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Nurse Jackal	By : drjackal Category: +G to L > Get Backers Views: 3987 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Get Backers, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Note-y-note-y: Ban and Ginji
are coming� in the next chapter! Like most things in life, Ginji's reaction is
worth waiting for.

6-6

Akabane stayed in the next day, lying flat on his back
until the Artist called him with the finished order. He had stayed in because
his only pair of fitting pants remained the pants that required a good ten
minutes of pulling, panting, and praying to actually get onto his body.
Hopefully though, after her proved that he understood what taking a
transporting job as a woman entailed, he would be granted his masculine body
back, so he was in no hurry to rush out and buy any more women's clothing.

He stopped and studied himself in his bathroom mirror,
once again cupping his breasts curiously in his hands as he stood half-naked
before the bathroom mirror. Then, he spun around and looked at his butt. They
were a rather nice little combo. He would have admired them on someone else. On
himself, however, he could not wait to get rid of them.

He shook his head, wondering if perhaps he was going
insane. He moved back into the main room of his apartment and put his shirt on,
once again buttoning it all the way up to the very top button before putting
his tie on. He felt no need to put himself on display, no matter what gender he
was currently pretending to be.

At the very least the new clothes let him step out to the
Artist's studio with more confidence than he'd had the previous day. It was
hard to walk with both pride and one hand on your waist line to prevent your
pants from slipping down around your knees.

The Artist had set out practice dummies for him, which
Akabane happily tested his new blades out on. The size adjustment and new
design had done wonders; the new scalpels cut with every bit as much accuracy
and speed as his old ones. The Artist was delighted with Akabane's glee at the
way the new blades danced, and willingly forgave Akabane for forcing him into
such a rush order.

For once in his life, Akabane consciously decided not to
be late for a job. He did not want to make a bad impression at his first job as
a woman. Mainly, he did not want them to think his usual habit of being
fashionably late had more to do with what was or wasn't hanging between his
legs than his demeanor. His general attitude had always been that if you could
financially afford the services of Dr. Jackal, you could afford the time
investment to wait for him to show up when he wanted to.

As fate would have it, the clients weren't ready for him
when he did arrive. They fumbled and explained that they'd heard rumors that
Dr. Jackal was always late, so they'd
given him an earlier time than they actually wanted him there. Akabane rolled
his eyes in frustration, which they did not see because he'd found a way to
make his hat fit again. He should have known that the one time he actually
showed up on time for a job would be the one time they would not be ready for
him.

He sat around with the clients, his legs dangling off the
end of the railing he was perched on top of. They clients tried to make polite
conversation, but it was hard to consider any conversation polite when they
talked at his chest instead of his face. Thus, he was grateful when by pure coincidence
the drive also happened to show up earlier than expected.

He placed the suitcase containing the delivery at his
feet, adjusting his seatbelt. After a bit of wrangling, he decided that
straight down between the breasts was probably the best way to arrange the
belt. The driver, a non-descript looking middle aged man in a business suit,
glanced at him only once as they got under way. Akabane was grateful that the
driver seemed to be a pro, able to pay attention to where he was going instead
of what was in the seat beside him.

The two sat in silence. Akabane was not big on talking
while on the job, and neither was the driver it seemed. A light rain had sprung
up during the day, forcing them to use the windshield wipers. The wipers a
"Thud-Swish-Thud-Swish" sound as they danced across the glass,
filling the car the empty car with the sound of their motion. Akabane adjusted
his legs, feeling his foot thud against the protective case.

"Do you mind if I turn on the radio?" the
driver finally asked, breaking the silence.

"I do not mind," Akabane answered, looking out
the window at the other cars passing in the rain. The clients had said they
likely would not encounter interceptors until the return trip, if they did at
all, but he found himself bored and wishing that something at least vaguely
interesting would happen.

The driver spun through the stations, seemingly unable to
settle on something he liked. Akabane found his indecisiveness annoying. He
grabbed the control dial for himself, switching it over to a classical music
station before resting back in the seat. He wondered if they were heated seats,
as they did seem awfully warm considering that the rain had made the
temperature outside plummet.

