Itsumo:

A Story Of

Bubblegum Crisis

Priss, Nene, and Linna all waved as Sylia headed off for her plane to Germany. They could see that the usually taciturn leader of the Knight Sabres was smiling a bit ... and it wasn't what Linna had dubbed the "my, the three of you are idiots" smile that she sometimes wore.

It had only been a few days since the Knight Sabres had faced, they hoped for the final time, the mad boomer mastermind Largo, foiling his efforts to cause a meltdown at MegaTokyo's fusion power plant. From what Sylia had indicated, she had faced Largo, perhaps the ultimate manifestation of the perversion of Dr. Stingray's cyberdroid developments, in a deeply personal conflict.

Priss, being Priss, didn't really give a hoot how Largo had been beaten, as long as the entity that held the ultimate responsibility for the death of ... a number of people that Priss had cared about, had at last met its end. Permanently this time.

"Well, well! The three of you in the same place, what a coincidence ..." she heard an overly familiar voice boom.

That Leon had figured out her own secret identity was probably not a surprise -- the fool was, after all, mildly obsessed, and she had been near the site of several Knight Sabres involvements. However, his deduction of the identities of two of the others, which he had hinted at over coffee at one point, had forced Priss to take a step back, and re-evaluate Leon. Just a bit ... he was still an annoying, obnoxious, unable-to-take-a-hint, lacking-the-brains-God-gave-a-radish, AD Policeman. But he might just be trustworthy.

Of course, she hadn't confirmed his suspicions. That would probably qualify as a violation of Rule 1 of the Knight Sabres ... the one that Sylia had none-too-subtly indicated that she would definitely enforce with Rule 11. Priss had told Nene and Linna about the situation, and she wasn't surprised that Leon had shared his suspicions with Daley.

Since they were all in a bit of an euphoric state about surviving the near-meltdown, it was decided that they would go get some lunch. It was further decided that Leon would pay. (This last decision was made without the consent of the subject, but it was otherwise unanimous.)

Sitting in the ice cream store, Priss watched as Nene and Linna argued over something. The youngest Knight Sabre had grown up a lot over the last year -- ever since that one really weird case -- but it was good to see that she was still a little childish. If nothing else, it gave both Linna and Priss something to tease her over. Meanwhile, Leon was actually being a decent guy ... he'd only asked her out once so far, and was appearing to not intend to repeat it ...

Suddenly, Priss' danger sense began to signal to her that she was being watched from the rear. She slowly turned around to look back at the person staring at her, hoping that it was only a fan who had somehow recognized her out of her makeup ...

The watcher was a woman in her mid-twenties, with silver hair, seated a few tables away. She was dressed in a conservative outfit, and her dark blue eyes were puzzled.

Suddenly, she seemed to come to a decision, got up, and walked over to where Priss was seated. Nene and Linna's bickering stopped suddenly.

"Excuse me," the woman asked quietly. "But ... are you by any chance ..."

A fan, Priss guessed. "Yeah, I'm Priss, as in `and the Replicants' ..."

"Oh. My. God."

Priss stared at the woman, who was almost floored by the answer. She quietly hoped that this wasn't one of those nutcase obsessed fans, the one that she had was more than enough.

"You're Priscilla Asagiri? Really?"

"Uh ... yeah. Do I --"

"Priscilla-chan! It's me!"

Priss blinked. "Uh?" she inquired.

"You don't remember me? Nakajima Natsumi! W-we were practically sisters when we were growing up! How ... I ... we all thought you were dead!"

Priss stared up at the woman.

Then she did something totally out of character.

She fainted.

Priss dreamed, sometimes, about her parents. It was one of the greatest frustrations of her life that she was never able to remember what they looked like when she woke up.

Her memories of anything that had happened before her twelfth year were very incoherent. She remembered watching "Blade Runner" for the first time when she was four or five, and a handful of other, minor moments ... but not the face of her mother.

When she was younger, like most orphans, she had once entertained hopes that her parents had only faked their deaths for some obscure reason, and that they would eventually come and get her out of the orphanage to which she had been consigned.

But they never did.

Priss woke up to find that she was still slumped in her seat. Her friends and the woman who called herself `Natsumi' were clustered around her.

"Priscilla-chan, daijyobu?" Natsumi asked anxiously.

"Uh ..." Priss informed her.

"You really don't remember her?" Nene asked. "She's been telling us all about how the two of you grew up together, how you called her `oneesama', how you both had crushes on the same teacher in elementary school ..."

"Nene?"

"Yes, Priss?"

"Stow it." Priss turned to look at Natsumi. "Look ... no, I don't remember you, okay? I don't remember a lot of what happened before the quake."

"Did you get hit on the head or something?" Natsumi asked anxiously.

"I don't remember!" Priss growled.

"We lived in the same apartment building, almost next door to each other. My Dad took us out of town that week. Is anything ringing any ..."

"No!"

"Priscilla, please don't yell at me."

"Just call me Priss, dammit!"

