Disclaimer: I don't own Ranma.

Psuedo-Curse

Chapter 1:

First night

It was a quiet night. The kind of night that has been so far untouched by any semblance of chaos. The kind of night when the stars shine like beacons behind the translucent veils of smog and haze that surround any and every city. That was why the air was uncomfortably still, giving an impression of slow movement, like molasses, each time a breath was let out. It was the kind of perfect night that cries out for turmoil like a wolf cries for comrades. And that was why it could not go untouched by the hand of one who brought havoc. And fear. And who swept across this masterpiece of a night like a shadow in the dark, or a slow breeze in a hurricane, bringing an infestation of disarray, terror, headlines, busy days, and sleepless nights to the city of Nerima.

          On this quiet night.

          It was not the first time. Not for this one. This invisible, twisted death.

          Akane leafed through the newest file, and the ones before it. They fell before her thumb emitting a sound like the movement of clean sheets or a zephyr on a quiet day. She was alone in her shoddy, one-bedroom apartment – the best she could afford on a detectives wages – and maybe that's why the sound seemed to push aside the air around it and waft through the room like an unseen specter. The only other sounds were the occasional passing of streamlined vehicles, traveling like beetles along the pitiless river of black asphalt, and the shaky hum of the buildings timeless heating system. It was Fall, and chilly, with mornings of fog, and cold tiles on bare feet, and untouched condensation glazing the windows of slick city buildings.

          "What a disgusting world we live in."

          Akane's voice floated from her lips, having a similar effect as the flipping of her files on the air around her. She picked up the newest on, on the top of the ever-growing pile of scant facts and scientific obituaries. All useless. She read:

          'Name: Ryoga Hibiki. Age: 23. Occupation: pilot- Nerima airport. Date of birth: February 14, 2005. Date of death: September 27, 2028. Cause of death: Snipe- M6 long range. Area of penetration: Frontal cerebrum.'

          Useless.

          None of the morbid files showed any sign of correlation, apart from the cause of death, and the area of penetration. This one used a different gun, a different bullet, a different target. But he always killed at night. And he was ruthlessly efficient in effacing the scene of evidence. No one had ever seen him, no one had ever found evidence against him. No one had ever found evidence against anyone. Of course she thought of the killer as 'him.' Never 'her.'

          It was disgusting. Almost as much as the killings themselves, or the society of faceless strangers the world had become.

          A knock sounded at the door. The two short raps echoed strangely, as if her room was a hollow tile beneath pounding feet. Akane felt herself smile as she rose to answer. It was not a true smile, only a sad, artificial impression. No one would notice. Especially not the face behind the door.

          "Nihao!"

          The smiling face of Xian Pu. The bubbly girl from China, who smiled so often that telling whether they were real or fake was impossible. Because they were all the same silly open-mouthed grin, her perfect teeth glinting like sterile tiles. She was so unlike Akane, who had perfected the art of false expressions through long hours of practice. Akane supposed they were friends.

          "Xian. Let's go."

          On one day each week Akane went somewhere with Xian. She could never tell which day, she could never tell where they went. It was like a dream, fluid and fleeting and pointless. They went to dinner on cold nights. They watched movies when it rained. They stayed outside in the summer. And it all ran together in Akane's mind like wet paint running together, first in beautiful swirls of color, then all mixed into a puddle of murky brown. She couldn't remember her reasons for ever leaving her job, she couldn't remember when this started. She thought it had been Xian's idea.

          The road flew beneath them, incredibly fast, incredibly dangerous. Like death. Neither of them spoke as they drove. The car smelled of damp fur and cleaning fluid. It was silent, and still. Maybe they would talk later.

          The car came to a smooth stop in a line of identical vehicles against the sidewalk, its monstrous tires grinding pebbles into grains of sand. They were blocks from the restaurant. That was the price of overpopulation and lack of parking lots. Parking lots were long gone – foreign now, something unheard of.  Even without them, the walk to the restaurant seemed short.