The first switch went off without a problem, as did the
first half of the drive back. Akabane yawned. "It always seems longer on
the way back, does it not?" he asked the driver, stretching his arms out.

"Yes� it does�" the driver said hesitantly,
pulling onto an off-ramp.

Akabane sat fully up in his seat, body rigid. "You
made a mistake. This is not the turn to get back to the client."

The driver raised a gun point-blank to Akabane's head,
grinning. "No mistake here," he smiled. Akabane looked out the front
windshield and saw two dark blue vehicles waiting for them in the emergency
pull-off zone on the side of the little mountain road. He felt like an idiot
for not realizing that the driver had actually been an interceptor. Then again,
the client hadn't recognized him as one either, and they'd been the ones to
hire him. They were far more at fault than he was.

The car pulled to a stop. The driver gestured to the door
with his gun. "Get out of the car. Leave the delivery."

Willing to play along for the sake of having a less
boring night, Akabane stepped calmly out of the car with his arms raised in the
air. The driver joined him, still tightly holding the gun. "I never
imagined the transporter would be a gorgeous babe," he smirked. He pressed
the barrel of the gun into Akabane's back, between his shoulder blades.
"Let's lose the coat, sweetness."

This was the part Akabane practically lived for. They'd
search him for weapons, declare him completely helpless, and only then would he
slaughter them. He relished the moment when their eyes switched from an
expression of superiority to an expression of realizing they were hopelessly
screwed in so many ways. Willingly, he slid the new coat off and let it drop to
the ground.

The driver pushed the gun closer further into Akabane's
back while one of the other interceptors ran and snatched up the coat, throwing
it off to the side of the road. Akabane could practically see the dirty
thoughts written on the man's face as he patted the female body down for
weapons. "She's unarmed," he shouted.

This was the point where Akabane took his invitation to
dazzle them. He zipped away from the muzzle of the gun, appearing behind the
would-be searcher. The searcher let out a cry and dived into the dirt, barely
saving himself from taking a hit in the back.

The driver attempted to shoot only to have the muzzle of
his gun fall to the ground, neatly sliced right off the gun with a single clean
cut. He let out a cry and dropped the gun, clawing at the car door in an
attempt to get it open and drive away.

Two men tried to jump out of the cars to join their
brothers, but Akabane caught the action with the corner of his eye and relieved
them of their ability to breathe before they hit the ground. The searcher,
lying on the ground, stopped trembling suddenly and cried out "I know
where she's keeping the knives!"

He leapt up, catching Akabane by surprise as he was busy
slicing the muzzle off the gun of a man who had come running from around the
side of one of the cars. There was an awkward moment where the world seemed to
go into slow-motion mode. Akabane saw the man flying at him. The man saw
Akabane's blade coming down in his direction. The man's hands flew out,
gripping their intended target, right as Akabane's blade met with his throat.
He continued to fly forward, the world still seeming to behave at one tenth its
normal speed. Well, his body continued to fly forward. His head, impacted by
the sheer force of Akabane's slice, was flying off in another direction. The
dead man's hands, however, had found their target and tightened around it, even
in death. Needless to say, the force of an adult male, flying through the air,
versus the ability of buttons on a cheaply made Gothic shirt, ended without a
win for the buttons.

The front of the shirt, where he'd suspected Akabane had
been hiding the scalpels under his chest, ended up flying open in a spray of
buttons. Caught momentarily off-balance by the weight of the flying body,
Akabane landed on his shapely ass while bullets flew over his head. He rolled
beneath the car, bullets peppering the ground near him, using the car as cover
to launch scalpels at the remaining interceptors. He continued rolling until he
rolled out the other side, catching the driver by surprise. The driver barely
had time for his face to twist into a contorted mask of surprise before Akabane
introduced him to his signature J move, sending bits of the driver rolling into
the grass.

