[Note: I'm using the dub names - or rather, my own personal variations thereof, which if you're not familiar with them, will quickly become apparent - for the characters. It does NOT, however, take place in the "NA universe." I'm simply more comfortable with those names - no disrespect to the original series intended. If this is legitimately a problem for you, do us both a favor and quit this file now.] "Mercury Switch" by Devin de Gruyl (The I-can't-believe-I'm-*actually*-doing-this... Kid) Part 1 --- I don't know how I let myself get talked into this. I've never been big on writing in general, much less writing about myself... even if what happened to me DID seem like a work of fiction at times. However, my parents, my advisors, and my psychologist all feel it's a good idea to get this down on paper, in order to "work through" it all, so I just figured I'd oblige them. Oh yeah, guess I should start with the basics... My name's Darren McCormick. I'm 14, male (this is particularly important, as you'll soon find out), and a native of a small town you never heard of in northern Connecticut. I guess you could call me something of a "problem child" - I've been busted for starting so many fights, I think Don King has me on his demon-dialer. ...Seriously, I *have* been known to get into a scrape here or there, but never with anybody who didn't have it coming. It's also been said that I have a knack for smarting off at exactly the wrong time... whatever that means. But that's how others see me, at least according to any number of starched-shirts in the school offices. Me, I see myself as an agreeable, outgoing sort who just doesn't much care to be crossed. I mean, yeah, I'll admit that I'm a bit aggressive - but I'm certainly not a bully; I've just been pushed around by them once too often, I guess, and that's why. Nor do I have, as some psych reports I peeked at have claimed, a "hair-trigger temper". Just a - very - short fuse when I'm being provoked. Anyway... you didn't come here to read my life story (at least, I certainly HOPE not!); you came here to find out the details of my - ahem - little adventure. OK, fair enough. Better sit down for this one, though. It's gonna be a bumpy ride... --- It all started one afternoon, on my way home from school. It had been a particularly lousy day for me: The bus I was riding broke down, causing me to be ten minutes late for a test; I had to sit out my phys-ed class because I forgot to bring my gym clothes; while changing classes, I slipped and fell down a half-flight of stairs; and to cap off my perfect day, some nutroll thought it would be REAL cute to light a string of firecrackers at my feet! (That last one almost cost me a few toes!) When I finally got home, I was in a full-blown funk. I needed some cheering-up, fast... So, I get in the door, and what's the first thing I see? A note from my mother: "Darry, [she knows I hate it when she calls me that] I have to work late tonight - won't be home till 1 or 1:30. Dinner's in the microwave - be sure to lock all the doors before going to bed. [little heart] ya, Me" Perfect. JUST perfect. So now, I didn't even have the luxury of being around another person... even if she WAS my mother. Needless to say, if I wasn't supremely depressed before, I certainly was now. My night consisted mostly of homework, followed by dinner (microwaved Hamburger Helper... truly, the food of the gods) and a viewing of that day's episode of _The Price is Right_ I'd taped earlier. (Sue me. I have a profound weakness for game shows, and always have. But anyway...) All the while, I was obsessing about my rotten luck all day. Eventually, I sighed, and directed my comments to a nonexistent room of jurors. (Contrary to popular belief, people who talk to themselves are NOT crazy... only those who answer BACK while talking to themselves are.) "Gentlemen, I have carefully reviewed all of the evidence, and have reached the only logical conclusion that there can be - my life, to put not so fine a point on it, sucks on *toast.* Have you any recommendations?" Of course, there were none. (Whaddya want - I *was* talking to myself, after all!) But I already knew what it was I needed. Naturally, it was an impossible request to be filled (or so I thought at the time). I wanted OUT of my life - not to *kill* myself, of course, but just to... to *be somebody else*, just for one day. That would be sufficient. Just for ONE day, I didn't want to be me. You know that old saying about being careful what you wish for? Whoever said that was right on the damn money. --- That night, I had a real doozy of a dream. (Well, I *thought* it was just a dream when I was having it, but as it turned out, it was very real... but then, I'm getting ahead of myself.) I had this... it's hard to describe... this *sense* of being torn away from something. As if something were trying to forcibly tear my soul apart from my body. I must have blacked out for a while afterwards, since the next thing I knew, I was standing upright. Well, actually, I'm using "standing" in an inperpretive sense... since it seemed I didn't have a BODY in which TO stand. From the looks of things, I was in some sort of glass tube, which appeared to be in the middle of a laboratory of some kind. I could see to look around, but I couldn't move or even feel much of anything. I tried to call out for help, but I quickly discovered I couldn't talk, either. This was about as helpless as helpless feelings get... and I, quite frankly, have