One Man's Past
A Ranma/X-men crossover
By: Bob Lobster

Disclaimer: I don't own them. Never have, never will.......until I
take over the world and rule it with an Iron Fist!! WAA HAA
HAAAAAAAAAAAA

Notes: I just got the idea the other day and had to write it down.
It's my first fic though so please, be gentle^_^

Chapter 1: Finding The Past



    A flash of light, a quick pop of displaced air and a figure fell
lightly to the ground. He slowly raised himself up, looking around at
his surroundings, trying to take in where he had arrived. A great city
lay in the distance and he already knew that his plan has
worked........to some degree, at least. No city like that could exist
unless he had made it. Now to try and implement the rest of the plan,
to undo what has been done and hopefully change what he knew was to
come.

    He then noticed something lying on the ground in front of him and
had to resist the urge to cry out in frustration. Sighing, he leaned
in and picked up the small broken mirror, realizing he must have
dropped in when he arrived. Sighing, he looked at all the shards of
glass surrounding the once-powerful artifact. *No return trips, I
guess. * He thought to himself. *I hope I came back to the right
place. *

    Standing up again he ran a hand through his short hair, sighing
again as he remembered how long it once was; before the war, before
the camps. Putting the remains of the shattered mirror in his shirt,
he turned towards the city in the distance and started his trek,
hoping he'd be able to find the allies he knew he'd need quickly,
before it was too late to do any good.

**********************************************************************

    Several hours later, the young man found himself at the edge of
the large city, a city the likes of which he hadn't seen since before
the War. It was at this point that he realized just how hard it would
be to find anyone in the vast maze of glass, steel and concrete that
lay before him. Steeling himself, he once again began walking into the
sprawling city, his eyes darting from side to side, never staying
still, as if he were attempting to take in every detail of the area
through which he walked at once. And notice everything he did, from
the stray dog (shaggy brown in colour with a ratty coat and fur
missing in spots) picking through a garbage bin to the woman walking
down the opposite side of the road as him (five foot nine inches with
her heels, dark green blouse, and blue jeans, with long reddish brown
hair pulled into a loose pony tail) to the man driving by him in a
sports car (1976 corvette, cherry red, black hair and sunglasses). All
these details and hundreds more were picked up, sorted out and grouped
into two categories - threat or non-threat - before most of them were
discarded as useless. It was a talent he'd picked up from the years he
spent on the run during the War. His enemy was ruthless, relentless
and extremely cunning, so he and his comrades had been forced to be on
their guard 24 hours a day, seven days a week for the nearly two years
after he escaped the camps. And as the hounds could be anywhere, they
were forced to see every detail, notice every movement. So long had
this been his only means of survival that he stopped noticing he was
even doing it, the process was just ingrained into his subconscious.

    Not that he really needed to worry about it now. Very few things
in this time period could really hurt him, and those that did tended
to be a lot less subtle about it, announcing there presence rather
loudly before attacking, or so he had gathered from the tales he had
heard of this place and time. Even still, he kept his constant vigil,
and in the end it paid off, though not quite in the way he would have
imagined. His mind's quick processing powers instantly added a third
category, resources, to his sorting process and he quickly bent over
to retrieve the ten dollar bill laying on the street in front of him.
As he stood back up inspecting the bill, and wondering at its monetary
worth in this time period, his stomach took that moment to remind him
of its existence, rumbling loudly. He thought for a moment to ignore
it, as he usually would while on the road, but then his father's words
came back to him, telling him that a martial artist lives by his
stomach.

    *Besides, * he reasoned to himself, *I'll need my strength if I
run into any trouble. * Having thus decided to give in to his
stomach's rather unruly behaviour, he placed the bill in the pocket of
his loose black pants and began searching out a suitable dining
establishment. In consideration to his current situation however, any
place that served decent food at relatively cheap prices would suffice
to satiate his appetite, and a small diner was soon located. Making
his way to the glass door, his sense of smell immediately informed him
that he had made the correct decision and his mouth began watering at
the delicious aroma emanating from the restaurant in question.

**********************************************************************


    James Armstrong was a quiet man. If you asked any of his friends
or neighbors to describe him, that would be the first thing that they
would reply: that he was quiet. That's not to say that he was
uncaring, or antisocial or any of those things oftimes associated with
being quiet, just that he preferred to think before he spoke, and
often deferred to other people unless he was absolutely certain about
the subject of which he was speaking. It came as a bit of a surprise
to most people who knew him then that he seemed so at home behind the
counter of his small diner. With his apparent lack of conversational
skills, most would put it off as impossible that he could have what it
took to provide a friendly environment to his customers, no matter how
nice they knew him to truly be. These suspicions were laid to rest
quite quickly, however, when he began receiving regular customers and
pulling quite a living out of the small restaurant. What most people
didn't know was that James was an extraordinarily good judge of
character and could see what was bothering a person almost instantly.
Although he didn't talk much, what he did say was almost always
accurate, and any advice he gave was worth following. People would
leave his restaurant after talking to him and would genuinely feel
better about their situations in life, a feeling that kept them coming
back, and one that was presently helping put James' children through
school.