Akabane stood up,
victorious but disappointed. He'd hardly even worked up a sweat on that fight
even though they'd been heavily armed with guns, and had confronted him with
two car loads of people. He sighed to himself, kicking the bullet-deflated tires
of the car. "They just do not make interceptors the way they used
to," he commented dryly as he smashed in the passenger side window,
reaching down to pick up the suitcase containing the delivery. If the car was
shot to pieces, he would walk the delivery to the client. If rain, sleet, snow,
and robots made out of washing machines couldn't stop him, neither could four
flat tires.

Of course, Akabane's valiant sentiments about walking all
the way back to the meeting place were ruined by the fact that in the silence,
he realized the engine of one of the interceptor's cars was still purring.
Embarrassedly pulling his hat over his face, he threw the suitcase into the
passenger seat. Fortunately, it was an automatic. He hadn't driven a manual in
years.

Despite the rain intensifying, the rest of the drive was
as disappointingly uneventful as the first part had been. Akabane left the car
a good two blocks from the drop point, less someone happen to remember seeing
it there on the night its owner met a terrible fate. He adjusted his coat over
his chest to hide the fact that his shirt was no longer in one intact piece
before sliding out of the vehicle, landing in an ankle-deep puddle.

The rain was coming down in sheets by then, the wind
whipping it sideways so that no inch of his body would be spared from dampness.
Even holding the suitcase protectively over his head did nothing to keep him
dry. By the time he made it from where he had abandoned the car to the client's
address, the rain had penetrated even the twill fibers of the coat and soaked
him thoroughly to the bone.

The servant who answered the door ordered Akabane to
remain in the kitchen while he fetch the boss, lest
Akabane drip on the expensive white-gray rugs. Akabane was unimpressed by the
fact that the drop point was someone's house, as the gesture was rather
unprofessional. Besides that, his clothes felt clammy from the rain, clinging
to his body like a second skin.

The master of the house, whom recognized as one of his
two nervous clients, and the servant appeared. Now that he could see the man in
his lavish home and a rather ugly smoking jacket, Akabane could distinctly tell
he was dealing with an underhanded CEO. Probably one who was new at being
underhanded, for that matter. He'd narrowed it down to either that or a
middle-rank yazuka trying to prove his worth by hiring an overpriced
transporter for what the job would have actually required.

The servant handed Akabane a towel, which he put on his
head. One meager little towel was not enough to fix how wet he was, but he did
not wish to be rude by refusing the bit of offered hospitality. Even if his
clients were not professionals, he was.

The client, meanwhile, was checking over the contents of
the suitcase. "I'm glad the case was waterproof," he informed Akabane
approvingly.

Akabane shrugged. "If you are pleased, then I will
take my payment and quietly, quickly depart."

"You are soaked to the bone," the client said,
his voice sounding as if he were only feigning concern. Akabane shifted
uncomfortably when he noticed the client's eyes lingering hungrily on the drops
of water running down his chest. "At least let me offer you hospitality
and dry robes until this storm blows over."

"I am afraid it would be against my personal code of
conduct to accept the hospitalities of a client." Definitely scum from the
business world. The yazuka would have known better than to extend such a thing
to someone like him.

"I absolutely insist! It's not safe for you to be
driving out in that storm."

Akabane was unconvinced. "I have delivered through
much worse than this." He'd never had a client so intent on letting death
grace his doorstep before. He wondered if the female body should be blamed or
if his client was just that inept.

"Come now, don't be so stubborn. If you refuse my
hospitality I'll be terribly distressed, to the point where I might forget
where I put the envelope with your pay in it."

Akabane's eyes narrowed into frighteningly little slits,
his voice dropping into its most threatening tone. "I would recommend that
you do not do that," he said, sliding a blade between his fingers and
playing with it. "Should you wish for no one to get hurt."

The client finally backed down. "All right, I'll go
get your payment," he whimpered, scampering off like a frightened child.
Akabane wondered what all that had been about. He decided that he did not
really care, when the client returned with the correct payment. He even got the
half that was supposed to go to the driver, which reminded him�

"The driver was an interceptor. Why did you not
notice that the man you hired to do the delivery was not the man who was in the
car? Or were you foolish enough to have hired an interceptor in the first
place?"

