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Hello, folks. This story turned out to be a Hell of a lot bigger than I first imagined, so I'm breaking it up into manageable bites. Hope you enjoy. Copyright stuff: This story is the property and creation of BKWillis and is not intended for profit, assuming anyone was dumb enough to pay for it. Other creations appearing in this work and their owners include: This Time Round -- Tyler Dion The Adric Defense Force -- Douglas B. Killings Doctor Who -- The BBC Tenchi Muyo -- Pioneer Entertainment Seaquest DSV -- Someone or other who isn't me Star Trek TNG -- Paramount Ranma 1/2 -- Rumiko Takahashi TO DIE FOR: LIKE WATER FOR ADRIC (Part 1) by BKWillis "Don't you feel it?" "I try, but Benny's pretty fast for her age." The three stood in the empty parking lot: the Doctor with his brolly clenched sword-like in one fist and frowning worriedly; Chris bored and overdressed; Benny sober and not happy about it. "That's not what I meant, you incorrigible skirt-chaser," the Doctor muttered darkly, rolling his Rs in case any fangirls were about. "I meant that nasty, crawling feeling between the shoulderblades. That sensation of dark forboding that oppresses the very soul, that casts a grim shadow over all it touches..." "You mean a feeling of Evil?" Chris asked, making sure to capitalize the word. A neat trick, if you can manage it. "A feeling that some ancient and malevolent force is looming over us? A feeling of foul, horrendous Evil from the Dawn of Time?" "Yes! You feel it, too, then?" "Nope." "What?" The Doctor looked puzzled. "Then how did you know...?" "Because that's what you _always_ say!" Chris shouted. "When the postman's late, it's 'Eeevil from the Dawn of Time!' When you find a roach in the loo, it's 'Ancient Eeeevil!' When--" "Cockroaches _are_ ancient," the Doctor muttered. "--your tea gets cold, it's an 'Eeeevil omen!' You've got a complex, you have." "See here, Cwej! You can't--" "I feel it, too," Benny said quietly. "Huh?" replied Chris and the Doctor in stereo. Benny looked... 'spooky' was the only word that really fit. Of course, she often looked that way when she was sober, but this was differ- ent, somehow. She had the look of a mouse that has just heard something meow over its shoulder (Metaphorically speaking, since mice have no shoulders. Seriously. You put a necklace on a mouse, it slides right down to its waist. Try it sometime.). Benny closed her eyes and concentrated. "I feel... like there's some- thing with its eye on me... something very old and very unnatural." Chris felt his hackles rise. Benny was creeping him out, big-time. He wondered if she was just playing, but was too entranced by her strange behavior to ask. "I feel... something dark... twisted with terrible desires..." Chris looked nervously about. Was that shadow moving? Was that just the wind? "I feel..." There was a sort of flicker, as though the breeze had blown a wave of darkness over the three. "I feel... a draft?" Benny looked puzzled for a moment, then felt of herself. "Crukking Hell! My panties are gone!" ---- A tiny figure crouched in the shadow of the trash cans behind This Time Round, its narrow eyes alight with an unholy joy. A rat which had been picking through the garbage took one look at those evil orbs and decided that it might be safer to scavenge somewhere else. Like, in the cat's sandbox, for instance. "Oh, my darling! I have you at last!" The figure giggled hideously to itself. "We are meant to be together, you and I! It's _destiny_! Heeheehee! It's bigger than the both of us!" The figure rolled up its sleeve and checked its watch. "Oops! I've got a little appointment to keep, so we'll have to postpone our plea- sures until later. What's that you say? Of course you can come with me!" The figure suddenly raised something to his lips and kissed it... A pair of blue panties. Blue silk panties decorated with pictures of little whiskey bottles. "I wouldn't _dream_ of going without you, my silky darling!" ---- They were late, of course. Number One had factored that into his calculations. After approxi- mating the idiocy level of the average WANKER, then adding a little extra to cover irresponsibility and the generally shitty condition of the TAURDUS, he had decided to tell them to meet him at noon, which should have put them arriving at about 1:20, half an hour before he would actually need them. Instead, it was now 1:50, there was no sign of the little twerps, and he was due to make the buy sometime in the next ten minutes. Apparently, the WANKERs were even stupider than he had counted on. Which also meant that they would be even less use if they actually were present. Still, it would be comforting to have _someone_ around when he dealt with the Man. The Man wasn't likely to try anything funny, since Number One had what he wanted, but you never could tell with that crazy bastard. He