    It would come as no surprise to anyone who truly knew James (of
which there were only five, and all were within his immediate family)
that his senses instantly perked up when he saw a young man enter his
diner. Dressed in dusty clothes, a red silk shirt of a design he had
once seen in a window in Chinatown and a pair of baggy black pants, he
was obviously not wealthy by any standard of measure. If the look of
hunger on his strong-looking face was any measure to judge by, it had
been some time since he last had a decent meal, and his shaggy, black
hair, not long enough by far to be called long but definitely not
short either, was in severe need of a wash. James quite quickly
pronounced him, within his mind of course since he would never say
such a thing out load, as a vagrant.

    Not that he had anything against the boy, he seemed as if he kept
himself in good working order, he didn't seem at all inebriated and
his eyes had a focus that suggested a serious mind with absolutely no
influence from foreign substances. It actually made James quite
curious to know why the young man was living on the street, as he was
quite convinced he was correct on that regard. He seemed the type that
would excel at just about anything he did, and it made no sense that
he would be so down on his luck.

    It was at that point that James looked into the boy's eyes, and
instantly changed his classification of him to man. No boy had eyes
like that; most men didn't, in fact. Those were the eyes of a veteran
if ever he saw them; they were the types of eyes that he saw every
time he visited his father in the retirement home he lived at. Within
those eyes he saw a soul that seemed to say "I've been to hell and
back, seen things that would turn most men into quivering fools and I
survived with my sanity intact." He took a moment to notice the fact
that the man, though obviously Asian, had eyes more blue than any he
had seen in the past before dismissing it as irrelevant. Though it was
odd to see an Asian man with blue eyes, his eyes seemed to fit his
image perfectly, ice blue eyes to match the warrior's soul. Shaking
his head slightly to break his reverie, James gave the man a quiet
smile and greeted him politely, inviting him to sit at the counter,
and then pouring him a glass of water while the man looked over the
menu.

    As the man walked to the counter, James saw the grace with which
he moved and knew he had been right on the mark: there was no doubt
that this man was a warrior. He also saw the power that seemed to
radiate from his every movement and almost shuddered. Now James was no
small man, in fact he was rather a bear of a man, standing at six feet
even and being nearly as broad in the shoulders as two men of normal
size. He was, however quite certain that this man could grind him into
the ground at a moment's notice, and yet he found no fear of such a
thing happening. He felt strangely safe in the man's presence, a
feeling which only increased when the man smiled kindly at him and
thanked him in a heavily accented, but obviously benevolent voice.

    Deciding that he needed to know more about the stranger in front
of him, James took the initiative in the conversation for once and
introduced himself before asking how he could help the man. After a
moment's pause, in which the man silently studied James, he smiled
again and answered in his heavily accented but mostly understandable
English.

    "Ranma, Ranma Saotome." The man said and offered up his hand,
which James gladly shook, "I sorry, I not speaking English very well.
What food I can get for small money?"

    James shook off the proffered apology and immediately offered the
man his advice on what he would enjoy on his obviously........modest
budget. Ranma ordered a sandwich from the grill and then sat back,
studying the restaurant and it's people, though only James was
observant enough to notice his thorough study, like a general studying
a potential battlefield before turning back towards James and waiting
(practically drooling, James noticed) for his food to be ready. In no
time, Ranma was served and he proceeded to devour his food with a
gusto that James had never seen before. Sure that his young customer
was going to choke, James kept a close eye on him,however, to his
relief Ranma made it through his meal with a seemingly practiced
efficiency before draining a glass of water followed immediately by
another.

    "Thank you, Armstrong-san, was good food." Ranma said as James
neared him to clear away the dirty dishes. James smiled appreciatively
at Ranma for the compliment before asking if he needed anything else.
Ranma seemed to think the question over for a moment before smiling
once again and answering. "Hai, Armstrong-san, I looking for
jaku.....uh, school, called...uh, z'aviers. Umm, you know where school
is, please?"

    Ranma completed the question with a slightly apologetic look,
knowing that his English skills, or lack thereof, made communication
between them somewhat strained, but again James took it in stride.
Unfortunately, not knowing the answer, James was only able to advise
him to seek out a police officer to ask, or perhaps go to the travel
bureau three blocks over. Thanking James for his help and getting
proper directions to the travel bureau, Ranma paid his bill (one
dollar and fifty-eight cents, significantly lower than he would
normally charge, but Ranma looked like he could use all the money he
had) and went about his way. As he walked out of the store, giving
James a friendly wave before stepping outside, James couldn't help but
think that this "z'aviers" school, wherever it was, was fortunate to
have a student like that, and hope that he would once again meet the
young warrior if only to see how well he succeeded in life.

