The Kid's got license to kill anyone,
as long as he gets the job done. That includes us."

Needless to say, they were shocked. "What?! Can't
the General do anything about him? Order him or something?"

"Mate," Masayo sighed, "The kid isn't under the General's
jurisdiction. All the Base Commander does is to give him orders,
Orders that come from up high. *Very* high."

They goggled. Another asked the obvious. "If he's so
dangerous, Why don't we just gang up on him when he's out
of control, then?"

"I once saw that kid slice a Tank artillery shell in half,
and the *Tank* too, all the while catching all the slugs fired
from a machine gun. And he did it one-handed. Now tell me how
are we going to stop someone like that..."

Silence reigned supreme, each man contemplating the info.
All came up with one question.

"Is he...Human?"


====*====*====



He waited inside the hangar under the wing of the plane,
in all appearances calm and composed. Yet inside, he swum in
a virtual maelstrom of strong emotions. Tonight, he would see
his son. A son, he hoped, that still remembered him as his
father.

Soon after their capture, the boy had been dragooned
into doing operations that should never have been done by
a child. He should have taken it, himself. But they had
been adamant. A boy could easily be molded into what they
thought as the perfect fighting machine. They held him in
a cell, in case his son thought to betray them.

As it turned out, his imprisonment would not be necessary.
He followed orders like was born to it. Many could feel his
unswerving loyalty to his superiors, but that was it. Only
loyalty, not respect. They knew that as long as he had his
orders, he would be forever tied with the Government's visions.
But, what if, they no longer needed the boy? What if, then?

They would not kill him, could not kill him. He had taught
him the forbidden schools to aid in his survival, and dozens
of other masters taught him what they could. The Government made
a warrior they could never get rid of. Even with most of his
strength restrained, like it is now, It would take a full-scale
war to see his demise.

'He is coming.' The Gi-clad martial artist stood up and
went to meet his Child.

As soon as he saw him inside the hangar, he rushed up to
talk to his son, knowing that he had only a few minutes. He saw
the boy stride gracefully, more like floating than walking.
This was his chance.

"Son..."

The boy stopped, and inclined his head.

"Tousan."

He struggled with words. Talking was never his strong suit,
unless there was a deal in the making.

"Son...how are you? Well, I hope?"

"As well as can be, under the circumstances."

He winced. The boy did not know how that hurt him.

"Does the Seal still hold? The amulet, I mean."

"Even with the amulet gone, the Seal shall hold for
a long time, unless *I* choose to break it. You know the
specifics."

The boy had lost his familiar, choppy inflections,
replaced by an almost archaic accent and formality. One of
the changes, he surmised.

He knelt before his son, grieving for the fates that
he would encounter. This was his only chance at redemption.

"Son...please. Come back to us. You're...mother...is
waiting for us." Tears leaked from his eyes. "My son, please
come back to us..."

Something seemed to flicker behind the boy's blue eyes.
But that flicker was gone in an instant, replaced by casual
indifference to his plight.

"I have a job to do. Do not attempt to disturb me again."

He threw his bag inside the plane, and walked outside
to wait for the pilots to come out, leaving his father weeping
on the floor.

The middle-aged man knelt on the floor, silently asking
the Kami's forgiveness. He had done this to his boy. Would he
ever see what he had become?

He turned to stare at his retreating back, his gait
elegant and deceptively gentle, hiding power and speed underneath
the tattered vestments. The boy- no- the *Man* had become
everything he had hope to become: a great martial artist. But
that power came at the price of his soul.

"You're Mother would have been proud of you, my Son."
he murmured, amidst the tears. "But would she be proud of what
you have become?"


====*====*====


I didn't think Tousan would come. It was a visit I did
not care of. It reminded me of things long forgotten, memories
best left behind. As I waited for the plane to leave the hangar,
I fingered my choker. It held a tiny oval crystal, of some
unknown dark crystal. It was the only thing that held my Ki
in check, limiting my abilities. It is for the best, I think.

Besides, I know that killing me is next to impossible.

I want to feel the wind run through my hair. I untie
the string that held my long raven locks together, and reveled
in the feeling of freedom as the breeze fondled each
individual strand. Such emotions, rarely felt when inside the
oppressive confines of the barracks, send a tingle in my chest.
A tiny reminder that I have not truly lost who I was, to what
I have become.

'What Am I?', you may ask. Even I do not know how to
satisfy such a question. I can only give a close approximation
in response.

I am Saotome Ranma, age 14, Grand Master of the Musabetsu
Kakutou Saotome Ryu. Master of a thousand martial disciplines,
taught by masters of many more. I am the Government's favorite
Assassin, the one they send when every one else fails. The
Slayer of Shadows, Shinigami. No, not Assassin. The term is
too...common...inelegant. There is only one that suits me the
most.

I am Saotome Ranma. I am Hitokiri.



====*====*====



Notes :

This idea actually came from the result of watching too
many Ruroni Kenshin episodes. So came up with this story.

What if Genma made stupid mistake, and Ranma had to pay
for it? What if Ranma was an Assassin? These were the questions
that gave rise to this story. The Idea also came from Gahleon's
Fic 'Shadow of Ranma'. You can find his stories at
http://www.members.tripod.com/Ghaleon_WG/

C&C are sorely needed. Any suggestions for the title on
the Ranma0.5/Dual! crossover?

Send all C&C to [email protected] . Flames will be used to
fuel the Steam locomotive I keep in my backyard.