was hoping that the presence of a carload of armed men would make the Man be a bit more circumspect in his behavior. Number One had his own favorite .357 Magnum in a shoul- der rig, but had few illusions as to his chances one-on-one with the old maniac if things got hairy. Number One got out of his truck and began to walk down the alley to their arranged meeting place, a briefcase and a sack held in his left hand, leaving his right free to draw and fire. There was a groan- ing of brakes behind him, and he was so keyed up that he had the Magnum out and aimed at the driver's skull before he even realized who it was. "Heh heh... Didn't scare ya, did I Boss?" "You're late, shit-for-brains," Number One snarled as he holstered the pistol. "I told you to be here at 12:00 and..." He tapered off and examined the four young men in the car. All four were bruised and scratched and one had a black eye. "So, the Trekkies kicked y'all's asses, I see." "No, no," Darren said a little too quickly. "What happened was... umm... see..." "Save it for somebody who gives a damn," Number One snapped. "Did you bring what I told you?" "Uh-huh." The four WANKERs nodded in unison. "Good." Number One smiled and relaxed a little. At least they had obeyed him _that_ much. "Let's see what you've got." The foursome all blushed and dug out objects from their pockets, holding the little packets out for him to see. "I sincerely hope -- for y'all's sake -- that this is some kind of joke." Number One's voice was as calm as the Summer air right before a class F-5 tornado comes plowing out of the sky and into a trailer park. "You said to bring protection..." Darren began. The tornado hit. "I meant _weapons_, you friggin' idiots! Not _condoms_! Why the Hell would I want you to bring _condoms_ out here!?!" "I dunno," Darren replied sheepishly. He really didn't like the way Number One's hand kept twitching toward his holster. It's not a good thing when armed people get all jumpy like that. "Maybe you were gonna get some girls and have a party to celebrate us being allies or something..." "If I ever celebrate _that_, it'll be by ritual seppuku, most likely." "Don't kill yourself, Boss!" Number One smiled viciously. "I didn't say _my_ seppuku, did I?" He gave that a moment to sink in, then went on. "Anyway, you're at least here, so just stay in the car and try to look intimidating." He thought about that for a moment, then amended it to, "Never mind. Just stay in the car." Number One walked back down the alley, checking his watch. It was now 1:54. Any time now... "Hello, youngster." Number One managed to keep from drawing at the sound of the cracked old voice. He turned to face the sound, composing himself as he did. He would have to be on his toes with the Man, and if he showed the least sign of fear or discomfiture, the Man would turn the tables on him. "Hello, Old Man," he replied. "Hmmph. This younger generation's got no respect for their elders," the little man said sadly. "Why back in _my_ day--" "In your day, History was a new idea. Come out of the shadows so I can see you, you perverted old goat." "Oh, the cruelty of youth!" moaned the little man as he eased out into the light. Suddenly, he made an amazingly fast leap into the air and over Number One's head. As he passed, he rapped Number One smartly on the skull with his fist. "Nice move, Old Man," Number One said, disguising how impressed he was by the other's speed. The two eyed each other warily, each taking the other's measure, a study in contrasts. Number One stood relaxed but ready. He was a short, but powerfully-built man in his late twenties. Cowboy boots, black jeans, and a button-down shirt with the sleeves cut off coupled with mirrored sunglasses and the shoulder-holster gave him some- thing of the look of a trucker-turned-Mafia hitman. He faced a bald- ing little Japanese man no more than three feet tall and so wizened and shrivelled with age as to seem more a Goblin than a human being. Still, despite his age, the old man's eyes gleamed with wicked mischief and he moved with the fluid grace of a master martial-artist. He wore close-fitting brown clothes and carried a bulging sack that was several times larger than he was. He stood with the air of a man who knows just how dangerous he is. "Well, youngster, are we going to just stand here all day or are we going to do business?" the old man asked testily. "Let's do it," said Number One. He patted the briefcase with his free hand. "I've got the cure for what ails you right here. You get what I asked you for?" "Of course," the old man sniffed. "What do you think I am, a crook?" "Uh-huh. And a pervert. And a glutton. And a--" "Alright, already! Let's just make the trade and go! Sheesh!" The old man rooted around in his sack for a moment, finally pulling out several jars of some clear fluid. "Ta-da!" he said, presenting the jars with a flourish. "See, Happi