**********************************************************************


    Studying the street signs carefully, and once again cursing
himself for not learning to speak better English while he'd had the
chance, Ranma made his way in the direction in which he was pointed by
the rather friendly diner owner he had just left. Spotting a digital
clock on the side of a large building, he noted that it was near six
o'clock in the evening and thanked his luck that it was summer, and
thus there would still be light for a few hours yet. He then stopped
as he remembered to reset the pocket watch he carried with him, in the
front left pocket of his pants. Staring at the watch, his mind
wandered back to the day it was given to him, a gift from his wife on
their one year anniversary, only two months before she was permanently
taken from him in an ambush by a group of hound-led hunters. He had
nearly lost his own life that day and had it not been for the intense
burst of anger and depression that had consumed him at her death he
probably would have. Even now, he still shuddered when he recalled the
power of the Shishi-hokoudan he had released against the enemy that
day.

    Shaking his head before the tears could come Ranma quickly set the
watch to the proper time and, having seen the day and year on a local
newspaper, date. He then returned the watch to his pocket before
continuing on towards his destination. Upon reaching the doors of the
building, Ranma sighed again mentally. He had always hated dealing
with bureaucrats before the War (after the War began in Japan, there
was no government to speak of, so it was a moot point) and he highly
doubted his opinion of them would have changed during their absence
from his life.

    Looking up once, as if to ask for help, Ranma pushed the glass
door open and walked into the building. The room into which he entered
was, he had to admit, fairly nice as far as government buildings went,
though that was still far from making it comfortable. Dimly lit as it
was, it took Ranma a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the light,
which was significantly dimmer than the outside sun, even late as it
was in the afternoon. Once he took in the layout of the building,
Ranma headed quickly towards to desk which he assumed to be
information from the sign hanging overhead bearing the sign of the
question mark. Behind the desk sat a rather pretty woman, older than
Ranma by five or six years, and having a really bad day by the looks
of it. She looked frazzled to say the least, probably looking forward
to the end of what appeared to be a very long day. As she saw Ranma
approaching, a scowl appeared on her face for the briefest of moments
before she schooled her features in a manner that only public servants
could truly pull off and appeared to smile so genuinely that only one
as observant as Ranma could spot the venom barely held in check behind
it. As Ranma came within speaking distance he flashed her a warm
smile, the one he knew had caused more than a few women to melt over,
hoping it would defuse some of the girl's obvious hostility. He was
relieved to see her relax slightly as she realized he wasn't going to
be confrontational and he almost felt bad for the frustration he knew
she would be feeling when he tried speaking to her in his poor
English.

    "May I help you, sir?" The girl, who's name Ranma noted to be
Katherine from her nametag, asked, smiling a little more sincerely.

    "Yes. I looking for school. Is called Z'aviers. Please can I have
address?" He could almost see the young lady sag as she realized his
lack of fluency in her language, but she kept it on the inside and he
smiled once more at her, this time somewhat apologetically. She
motioned for him to sit down in the chair opposite the desk and sat
back down in front of her computer, typing for a bit and bringing up a
list of local schools.

    "You said the name of the school is....Zaviers?" She asked,
entering in the name as close as she could gather from Ranma's poor
pronounciation and then awaiting the results. "I don't seem to be
finding anything under that name."

    "I sorry, is hard for me say. Is......how you say....not free
school, is pay for school." Ranma said, trying to find the best
English words to describe what he knew to be a private school and
cursing once again that he had never had his wife's fluency in the
English language. "Name is starting with 'X' I think."

    "A private school you mean?" Katherine asked, and after receiving
a slightly relieved nod from Ranma she punched the new information
into her computer, coming up with a list of private schools within the
city and it's surrounding areas. This didn't narrow the search down
much, however once she tried starting with the letter x, she was able
to narrow the list to only three schools. One of the schools on said
list, was an Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. Relieved to have
found the name of a school, which was no doubt the one he was looking
for, Katherine quickly verified the name with Ranma and was very
pleased to see him nod happily at her finding. She then pulled up the
information on the Xavier Institute, and printed out a copy of the
address for Ranma's use.

    Ranma looked at the address given him and quickly inquired as to
which direction it was in from where he was. Katherine pulled a map
from one of her drawers and showed him the exact location of the
address she had given him, before happily bidding him a good evening.
Though he was a bit put off by the fact that she saw him away much
more cheerfully than she greeted him, he understood that she wanted to
go home and could thus understand her hurry to get him on his way.

    As she watched the retreating form of Ranma, Katherine sighed
slightly. Though happily married for three years now, she could still
appreciate a fine form when she saw one, and the man that had just
left her desk was about as fine as they came. Reigning in her raging
libido, she quickly cleaned up her desk and, having already been
prepared to leave when Ranma had stepped in, closed her desk for the
evening. Then she got up and headed towards to door so she could head
home, promising herself a long cold shower when she got home to
relieve her mind of visions of strong Asian men with rock hard butts.

