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


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?"


"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

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

"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

"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

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 worry too much," Lucas said. "I'm telling you, women go crazy for

"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

"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

"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

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

"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

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.


"Cellular restructuring?" Eric tried.

"Nope, guess again."

"Tachyonic molecular re-alignment by phased polarity shift of the
spatio-temporal substrata?"

"Wrong, Tybalt."


"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."


"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

"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."


"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_,

"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

"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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