always holds up his end!" "Me, too," Number One said simply and opened the briefcase. In- side were several dozen items of lingerie, ranging from simple cot- ton panties to elaborate silk negligees. "Oh my silky darlings!" the little old man shouted, lunging for the case. Number One abruptly snapped it shut and snatched it out of his reach. "Not so fast, Happosai," Number One growled. "I'd like some proof that what you've brought is what you say it is. Give me that, then this stuff is all yours." Happosai (for that was the little old man's name, in case that isn't clear by now) shrugged and opened one of the jars. "Hold still," he said, rearing back to throw the liquid on Number One. He sud- denly found himself staring directly down the barrel of a .357 rev- olver. "Don't even _joke_ about that, you old fart!" Number One snarled savagely. "You make a move to splash me, and I'll blow your head off!" Happosai settled back warily and Number One used his foot to slide over the bag that he'd brought, still keeping the pistol centered on the old man's forehead. Something mewed and squirmed around in- side the bag, and Happosai picked it up and looked inside curiously. "Hello, kitty!" he said into the bag. "Hold on. This won't hurt a bit." There was a questioning "meow" from the sack as Happosai began pouring in the liquid. As it began to soak the cloth, the meows changed to a series of frightened squeals and grunts and the bag thrashed violently. Happosai held the bag open for Number One's inspection. "See," he said. "Told you so." Number One nodded his approval and his lips quirked in a smile so bone-chillingly evil that the Devil himself would have walked on the other side of the street if he'd seen it. He holstered the pistol and gave the briefcase to Happosai. "You were as good as your word," he hissed. "Here. You've earned it." "Sweet-o!" cried the old man as he snatched up the briefcase full of underwear and dashed away, leaving behind the jars. Number One continued to stare at the squirming, grunting bag. "Now, my ultimate plan shall be set in motion," he said to himself. "Death is nothing compared to this horror!" He raised his fist to the sky and lightning crackled dramatically in the background, even though it was a perfectly clear day. "Adric of Alzarius," he shouted, despite the fact that said individual was nowhere in the vicinity, "you are well and truly DOOMED!!" He spent the next few minutes in maniacal laughter, as is customary in this sort of situation. ---- "So that's your idea?" "You bet, Adric. It can't possibly fail." Adric stared evenly at his friends. "You realize that, with those words, you've just doomed the whole thing to catastrophic failure, don't you?" "You worry too much," Lucas said. "I'm telling you, women go crazy for presents." "Nyssa's already crazy," Adric returned. "That's the _problem_." "You know what he means," said Wesley. "Tell him, Ryoko." The aqua-haired girl smiled and patted Adric's shoulder. "He's ab- solutely right. We females just _melt_ at the idea of getting a gift from a man. Why, if Tenchi were to give me something, I'd be all over him." "But, you're all over him anyway," Adric pointed out. The friendly pat turned into a hard swat on the arm. "That's _not_ the point," Ryoko continued. "The point is that women love pres- ents, and by extension they love the giver." "I don't know..." "Listen, Adric. I'm a girl, and I'm telling you the secrets of a girl's heart." "Yeah," agreed Wes. "And if anybody comes close to understanding a heart like Nyssa's, it has to be Ryoko." Ryoko rounded on the young Starfleet officer. "And just _what_, exactly, do you mean by _that_?" she asked. Wes wasn't looking at Ryoko, or he would have noticed the look on her face and would have said something other than what he did. "Oh, you know. You're both aliens. You're both loners who have difficulty interacting with normal people. You both take the com- pletely wrong approach in pursuing the objects of your affection. You both have explosively violent tempers..." "I do not have a bad temper!" Ryoko shouted as she threw a plasma- ball at Wes. Her aim was off, and the ball impacted on a nearby park bench instead, blasting it to kindling. "N-n-now wait a minute, Ryoko," Wes stammered, backing away from the advancing space pirate. "I meant-- ah, I meant-- oh dear!" He turned and ran, with Ryoko flying after him and muttering epi- thets under her breath as she flung more plasma-balls in his direc- tion. "Anyway," Adric continued to Lucas, "I don't have enough money. For some _strange_ reason, I don't get tipped nearly as much as the other bartenders." Lucas beamed at him. "No problem, buddy. Try this on for size." He handed Adric a small plastic card. "Hmm...," Adric said, examining the card. "An American Express Corporate Credit Card in the name of the Adric Defense Force." He eyed Lucas curiously. "How'd