**********************************************************************


    Looking at his pocket watch once more, Ranma noted that it was
only about quarter after six, and that he still had a good three hours
before sunset. Unfortunately the Xavier Institute was quite a distance
away, lying in one of the small towns on the outskirts of New York
City, Westchester to be exact, and even with his substantial speed it
would take him most of the day to walk there. This was especially true
since he wanted to avoid the type of publicity that roof hopping in
the middle of New York would cause. Not that he was even entirely
certain he could manage a good roof hop on twenty to forty story
skyscrapers, as much fun as it might have been to try.

    Instead, he resigned himself to finding a good place to lay his
head for the night and so headed towards Central Park, which was close
enough to walk to while it was still light out. He'd heard in the past
that this particular park had quite the reputation for being an area
that one stayed out of at night, but after everything he'd been
through in his relatively short life it would take a great deal more
than the threat of a mugger or two to worry him. He had enough faith
in his ability to know that even asleep no common thug could catch him
off guard. He'd been getting attacked in his sleep for most of his
life after all, so a part of him was aware, even when the rest of him
was unconscious.

    It took him less than an hour to reach the park, and then another
ten minutes to find a spot suitable to spend the night. By that point
he was getting hungry again, so he used another 2 dollars of his
rather meager funds to purchase a hotdog and a Pepsi from a local
vender before heading off to practice some katas until dark. It took
him a few moments to locate a clearing of sufficient size and vacancy
to practice without worrying about people getting in the way. Once he
had located and staked his claim to his practice grounds, he began
with a few minutes of simple stretching to limber up before launching
into one of his simpler, ground-based katas, performing it with a
perfection that would make most masters of the art weep with envy.

    When he began his first kata, he was quite alone in the clearing
aside from the odd person passing by. As his katas began to increase
in speed and technical complexity, so did the people in the area
increase in volume. Many passing by stopped for a time to watch the
young man who seemed to flow through his forms like a majestic dance,
more a force of nature than anything that could come from man. People
in a hurry to get home after a long day of work, rushing to see
children, loved ones or just speeding off on their daily errands
stopped to admire the beauty inherent in this deadly art. The next
day, some of the local martial arts dojos would wonder about the
sudden rise in attendance as people seemed to take a sudden interest
in the Art, seeing the true beauty of something many thought to be
violent and barbaric. Ranma realized little of this however, lost as
he was in his Art. And his it was, he was the master of it, as it was
the master of him; he moved where the Art told him, and the Art did
what he asked of it; truly in many ways he was the Art.

    Never during that time however, was Ranma unaware of the crowds,
the onlookers and the admirers, he just chose not to pay attention to
them, sensing as only he could that they were no threat to him. And so
time passed, as it is wont to do, people came and went, and Ranma
danced. Soon the sun began its slow dive beneath the horizon and
coming back to reality at last, Ranma brought his dance to an end.
Turning towards the crowd of people, Ranma smiled briefly at those
that clapped for him before heading on his way, thankful that he had
remembered to keep his forms within what most people considered the
norm.

    It was not until shortly after the War began that he really came
to realize just how unusual most people considered his skills to be.
Not many people in modern times practiced the Art as they did when it
meant the difference between life and death. These days the Art was
more to keep in shape and keep some traditions alive than to use as a
lifestyle as it would have been considered in times long gone. As it
was, not many people came close to practicing with the same near
fanatical effort that was put into Ranma's training under his father.
His skills were therefore significantly higher than that of most
average martial artists, and the people around him generally expected
that. It wasn't until after the War began that people began to really
look at him funny whenever he fought. The whispers began, behind his
back at school and as he passed on the street. People thought he
couldn't hear, but his hearing was a great deal better than most and
he heard everything that was said.

    "He's too fast, no human should be that fast."

    "He's so strong too, that can't be possible."

    "How can any human be so powerful?"

    "Maybe he's not..."

    "Mutant."

    "Freak."

    Everyone thought they had him pegged, him and all his "freakish"
friends. "Mutants, the whole lot of them," that's what people would
say. What none of them ever realized was that none of them, not a
single one of the high powered martial artists was a mutant. Not yet
at least. It was always somewhat ironic to Ranma that it took
involvement in the War before he truly joined the ranks of the
mutants. It took the enemy itself to bring forth his mutant gene and
release his powers, which had lain dormant for the first seventeen
years of his life.

    Shaking himself out of his memories and bitter reverie Ranma
walked silently to the small area he had found in which to lie down.
Tucking himself under the cover of a small patch of trees, out of the
eyes of all those but the most determined of searchers, he made
himself as comfortable as he could under the circumstances before
shutting his eyes and quickly nodding off to sleep.