          They were greeted upon entry. It wasn't crowded. That was why the hostess, with her painted lips and unnaturally arched brows, was able to seat them and take their orders swiftly. With a smile, of course.

          Akane took a look at Xian's plate.

          "You ordered fish."

          Xian paused, her fork partway to her mouth, fish dangling neatly off the prongs. She looked at her meal as if she had never seen it before.

          "I thought you hated sea food."

          Xian's smile was back.

          "I guess I felt like a change."

          They both laughed. Akane didn't know why.

          They were walking back to the car. Akane watched the stars, a hobby of hers. Aquila, the eagle, was out. It was clearest this month, and next month, in a few days, her favorite constellation would appear. She admired the stars because they were pure, and lifeless, and away from Earth.

 The walk seemed to be taking longer. Akane thought it was the meal settling comfortably in her stomach, but as she continued she realized Xian was slowing them both down. Her stride was that of a toddlers, wobbling and uncertain on weak legs. Akane stopped, in concern she supposed.

          "Xian."

          She didn't answer. A cold sweat broke over her, the drops rolled like tears down her face, down her sides, down her back. Her clothes were visibly damp. She leaned against a building, sliding down the wall until she was on the ground, whimpering.

          "Xian?"

          She didn't answer. Her legs curled against her chest, her hair slick with sweat and plastered to her forehead. She drew ragged, audible breaths, her chest heaving as tears fell from her eyes like shining pearls. The sound of her breathing grew more labored: the cries of a haunting phantom.

          "Xian!"

          She didn't answer. She couldn't. A bud of purest red blossomed from the perfect circle in the center of her forehead. A clean shot. Then the dams broke and blood fell in rivers across her face, parting for her nose, catching in her sightless eyes. Behind her it dripped down her back. Twin puddles, joining, running together, like wet paint all of one color. A perfect shot.

          Akane turned without thinking in the direction of the shot. She was running before she knew what was happening. There was nothing she could do for Xian, there never had been. You could never do anything, for the dead. Footsteps, echoing her own, pounding on the street, the sidewalk. Heavy with thick boots, not hers. 'HIS.'

          She ran faster. Maybe her legs were protesting, she couldn't tell. She ran faster. Her eyes caught a heel, dashing around the next corner. She ran faster. Then she had turned the corner, and he was in plain sight.  

          "Stop!"

          She didn't really expect him to stop, so she was surprised when he did. He whirled around, fury radiating off him and Akane was able to get a good look at him.

          His hair was the darkest shade of black, bound in a short pigtail behind him. Blue eyes burned through her like hot coals from his frowning face. He was lean, not thin, and dressed all in black. Disgusting.

          "Idiot!"

          His voice was angry. He was angry. Akane felt her own anger rise to meet his. She wouldn't be outdone. Before she could do a thing though he had clamped a hand over her mouth and had taken her hands behind her back. She kicked and struggled, but it got her nowhere. She hadn't expected it to. As she drew a deep breath against his gloved hand, she dimly realized she was taking in some sort of tranquilizer. She didn't know what it was, but it was making her sleepy…

          The world became filtered, as if she were surrounded in cotton. The streetlights were blinding and dim at the same time, and her senses whirled. She thought maybe she would die soon, by his hands.

          Why?

          Because he had killed so many others.

          Would it be so bad to die?

          Only if she were killed by him.

A/N: I swear, this idea wouldn't leave me alone. Yes, Aquila is a real constellation, I looked it up. If you think the sentences are kind of short, and the grammar is kind of sloppy, that's okay. I meant it to be kind of like that. Also the title is really weird. I meant this to be longer, but it didn't work out that way. And I took some liberties with Shampoo's name. I don't think that matters very much though because she's already dead. I don't know if I should continue, I have the plot worked out already, but this story is more like original fiction that takes elements from the Ranma universe and twists them. O well, I'll wait and see if anyone wants me to continue. So, REVIEW!!