Based on stuff that's not mine...

Written by Cyclone...

Whirlwind Productions presents...




Sensation filled his body, one at a time.

Touch came first. He was lying on something cold and metallic with some kind of webbing strapping him down.

Hearing was next. A faint humming, as of monitoring devices, filled the air.

Smell and taste had nothing to report, except the scent of sterile disinfectant and a dry taste in his mouth.

His eyes, blurry as they were, began to focus on a bright light suspended above him.

He pulled himself up, easily ripping the restraints off. An alarm sounded, and two men in dark suits in mirrorshades entered the room from a door to the side. They drew guns; his eyes narrowed, just before he leaped toward them and crushed their guns.

The two guards snarled and suddenly shed their skin, growing slightly as the flesh fell from their metallic blue shells. The two boomers, Bu-55-C models, charged at him. He ducked and sweeped one while elbowing the other. The first crashed through the opposite wall as the second was cut in half.

He ran down the hallway, caving in the face of another Bu-55-C waiting outside. He suddenly dodged into a perpendicular hallway to the left as a quartet of guards, boomers probably, opened fire down the hallway with automatic weapons.

He turned another corner and skidded to a halt. *Oh shit!* he thought, as a Bu-12-B stomped toward him. He grit his teeth and dove under the first volley from its machinegun. Focusing his energy, he jump to his feet and blasted it before charging in and landing over a hundred punches on its chest plating. The Bu-12-B stumbled and fell as he vaulted over it and continued his flight.

He ran and dodged into a doorway. More boomers flooded the hallway with gunfire. He glanced around the tiny room he found himself in. He grinned as he spotted what appeared to be an air vent. As he climbed in, he thought, *Not that I'm complaining, but why the hell do they always make air vents large enough to crawl through?*

The fugitive kept crawling and frowned as he heard a faint roaring sound. He looked up and swore. A whirling fan blade moved ponderously toward him. He backed away from it and thought furiously, trying to figure out how to get out of his current predicament. He focused his energy once more, blasting the fan blade and mangling it into an unrecognizable mass of molten, twisted metal.

He sighed. The melted fan blade now blocked the entire air duct. He turned and blasted through the wall of the air duct and hopped out into another hallway. Booomers rounded the corner to the left and opened fire. Bullets flew over head and around him as he weaved down the right corridor. *Secret technique, my ass, pops. Still, I don't stand a chance in a head-to-head fight.*

He kept running as the hall started to slant upwards. He dodged past a surprised office worker and caved in the door at the end of the hallway.

Standing at the top of GENOM Tower, he gaped at the impressive vista before him. The glittering image of MegaTokyo at night was like nothing he had ever seen.

"Where the hell am I...?" wondered Ranma Saotome, heir to the Saotome School of Anything-Goes Martial Arts.

Author's Postscript:

There. I know I haven't really gotten anywhere, but I hope I have piqued your interest. Yes, the Knight Sabers will make an appearance in the next part, so don't worry.

This is Cyclone, signing off.