**********************************************************************


    Ranma opened his eyes and looked down at his uncute fiancee where
she chatted idly with her sister Nabiki on the road next to him. He
was presently walking home from school, along the fence as was his
usual method, along with the two Tendo sisters, though the word "with"
was somewhat subjective as the younger was currently ignoring him
(again) and the older was busy talking to her sister. So Ranma, as was
also normal, silently followed behind.

    Though on the outside he seemed calm, nonchalantly strolling along
the fence top, he was actually in quite a bit of turmoil right now.
He'd had a really bad feeling all day, the kind he generally got right
before a big fight, and he was still waiting for the attack that would
herald his next adventure. Now normally that wouldn't be such a bad
thing; he actually enjoyed his little adventures quite a bit, what boy
his age wouldn't enjoy all the excitement, especially after the years
he spent, just him and his dad and one boring training ground after
another.

    That was something most people seemed to misunderstand about his
life, they all thought that the training trip was one of non-stop
excitement, constantly learning interesting and dangerous techniques
and fighting for his life against all kinds of strange creatures. The
reality of his training was nowhere near so glamorous though, constant
drills, practicing basic techniques hour after hour, day after day.
Sure there was the odd cool and dangerous technique, there were a few
adventures and there were even a couple of strange creatures to fight
off. Those were however, the vast minority, well the boring repetition
took up most of the time. Would it be any wonder then, for anyone who
knew the truth, that now that Ranma was finally getting some
excitement in his life and a real use for his training he would look
forward to each little adventure when they came up.

    And normally he did look forward to it, cherishing it whenever he
got that feeling that something was going to happen. This time was
different though; this time the feeling didn't come with anticipation
as it normally did, but fear, a deep knotting fear down in his
stomach. It was a feeling he could easily do without, but one he was
finding refused to go away, in fact growing only stronger as the day
progressed. Never let it be said that Ranma Saotome was ruled by his
fear though (provided it didn't involve a certain four legged animal
whom we shall not name) and so he walked along the fence as usual,
completely calm to all those who saw him and silently awaited the
apocalypse he knew in his heart to be coming.

    Despite his readiness for anything, after having fought gods,
demons and dragons it was hard to be surprised by much after all, he
still found himself surprised by what dropped out of the sky and into
his world on that day. His first thoughts were disbelief, nothing that
big could be real, especially anything man-made; this wasn't an anime
after all. Real it was however, a robot, as if such a small word could
describe the shear menace exuded by the metal beast that stood before
him. The thing was over forty feet tall, and a dark purple in colour.
It was human-shaped, if a very large human, and stared down at the
three of them with a coldness that only a construct such as it could
exude. Ranma stood stunned as the robot seemed to study them for a
moment, totally unable to move in....fear? No, that couldn't be right,
Ranma Saotome feared nothing. Awe perhaps? Awe that humans could
create something so magnificent, and yet so terrifying. No, what truly
stopped him, what froze him to his spot was horror. Horror because the
thing that stood before him was known to him. Horror because he had
heard the tales of what they were and what they were made for; because
he had seen refugees from the United States that still shivered in
fear at the very thought of the beast before him.

    Sentinels. Mutant hunters. Slaughterers of thousands, perhaps
millions, no one really knew how many had died in the United States
under the Sentinel occupation. And that truly horrified Ranma more
than anything else, that they were here, in Japan. The Government had
to know what they had done to the United States, if Ranma knew the
Japanese government had to, and yet they still let these monsters
enter their homeland. Was the fear of mutants so great, the fear of
what they could do to humanity, that someone would actually decide to
risk bringing in these butchers to deal with them?

    Mentally shaking himself from his stupor, Ranma quickly leapt down
in to the street, placing himself between the Sentinel and the two
still frozen Tendo sisters. It was at that point that the Sentinel
finally seemed to finish studying them and spoke for the first time in
its cold, mechanical voice.

    "Scan completed. Subject located. Commencing capture procedures.
Tendo, Nabiki, mutant designation #2453, you are hereby ordered to
surrender yourself into the custody of this unit for transportation to
your designated area. Resistance is useless."

    Once again, all three of them found themselves frozen, two in
shock and one in pure primal terror. Nabiki was the first to regain
her ability to move however, as she began slowly walking backwards
shaking her head and mouthing small denials though she knew they would
do no good. This shook Ranma out of his stupor and he turned to look
at Nabiki, confusion and concern in his eyes. He quickly turns back
towards the Sentinel as it begins speaking again.

    "Tendo, Nabiki, you have ten seconds to comply to this unit and
surrender yourself. If you refuse, this unit is authorized in the use
of force to apprehend you."