never been one to take helplessness very well at ALL. Still, I wasn't TOO worried about it. After all, it's just a dream, right? No need to fear anything in a dream; I'll just wake up any second now, right? Right? After a while (that seemed like an eternity or two), I noticed some movement just on the other side of the tube. A tall, slender-looking woman had entered the lab. Instinctively, I tried to talk to her, but of course I couldn't say a single word. Let's see... how can I describe this woman without making her out to be the by-product of a sexual fantasy? (For such she was surely not!) She was an attractive young lab worker - I reasoned, Her reddish-brown hair just barely touched her shoulder blades, and her eyes were the deepest shade of hazel I'd ever seen before. I thought, I watched as she took down a few notes, spoke (I couldn't hear her) to an unseen assistant(? Or just to herself?), entered some data into a computer, and pulled a few levers on some of the lab machinery surrounding the tube I was in. After that, I knew nothing but blackness... --- I woke up... slowly at first, then like a shot as the memories of that "dream" came flooding back to me. My first conscious thought was I cut myself off as soon as my eyes focused, and I got a look at my surroundings. This wasn't my bed. This wasn't my room. This didn't even seem like my HOUSE. The bedroom I was in appeared to be on the "spartan" side - functional rather than attractive. Besides the bed I was in, there was a desk (currently loaded with books and papers), a TV, a small closet, and a full-length mirror. It was a room I'd never seen before in my life... and yet, something inside me felt perfectly at home here. A quick peek out of the room's only window, located just to the left of the bed I was in, confirmed my suspcions - I wasn't in Kansas... er, Connecticut... anymore. I appeared to be on one of the top floors in some sort of high-rise apartment building, in the middle of an obviously large city. But even as I was trying to figure this mystery out... that's when I finally noticed what I was wearing. A nightgown. "Huh? How'd I --" I stopped. Cold. My voice sounded entirely wrong in my ears; at least three octaves too high in pitch. Stunned by a sudden, sickening realization, I jumped out of the bed and ran to the mirror. It was true. I was in a girl's body. And no, I did NOT say "Oh boy" at this point. That's somebody else's line. --- After I'd gotten myself calmed down enough to take another look in the mirror, I gave my new body a close inspection. (Yes, I know this body wasn't "mine" in the strictest sense - but I quickly figured that, if I was going to keep ANY sanity at all, I was going to have to think of this body in the first person for now, or at least until I figured out what in the Samuel Scratch was going on around here.) I have to admit, as a female, I wasn't *that* bad looking. This girl was relatively short, but very skinny - I reasoned. (Had I but known the truth...) Her dark hair was oddly boyish in appearence, being only collar-length and cut so as to keep it out of her large blue eyes. It must have been a trick of the diffuse light in the room, but I could have SWORN that her hair took on a distinct shade of blue as I looked at it... And yes, for any sickos that may be reading this, she was... er, uh, ahem... how can I say it... "built" reasonably well... not that I was paying much attention to THAT! I had bigger concerns on my mind than sex! I must have stared at myself in that mirror for close to twenty minutes, studying my face and trying to get a feel for this body. When I felt successful in no longer feeling awkward as a female (and let me assure you all that it is QUITE different on "the other side of the fence," so to speak), I set about the task of finding out who she... who *I* was. I began scanning the room, looking for a purse, a wallet... SOMETHING that might contain an ID. After all, just as that "Oh boy" was someone else's trademark, I couldn't exactly expect Dean Stockwell to show up and tell me who I was supposed to be! (Though given everything that'd happened thus far, I doubt I'd've been surprised if he DID appear...) Anyway, I found a black bag resting near the doorway, and surmised that might be what I was looking for. I opened it and began to sift through its contents. Papers... returned tests (I paused just long enough to be impresse d by the consistent "100" scores on them... clearly, "I" was no dummy!)... a few books on physics and higher mathematics... ah, here we were! A school ID! CROSSROADS JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOL Name: ___AMI ANDERSON_______ Year: <1> 2 3 4 ID #: 507 I should point out, however, that all of that was in Japanese writing... and, even though I cannot speak or read a single word of Japanese, I was able to decipher the characters effortlessly... as if I'd been born doing it. That just made things even weirder than they already were. (I am also taking a creative liberty in my telling of this story, and assinging my own pseudomyms to the people I met here... as they say on TV, "to protect the innocent." I'm saying this up-front, just in case anybody who may be reading this wonders why, even though I was in the middle of Japan, I refer to so many people with American-sounding names.) Well, at least now I had a name I could answer to. "Ami Anderson." I said it aloud a few times, trying to get a feel for both the name, and my new (and improved?) voice. It actually