you come by this?" "Oh, Ryoko got it from that Doug fellow." "He gave it to her?" Lucas looked a little uncomfortable. "Not exactly _gave_, if you mean as in telling her to take it. More like, she just sort of assumed that he'd want to make the contribution to help you out, you know?" Lucas seemed to be wrestling with his conscience a bit. "I mean, I'm sure he'd _want_ you to have it, if he knew. So it's sort of okay. Although, I think Ryoko may have used it some, too." "Great," said Adric. "You're telling me that this is a stolen credit card?" "Well, not... I mean, I don't know if you'd call it..." Lucas gave up and hung his head. "Yeah," he sighed. "All right, then." Adric pocketed the card. "Just so long as I know where I stand." "Huh?" asked Lucas, confused. Adric sighed deeply. "Apparently, Fate has got something really nasty in store for me, with all this setup. So I might as well go along and get it over with." "Man, that makes almost _no_ sense." "What around here does?" Adric replied as the two watched a beau- tiful aqua-haired space pirate fly around the park throwing energy balls at a young man in the uniform of an organization that didn't exist yet. ---- "At last, we are alone." Happosai dumped the lingerie out into a pile and then tossed the briefcase carelessly off the roof. The wiz- ened old pervert examined the pile with adoring eyes, and then be- gan pulling out individual items. "Let's see what we've got here... Whoa!" He held up a virtually tran- sparent silk negligee, a frilly little thing with the letter 'T' picked out in lace on the front. "I've _got_ to get Ranma to wear one of these!" As he cuddled it, he noticed a second one just like it in the pile. Up- on examination, it proved to be slightly smaller and had the letter 'N' on the front. "Ahhh," he sighed happily. "One for Ranma-chan, and one for Akane-chan." He went through the entire pile one-by-one, giving each undergar- ment a thorough looking-over, and then several minutes of fondling and caressing. A truly, truly revolting sight, made worse by the old lecher's demented cackling and protestations of love. Most of the pieces were ordinary, nondescript cotton panties, with a few brassieres thrown in for good measure. One of these was partic- ularly large, and held Happosai's attention for quite a while. But the best (so to speak) came last. At the bottom of the pile was a pair of crotchless red-and-black lace panties. Happosai went silent with awe and stood to attention, his hand over his heart as he eyed them in their silky and lascivious perfection. _This_ was the peak of his panty-raiding career. _This_ was the Holy Grail (so to speak) for dirty old men. A single tear trickled down his wrinkled cheek and he knelt humbly before the most beautiful pair of knickers he would ever see. Carefully, reverently, he raised them to his face and placed a single, delicate kiss upon them. As he swiped the wetness from his eyes, he noticed a little nametag sewn into the waistband. "Hmm...," he thought, "I wonder who this 'Victoria Waterfield' is..." ---- Number One was so happy, that he didn't even have anything nasty to say about the WANKER Forward Regimental Command Post and Party-Pad. Not that there would have been a lot of point in doing so. To have made any disparaging remarks would have gone far beyond shooting fish in a barrel, all the way to using a howitzer on a goldfish bowl. The not-so fearsome foursome had rented a room at the cheapest motel they could find, a place so lowbrow that the staff stole the _guests'_ towels. It was a dingy, nasty little room, with two beds, an ancient Philco television, and a huge, unidentifiable stain on the floor that was shaped exactly like Argentina and oriented so that one came in the door at Tierra del Fuego and went to bed on the out- skirts of Buenos Aires. The Knights had made an effort, such as it was, to turn the place in- to something that looked sort of like a headquarters. The phone on the nightstand had a sign by it that read 'Comm. Center' and a sim- ilar sign by the brownish-looking window said 'Observation Deck'. Several photographs and drawings of Nyssa had been tacked up around the room, and one largish one of the young Trakenite clad in nothing but a slip had several candles burning around it. Rather surprisingly, Number One's only comment was, "Where is the bathroom?" Tyson pointed in the direction (stain-wise) of the Paraguayan border and Number One took the still-squirming sack in with him. Ordinarily, the WANKERs would have been unable to resist making some sort of joke about 'having to take a number one', but the incredibly vicious smile that still played about beneath the man's mirrored shades had put them off a bit. Number One emerged a moment later, without the sack, but now carrying a little yellow cat and two cups of water, one hot and one cold. He put the cat and the cups on a rickety