    At this point Nabiki fell backwards, landing roughly on her butt
and crying out in terror at the thought of the thing before her using
force on her. Her cry was enough to finally bring both Ranma and Akane
back to reality and Ranma quickly leapt at the Sentinel, intending to
finish it quickly before it could fulfill it's mission. His leap
brought him all the way to the Sentinel's head where he proceeded to
deliver a powerful side kick, knocking the surprised Sentinel off
balance a bit, but not hurting it much at all.

    *Attacker designation Saotome, Ranma. Possessing active gene?
Negative. Source of power? Unknown. Conclusion? Proceed with caution,
use of lethal force in protection of unit authorized.*

    Ranma landed and dove to the side, just avoiding the Sentinel's
retaliatory strike as it fired its hand-mounted energy cannons at him.
Ranma kept dodging around the blasts as the Sentinel tried its utmost
to hit him until his luck finally ran out. During one of his leaps, he
landed on the edge of a small crater left behind from a recent battle
he had had with Ryoga and he stumbled slightly, just enough for the
Sentinel to get a quick shot in, striking him on the chest and sending
him flying ten feet, straight into and through a brick wall. Just as
he painfully raised his head from the rubble, he saw the Sentinel
raising its arm to fire off the shot that would finish him off.
Knowing that he couldn't dodge the blast, he began gathering his
energies, hoping a Moko Takabishi would be enough to deflect the
blast, when suddenly it was no longer necessary.

    "Shishi Houkoudan!" A voice cried from twenty feet or so to his
left and a bright green blast struck the Sentinel's arm and knocked
it's blast off course, where it harmlessly struck the water in the
canal.

    *Attacker designation Hibiki, Ryoga. Possessing Active mutant
gene? Negative. Source of power? Unknown. Conclusion? This unit is not
suited to fight two unknown power sources of such high magnitude.
Obtain Tendo, Nabiki designate #2453 and return to base. Avoid further
confrontation if possible. Lethal force authorized.*

    Looking briefly to the left, Ranma saw Ryoga running in, still
glowing green from the residual energy of his chi blast, before he got
back to his feet and began advancing towards the Sentinel, which was
now moving in the direction of Nabiki once again. She had watched the
whole proceeding with a sort of horror filled fascination, knowing
that it was her life that was on the line this time. She had no
illusions about what would happen if she were taken by the Sentinels.
Though she had never personally spoken to any American refugees like
Ranma had, she knew enough about what really happened in the United
States to know that if the Sentinel killed her, it would be considered
a blessing, especially with her particular "gift". So it was that when
the Sentinel turned towards her again she just stood there, too
terrified to move, though she silently screamed at herself to run.

    Ranma and Ryoga ran towards the metal beast as it quickly went for
Nabiki, both charging up their attacks in an effort to stop it. Both
boys were confident that together they could defeat the Sentinel,
however as confident as they were and as able as they were, they were
unable to foresee what happened next. Shaken loose from her stupor at
seeing the Sentinel once again charging her sister, Akane knew that it
was up to her to defend Nabiki, after all, neither Ranma nor Ryoga
could possibly make it in time to stop the thing. So she did the only
thing she could, she ran towards the giant robot, arm pulled back to
deliver a powerful punch and leapt as high as she could towards it.
The Sentinel however, was no longer going to be taken by surprise and
had already scanned her and knew she was attacking.

    *Attacker designation Tendo, Akane. Possessing active mutant gene?
Negative. Possessing potential mutant gene? Positive. Conclusion?
Designate Tendo, Akane expendable. Defend unit with lethal force.*

    The Sentinel quickly raised its arm towards Akane's oncoming form
and time seemed to slow down for Ranma. He saw the rage on Akane's
face dissolve into terror, he saw Nabiki scream in horror and he heard
both his and Ryoga's bellow of rage and fear match each other. Then a
beam of bright red energy left the Sentinel's hand, enveloping Akane's
body, and for a moment Ranma could see her, glowing bright like an
angel before her body seemed to dissolve and ceased to exist. Even as
the hellfire disappeared and the Sentinel turned it's head once more
toward the two of them, Ranma could already feel his eyes burning with
tears and his body burning with rage and depression. He could feel
Ryoga burning as well from where he was next to him and for once he
couldn't tell whose rage burned hotter, whose depression was heavier.
Together they released their combined angst and anger towards the
Sentinel and for a brief moment, the world turned green and everyone
who looked on was blinded.

    When sight was returned, the Sentinel no longer existed.

**********************************************************************


    Ranma woke up screaming Akane's name for the first time in over
three years. Shaking badly, he tried to contain his emotions before
they threatened to spill out in the form of tears. His wife had taught
him that there was nothing wrong with tears, that tears were a natural
and healthy reaction to the death of a loved one. He refused however
to demean his memories of his friends and family by breaking down
whenever he thought of them. He would face his loss like a man, and
honour those that passed by spending his life keeping what happened
from ever occurring again. He had sworn this on his wife's grave and
he meant to keep his oath.