wasn't bad once you got used to it... both the voice and the name. There were two other items of note to be found in that bag. One looked like one of those flip-up palmtop info-minder thingies. Indeed, when I opened it, I was greeted by a tiny keyboard and LCD screen. This one, however, was painted blue-green and had an odd icon on the cover - it looked like the universal "female" symbol, only this one had two small "horns" projecting from the circular portion, which more closely resembled a heart than a circle. The other was a fancy-looking pen that, try as I could, I simply could NOT uncap. The cap was decked out with a large star, and at its center was a symbol that matched the one I'd found on the organizer whateveritwas. When I found both items, I got a VERY strong urge to hide them once again... so I did. At the time, I didn't know why. It just felt... wrong... to have them in plain sight like that. OK. Now things REALLY start to get fun... --- "Ami!" A knock at the door. "Ami!!" It took me about a full minute to realize that the voice was talking to me. (Obviously, she pronounced her name "AY-mee", and not "ah-MEE" as I had first assumed. Not that it mattered, however.) "Um... yes, I'm coming..." I replied, crossing to open the door. I didn't need any ID or any special intuition to know that the woman who entered was supposed to be my mother. Even if common sense hadn't dictated that to be the case, the fact that her imposing looks were a virtual clone of Ami's would have been sufficient evidence of that. "Ami, do you know what time it is? It's almost 7:30!" She gave me an expectant look, as if that was supposed to mean something to me. "...ah..." I took a wild stab at it. "...I guess I... must have overslept...?" "Overslept? You?" She raised an eyebrow at this - I thought momentarily - then sighed resignedly. "Don't tell me that that friend of yours... what was her name again - Serena?... don't tell me her bad habits are rubbing off on you, now?" Before I could reply, she held up a hand. "No, don't answer that. I don't want to know. But if you don't hurry, you'll be late for school... and you'd never forgive yourself for THAT, right?" "..." "...Right, I suppose I wouldn't." "Then for God's sake, young lady, get dressed! As it is, you don't have enough time for breakfast, and I don't want to hear anybody saying you had to stand in the hall for being late!" "Uh... yes, Ma'am." Thankfully, she left at that moment. Okaaaay, so between that conversation, and the ridiculously high test scores I found, I surmised that I was supposed to be some sort of workaholic student. And the language Ami's mom used with me implied that I was this dutiful and oh-so-proper daughter, too. In other words, Ms. Ami Amderson was two things that Mr. Darren McCormick was NOT. I had a ready reply for my inner voice, but I let it slide. I didn't want to be late for school... even if it WAS a school I'd never seen or heard of before. Strangely enough, I had little trouble locating my school uniform from Ami's closet, nor did it feel strange in the slightest to be wearing a skirt for the first (and oh, how I prayed it would also be the last) time in my life. You guessed it - that same part of my brain that had been my intuitive navigation through this mess so far. It had happened quite a few times by now; I still hadn't figured out what it was, but I had stopped being surprised by it, and was beginning to welcome its guidance. It also helped me, after a prefunctory good-bye to "Mom" and after I had stepped out of the apartment building, find my way to the school. I don't remember what my thoughts were, exactly, at that moment - walking the streets of a city I had never been in before, in a body that was not my own, going to a school I had never heard of before, to take classes I knew next to NOTHING about. I probably was laughing, inwardly, at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. As it happened, this was just the beginning... ------ End of part 1. Author's Notes: Let's just get it out of the way first... YES, Darren is supposed to be me; but it's not what you think. He's a "me" that doesn't exist anymore. Note that I gave his age as 14, so he is, with some embellishments, me at that age... TEN YEARS AGO. I'm not using him as a means of fulfilling any sexual fantasies, so relax. 8^) OK, now that that's out of the way... This story is based on a very real dream I once had. I've expanded upon it, however, and brought it to its current state. Whether it's a feasable, readable story or not is up to you, the reader. This is my first-ever fanfic. No, strike that - the first-ever fanfic I've actually WRITTEN. I've had several ideas in the past, and at least one false start, but this is the first one to ever make it through the mental process all the way to fruition. Acknowledgemets (and there are MANY people I want to acknowledge) will be forthcoming in future parts. Legal Eagles Take Note: Sailor Moon is TM and Copyright (C) 1992 Naoko Takeuchi / Kodansha / Toei Animation / Bandai. English Language Adaptation is Copyright (C) 1997 DIC Productions, L.P. Any product names mentioned herein are TM and Copyright (C) their respective owners. All rights reserved. No claim of ownership, expressed or implied is made in the use of these trademarked names, characters, and likenesses. The character of Darren McCormick and this story, however, are my creations. "Please don't sue me, I'm broke." (TM Chri$! Lambert) - Devin de Gruyl April 1998