card table and mo- tioned for the four to gather around. "I am now going to show you the most amazing thing you've ever seen," he said. "This is an ordinary housecat." "Astounding," said David. Number One stomped on his toes. "Anyway, I grabbed this cat from an alley this morning. At that time, there was nothing at all odd about this animal. You follow me so far?" The four nodded. "Okay. Now watch _this_." Number One poured the cup of cold water on the purring feline. There was a peculiar blur of _change_, sort of like those 'morphing' effects that every TV program in the world seems to use, but faster, and where the cat had stood was now a very confused-looking black piglet. Number One held the squealing animal so that the others could get a good look, then poured the hot water over it. There was another of those strange morphing effects, and the piglet was a cat again. Number One petted the cat idly as he grinned at the incredulous WANKERs. "What the... how did... genetic mutation of some kind?" Darren managed. "Uh-uh." "Cellular restructuring?" Eric tried. "Nope, guess again." "Tachyonic molecular re-alignment by phased polarity shift of the spatio-temporal substrata?" "Wrong, Tybalt." "_Tyson_." "Whatever. What about you, Lumpy?" Number One turned to David. "Care to hazard a guess?" David shrugged. "I dunno. Magic?" He cringed as Number One reached for him, and was surprised when, instead of smacking him, Number One patted him on the head. "Very good, Damon." "_David_." "Whatever. Magic it is. Specifically, the Jusenkyou Curse." He looked at the four as though he expected them to know what he was talking about, an expectation in which he was sorely disappointed. "What? Don't tell me y'all have never watched 'Ranma 1/2'." The four blank looks did not disappear. "Right. It's like this..." ---- "This is tough. What do you give to the girl who kills everything?" Lucas looked up from applying Bactine to some of Wes's nastier burns and shrugged. "I don't know, Adric. What does she like?" "My head on a plate," Adric deadpanned. Lucas looked thoughtful. "Hmmm... If she were Salome, I'd say to give it a try." "Very funny." "Anyway, you should ask Ryoko, instead of me..." "And why is _that_?" Ryoko asked sharply. "Are you saying I'm like that little hellion?" Lucas proved to be a bit smarter than Wesley. "No, I just mean that he should ask one beautiful girl about another. That's all." Ryoko beamed at him, while Wesley muttered, "Suckup," under his beath. Ryoko sat down in midair, hovering about three feet off the ground, and stared thoughtfully into the middle distance. "If it were _me_," she said, "I would want to receive something that made a statement about the giver's feelings. It should be something pretty, and not very practical. It should be nice, but not too expensive. If the gift is too much, she may look at it as a bribe. Above all, it should be some- thing that will make her think of you." "Like a bullet with my name on it?" Adric asked sarcastically. Ryoko sighed. "If you go about this with a negative attitude, you will definitely mess up. Think positively. Expect the best. You nev- er know if this might be the day you break through her tough outer shell to the fragile flower within. This very day, this very moment, could be the end of the fight for her heart. She wants to surrender to you, Adric. She wants to bow before you as her master. But only if you are man enough to guide the ship of your love through her stormy soul." The three males looked at her for a long moment, then at each other. At last, Adric cleared his throat and said, "Wow, Ryoko. I'm imp- ressed. You actually said that with a straight face." "Yeah," Wesley agreed. "That has to be the worst mixed-metaphor I've ever heard." The pirate grinned at them. "Well, I try..." ---- Darren, Tyson, David, and Eric listened with varying degrees of skepticism as Number One told a tale of magic, tragedy, and vast stupidity. "In distant China," he said, "in the Bayankala Mountains, there is a sheltered valley just outside the village of Joketsuzoku, home of the Chinese Amazons. The valley is called Jusenkyou, and for many centuries has drawn the bravest and/or dumbest martial artists from across Asia to train there among the pools that are called the Jusen- kyou Springs. "I say the dumbest martial artists because it is well known that the valley is home to the terrible Jusenkyou Curse. As a matter of fact, the place is called 'Training Ground of Cursed Springs'. I mean, it's right there in the name. It's not like the Curse sneaks up on people or anything. But people still come to train there, and people get cursed. I mean, _duh_! "At any rate, the Jusenkyou Springs are our main concern. There are over one hundred small pools scattered across the valley floor, each with its own tragic story of a death by drowning. But, as I said, the place is magical, and the