    Sitting up gingerly, Ranma looked around, noting how dark it still
was and realized that it was still only late evening. Realizing that
he wasn't going back to sleep anytime soon - dreams of the past had
been few and far between lately but still rarely got back to sleep
after having one - Ranma decided that he should begin his trek.
Stretching lightly, he pulled the pocket watch from his pants pocket
and checked the time, groaning as he realized it was only eleven in
the evening. *Oh well, at least I'll get there nice and early anyway.
* Ranma thought to himself as he rose and began a quick kata to get
the blood moving and wake himself further.

    After finishing up a few slow katas and deeming himself
sufficiently awake, Ranma stepped out of the area in which he had
slept and walked over to a nearby lamp post, under which he consulted
the directions the lady at the travel bureau had given him. Orienting
himself, he started off in the direction that would eventually take
him to the Xavier Estate.

    The night was fairly warm, though not as hot as the day had been,
making for a rather pleasant walk through the mostly deserted park. He
still ran across the odd person as he crossed over to the far side,
but most were either in a hurry to get through and avoid the
unreputable sort, or they were the unreputable sort. Either way they
rarely stopped to say hello, and Ranma found himself walking in
silence for the entire trip out of the park and quite a ways into the
city proper. As he wondered the darkened streets, he thought back to
what he knew of the war, and what he would need to change to avoid it
happening.

    He wasn't sure of the exact date, but he knew that the problems in
the United States began with the assassination of a politician by the
name of Robert Kelley. Having been performed by a radical mutant
activist group known as the Brotherhood of Mutants, the group had
believed that by assassinating Kelley, they could prove mutant-kind's
superiority over baseline humans. Unfortunately their plan backfired
quite badly in that Kelley's murder spurred into action politicians
who had previously stood against him, and set into course the so-
called "Mutant Registration Act". The act was the first step,
requiring all mutants to register themselves to the government for
monitoring purposes. Some mutants naturally refused to register
themselves, preferring the safety of anonymity, and the government
decided that more drastic measures were needed. Funded by Shaw
Industries, the government began mass production of the Sentinels;
massive robots used to hunt down and apprehend rouge mutants,
eliminating those that resisted. That was when the War truly began.
The Sentinels, having been given basically free reign so long as they
followed their programmed directives: protect human life and control
the mutant population, began a mass purging of the mutant population
from the country. Those who resisted were killed mercilessly, and
those who surrendered were rounded up and placed in concentration
camps.

    Ranma remembered distinctly the day his father found out about the
actions of the United States. He was eight years old when the War
began and though it didn't affect him directly until he was much
older, his father always made a point to bring him to speak with
anyone who had escaped the War. Not many people knew it, but his
father was an avid believer in mutant rights, instilling in him a
sense of right and wrong that he still followed to this day, one that
respected the rights of all people, humans and mutants alike. It was
an odd contradiction that his greedy, useless father would hold such
high ideals, and one that kept him confused about the truth behind his
father's thoughts for many years. It was those beliefs however, that
led his father to learn everything he could about what was happening
in the United States, and in turn teach it to Ranma. The day Genma
first found out about the Sentinels, he nearly went ballistic,
destroying huge tracks of forest in his anger and raising Ranma's
respect for his father's ability ten fold.

    It was a few years later, shortly after Ranma had turned ten, when
they heard the news of the fate of the mutants known as the X-men.
Genma had been telling Ranma tales of the heroism of the X-men for
years and they had been almost as big of heroes to him as his father
was. In fact, at the time his father had just taught him the dreaded
Neko-ken and after that time the X-men took Genma's position as
Ranma's hero for a long time to come. It came as a great shock to both
of them that the prominent and powerful mutant heroes could ever fall,
but that was the news they received. The mansion that was their
headquarters, the Xavier Estate, was attacked and no one survived. In
later years it was rumored that a few of the X-men survived the
initial attack and fought on for many years to come. Ranma had even
met the mutant known as Wolverine once when he visited Japan with his
job in the Canadian Resistance. At the time however, it was thought
that all had perished and Genma and Ranma had personally held a
memorial service in honour of the lost heroes.

    Not much was heard after that point; escapees became few and far
between as the Sentinels took more and more control over the country,
however, there were rumors of experiments held on mutants to turn them
into what became known as "hounds". Hounds were ruthless mutant
hunters who used their gifts to track down rogue mutants for their
Sentinel masters. Through a mixture of torture and drugs they were
made into mindless killers whose only thought was to obey their
masters. Ranma shuddered at the memories of his few run-ins with the
hounds, trying to forget the feeling of being hunted, not only by your
own kind but sometimes your former friends.