The client shuffled uncomfortably. "He looked the
same with the glasses on," he muttered, sounding like he knew he was in
trouble. The truth was, he'd been thinking about how lovely the transporter
would look naked, rather than paying attention to the face of the man driving
the car. "I'm a bit new at this hiring transporters thing."

"I could tell," Akabane replied, voice sounding
icily sarcastic despite the fact that he wasn't trying to be so. "If that
is all, I will see you next time you have a job for me." With that, he
took his envelope and vanished back out into the storm.

He found himself almost wishing he had taken the offer,
as traffic had crawled to a near standstill from the thunderstorm. He squinted,
gripping the wheel tightly as the interceptor's car slid on a layer of water.
The interceptors, it seemed, had worn their tires down to bare slicks. At least
it seemed that way from the way the car was slipping about.

This was ridiculous. He couldn't drive in this! He
decided to pull over and wait out the storm. He let the car hydroplane into the
first open parking spot he found, accidentally hitting his head on the door
when the wheels smacked into the curb. "Ouch," he muttered, rubbing
his injured temple.

He happened to look up through the windshield, when he
spotted something he had not expected to see. At first, he was shocked by the
coincidence. Then, he smiled like the cat that had swallowed the canary.
Finally, he just started laughing. "I do believe in karma, I do," he
laughed. He'd been avoiding the Get Backers thus far, but it seemed fate wanted
him to pay them a visit. For up ahead, glowing through the rain, he could see
the fuzzy outline of the Honky Tonk's sidewalk sign.

-_-_-

At a distant location from Shinjuku, two women sat high
in a tall, glass hotel complex. They had rented the highest floor with an
opening. They enjoying the way the rain and lightning practically danced across
the windows before their very eyes. Truly, it was best to be looking down upon
the world.

Both women were tall, pale, and lean. Their features were
so sharp and angular that it looked as though you might be able to cut glass
with the edges of their bodies. It was obvious that both were older from the
crow's feet and wrinkles decorating their faces, but they were well-preserved. That
is to say, they looked as their useful selves had, but their youthful selves
had been far less folded.

The green-haired, blue-eyed member of the pair tilted the
wine in her glass. "So, tell me, what possessed you to use such a powerful
spell on such an insignificant young man? I know it was not simple lesson
teaching, as you have claimed," she said, smiling.

The red-haired, green-eyed member smiled and laughed,
showing off the nearly fang-like teeth that she'd smiled with at the bar.
"We came to Tokyo to look for someone with the proper blood to complete
our spell, did we not?" she asked with a gentle laugh.

The green-haired one rose from her chair, eyes growing
even harder as concern and anger traced her thin lips. "You found
one?"

"Of course I did. When I smelled that man's blood at
the bar, I knew I had found one. You could have seen me, sister. It took all my
self-control not to leap up in joy."

The elder of the two sisters narrowed her eyes.
"Have you forgotten, my little sister, that we need menstrual blood for the spell to work? A man is of no use to us,
even if he has the proper blood."

"Only one in a million have the right blood for our
spell. The chances of finding another one, male or female, are highly against
us. So I cast a spell upon our young hero to give him the body of a woman."

"It doesn't matter if you've given him the illusion
of being female; if at heart he is truly male it still won't work."

"Sister, sister, you always were the type to say 'It
won't work' before you've heard the whole story." She produced a small, heart-shaped vial
filled with red liquid. "If he willingly drinks this, the change will
become permanent, and�"

"We can use his blood for our spell." She
paused. "But it for it to be a willing drink, he has to want to remain female. How are we going
to�?"

"Leave it to me, sister. Leave it to me," she
smiled.

-_-_-

A/N: If you think I'm a
pervert after reading this chapter, just read the Get Backers manga. You will
discover that what I have written would fit perfectly into it. It seems to be a
rule in the manga that any female fighter will lose no less than half her
clothes in any one battle. Yeah, the guys have flying battle clothes syndrome
too, but not quite as bad. And� well, just wait until you get to read next chapter.
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Nurse Jackal