drownings formed a sort of template for the Curse. Anyone who comes in contact with a quantity of wat- er from one of the Springs, either by falling in or being doused with it, becomes cursed to take on the form of whatever drowned in that pool anytime they are splashed with cold water. Hot water returns the victim to normal, until the next time they are splashed. "There are, as I said, over one hundred of these pools, and each bears a different curse. Among the best known are the Spring of Drowned Panda, which turns the curse victim into a giant panda, the Spring of Drowned Girl, the Spring of Drowned Cat, the Spring of Drowned Man, and the Spring of Drowned Yeti-Riding-a-Bull- While-Carrying-an-Eel-and-a-Crane." Number One shuddered a bit as he named this last. "I have purchased, for a modest price, a quantity of water from one of the Jusenkyou Springs. Specifically, the Spring of Drowned Pig- let. With this, we can douse a victim and forever curse them to take the form of a pig when they come in contact with cold water. "There is no known cure." Number One watched the WANKERs' faces, searching for signs of comprehension. "Do y'all see what I'm getting at?" As one, the four heads shook slowly from side to side. Number One sighed and collected his thoughts. "Let me put it to you as bluntly and simply as I can, then," he said. "I have some magic water. When we pour it on someone, they will turn into a piglet. You with me so far?" Four slow nods. "Forever after that, they will turn into a piglet every time they get cold water on them. Hot water will change them back, but it will be a _huge_ and em- barrassing handicap which they will be stuck with for all eternity. You all agree that this is a truly shitty thing to have someone do to you?" Vigorous nods. "Okay, then. My plan is this: We take the Piglet Water and use it to give Adric the Jusenkyou Curse as I have just outlined. Since the little tosser won't stay decently dead, this is the next worst thing we can do to him. Does everyone understand?" Four nods, but there was still some uncertainty out there. Not surprising, really. Any- thing more complicated than 'Put in the tape; watch 'Black Orchid',' was a challenge for this lot. "Okay, I know there's questions out there, so I'll answer them for as long as my patience holds. Go ahead, Edgar." "_Eric_." "Whatever. What's your question?" "Why?" Eric asked. "Why what?" "Why do we want to put a Juicyfruit--" "_Jusenkyou_," Number One corrected. "--Curse on Adric? I mean, what's the purpose? Why are we after _him_, specifically?" "Why, to keep him from dating Nyssa, of course!" Number One looked at the four suddenly slack jaws and eight astoundingly wide eyes. "You mean, y'all didn't know?" Exactly 0.65 seconds later, all Hell broke loose. ---- Happosai bounded gleefully down the street, his ever-present bag of stolen panties over his shoulder. He smiled and patted his chest, feeling the comforting softness of the _special_ panties where he'd put them over his heart. What a find! He was so overjoyed with them, that he almost regretted double-crossing that nice young man on the Spring-of-Drowned-Piglet-Water deal. _Almost_ regretted, but not quite. Oh, well. If the young fool had any sense at all, he'd know that it was always 'caveat emptor' when you dealt with Happosai... ---- "How dare he?!?" "...beady-eyed little bastard..." "...gonna rip his lungs out!" "I'll KILL him!" "Sacrilege, it is!" "...shove that star right up his ass..." "...has to die _slowly_ and painfully..." Number One listened to this for several minutes, casually smoking a cigarette and petting the cat as the WANKERs worked themselves into what they would call a berserk fury and what Number One would call a 'hissy fit'. Tiring of the wild gesticulating, frantic rushing-ab- out, and pronouncements of horrible destruction, he flicked away the cigarette and fired his pistol once into the floor (in the vicinity of Upper Patagonia, stain-wise). "If you're done squalling, ladies," he growled, "can we get back to business?" "The infidel Adric must _die_!" Darren shouted. "He does," said Number One reasonably. "Over and over, and it doesn't seem to be a big inconvenience for him. That's why we're going to do this my way. Cursing him to spend half his life as a pig will be both a suitably ironic punishment _and_ a good way to ruin any chance of him ever dating Nyssa. Who (other than a mem- ber of the Unryuu family) would want to go out with someone who's half-pig?" "Will he be in emotional torment as a pig?" Tyson asked. Number One looked out the window to be sure the Pun Police were not in sight before he answered. "He'll _wallow_ in misery." Darren winced. "Okay," he said. "We'll help, as long as you promise to never, ever say that again..." --to be continued Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five
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