    It wasn't until he was sixteen that the War became a true part of
his life, when the Sentinels were brought over to Japan. For years,
the Sentinels had controlled all media out of the United States,
masking the true horror of the War and showing only what was necessary
for people to believe that Sentinels were a good addition to any
countries security. Lots of people knew better of course, people like
Ranma who had spoken with the refugees and been raised his entire life
knowing the truth about mutants, that they were merely another branch
of humanity. Much of the public, however, was completely unaware of
the horrors occurring just across the ocean, having only seen what the
government would let them see. To this day, Ranma still couldn't
figure out what had caused the Japanese government to pick up the
Sentinel program, knowing what he did and knowing that the government,
with its vast resources, had to have known what was truly happening.
Was it that the Japanese were truly so conformist that they would
embrace the devil itself to rid the country of these "outsiders"? Or
perhaps they just believed that they would be strong enough to control
the Sentinels where the Americans failed. All Ranma knew for sure was
that nine months after his arrival in Nerima, the Sentinels became a
permanent part of his life. Their first attack, aimed at Nabiki,
killed Akane and took the combined effort of him and Ryoga, both in a
rage empowered berserker state, to destroy. The attacks just became
worse from there on.....

    Shaking himself once more from his thoughts before he managed to
depress himself into a Shishi Houkoudan, something that was sure to
attract the attention he was hoping to avoid, Ranma looked around to
see where he was. He was surprised to find that he had walked for a
couple of kilometers, it having been quite some time since he had
truly been that unaware of his surroundings. He blamed it on the trip
through time and the fight that preceded it. It had taken quite a bit
out of him to survive that final fight and he had barely managed to
lived long enough to make the trip. All the others in his group had
been less lucky; him being the only survivor of the attack. Studying
his surroundings he found himself in a nicer area of town, though not
by much. The area seemed to be predominantly nightclubs and bars,
though some decent looking apartments were dotting the street as well.
Walking and looking around as he was, he easily felt the strange
energy in the air, as if something powerful was nearby. Extending his
senses outward, Ranma felt a rush of dark energy followed by the quiet
but violent passing of a person nearby. It felt similar to what
Hinako's attack had felt like, only with a much darker, almost evil
tinge to it.

    Changing his direction, he began hurrying towards the source of
the dark power, knowing he was too late to save the poor soul he had
felt die but hoping he could stop any others from sharing his or her
fate. He was about halfway to the disturbance when he felt more than
heard a scream of shock and rage. *Apparently the body's been found,*
Ranma thought to himself, *and by a fairly high level telepath to
judge by her mental scream. Anyone with the slightest bit of training
could have sensed that mental shout a moment ago.*

    Speeding up Ranma hoped that whoever the telepath was, she, and
this time he was sure it was a she, could hold off the source of evil
until he got there to help. Spotting an apartment, and sensing the two
energies colliding, one blazing like the sun while the other seemed to
absorb that light into a blackness deeper than any pitch, Ranma
wondered briefly what it was he was getting himself into before
realizing that the light was quickly losing to the dark and would soon
be beaten. Leaping up and crashing through the window to where he
sensed the energy, Ranma took a moment to get a feeling for the
situation.

    The apartment was quite large, and would have looked nice had it
not been for the pitched battle taking place in the middle of it. Two
woman; one with extremely short hair, as red as his girl side's, and
wearing a purple bathrobe was seemingly doing battle with the floor
itself as it rose in a tidal wave towards her, holding her in place
with two wooden hands reaching out from below her to take her feet;
the other with long black hair and wearing what looked to be a black
evening gown was obviously the one controlling the rebellious floor as
she laughed insanely at the redhead, while making gestures which the
floor seemed to follow. At that moment a gas line ruptured and a tower
of flames shot forth from beneath them, startling the redhead but
seemingly delighting the black haired one. At this point the black-
haired one seemed to attack the redhead telepathically, causing her to
fall to her knees and cry out for help.

    Deciding that this was his cue to make a dramatic entrance, Ranma
gathered a small amount of his chi energy up and fired it at the
black-haired witch, blasting her backwards into a wall, and releasing
her hold on the redhead.

    "Who are you to challenge one such as Selene, who has ruled
empires? Speak up, so I know the name of the fool I am about to kill."
The black haired woman pompously demanded as she pushed herself back
to her feet, glaring at Ranma.

    "Ranma Saotome." Ranma almost casually stated as he walked toward
her through the blazing inferno. "But for you, Death."

To Be Continued...



Ending Notes: So, what did you think? For those wondering, in the
Ranmaverse this takes place after the series.......or significantly
before depending on your point of view, though when exactly will
become clearer in the next few chapters. In the X-men universe, it
takes place around Uncanny X-men 184. For those of you who know X-men
well enough, you should be able to place the last scene above...or am
I the only one that's read them that many times^_^;

Many thanks go out to my prereader Zelas, without whom this would be
horrendously full of mistakes. 

Any C&C would be appreciated, as it is my first real post. If you
wanna get in touch with me by email it's ranikkoku@hotmail.com and
eventually this will be up on my page at www.geocities.com/ranikkoku
Thanks
Bob Lobster