Natsumi stared at her, obviously upset by this. "Nothing I'm saying is jogging your memory, Priss?"

Priss let out a sigh. "No. I ... I'm sorry."

The other woman let out an even deeper sigh. "All right ... I'm sorry that I startled you. I ... listen, could you do something?"

"What?" Priss asked suspiciously.

"If you could visit my mom ... your mom and my mom were really good friends, and she was really broken up when we found out that you and your folks had ... anyway, if you could pay her a call, she might be able to help ... or something."

Natsumi scribbled an address on a napkin. "I gotta go, my plane's boarding. Please, Priscilla-chan ... Priss."

She dashed off, and Priss stared down at the napkin, before stuffing it in one of her jacket's pockets.

* * *

Linna knocked on the door of the trailer. Priss hadn't shown up for their brunch, and she was a bit concerned ... the fact that her phone wasn't being answered added to her worries.

No one answered the door.

Linna checked the handle and found that the door was unlocked, which sent her worries into overdrive. She closed her eyes, counted to ten, and flung the door open before leaping inside in a battle-ready stance.

Priss was lying on the floor, sound asleep, using a pile of paper with some of her distinctly illegible scrawl on it as a pillow. Her guitar was beside her.

Linna silently thanked Priss for helping her to make a complete twit of herself, and went over to rouse her.

Several cups of coffee later, Priss determined that she was ready to face the world.

"Feel up to a little shopping?" Linna inquired.

Priss nodded. "Yeah. Actually, the new Nihon Biker magazine is out today, and I forgot to review my subscription ... I'd better go pick it up." She got up and went over to get her jacket from where she'd dropped it the previous night.

Linna rolled her eyes. "I think I'm starting to understand Sylia's Rule Seven now ... nobody would ever believe that any of us just met and became friends."

Priss made a face as she pulled the red leather jacket on over her white turtleneck, and flexed her shoulders to work the ache out of them. The motion caused a piece of paper to fall out of one of the pockets.

Linna watched it fall, and realized what it must be. "Hey, isn't that that --"

"Yes," Priss replied in tones which did not invite further discussion.

"Have you gotten in touch with --"

"No," she answered, glaring at Linna as she went to pick the paper up.

"Priss," Linna began in a tone that sounded remarkably like Sylia's voice in lecture mode. "It's been two weeks --"

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"Come on, why are you so --"

"Look," Priss interrupted. "When I woke up in the hospital camp after the quake, and they told me who I was and that my parents were dead, do you know how I felt?"

"Upset?"

"BZZZT! I felt nothing. The moron counselors they had there spent days trying to get me to stop feeling guilty over surviving when my folks had bought it, and didn't bother to listen when I told them that I didn't feel guilty, that I didn't feel anything about it."

Priss looked away then. "I don't have anything to remember them with, so could you please tell me why I should give a shit about some old friend of theirs?"

Linna looked at her sadly. The walls were up in force. In the little under a year since the horrible nights when they'd lost Sylvie and Anri, Linna had seen them come down only once ... well, twice if you counted the hallucinations that she'd had when one of Largo's trio of advanced boomers had absorbed her, the ones where she'd had the feeling that she was in some sort of psychic link to the others. But of course, that was just a weird dream ... she silently insisted, knowing in the pit of her stomach that she was wrong.

In any event, the effort to get Priss to let down her defenses was more than Linna was willing to spare at the moment. So she simply shrugged. "No reason that I can think of. Well, except that it might help you to find something to make you remember them."

Priss froze. A moment later, she snorted. "Like I said, I don't care."

* * *

A few days later, Priss was slowly chewing her soyburger as she read the newspaper, listening the rain fall down outside the diner. She shook her head as she read the editorial praising Genom's increased production runs of A- and B-class boomers, to replace the defective, cheaper runs that had been more or less ruined by "the Uprising" a few weeks ago. It was depressing to see the old enemy start to get its wind back after the blows that Largo had dealt it last year, and the fact that Largo had been indirectly responsible for Genom's revitalization was putting her in a bitter mood.

She heard the doors to the cafe swoosh open, and suppressed the instinct to look up as she heard Nene's yammering voice come into the diner. Nene was talking with her friends, and despite her general annoyance with the girl, Priss didn't want to ruin the cute little geek's good mood with her bad one.

"Hey ... Nene-chan, isn't that one of your friends over there?" came the voice.

Priss resigned herself to the inevitable, and turned around. Nene was accompanied by her co-worker Naoko Kusanagi -- whom Priss recognized from Nene's nineteenth birthday party -- and a more mature-seeming woman who looked a bit like an older version of Nene. "Yo, Nene-chan," Priss said, laying much emphasis on the suffix.

"Oh, hi, Priss!" Nene said cheerfully. "How's it going?"

"Shitty," Priss replied with the same note of cheer in her voice. "And you?"

She wasn't prepared for the giggling that her response provoked in the older woman, which in turn caused Nene to look at her with a helpless expression. "Kaasaaaaaan!" she muttered, glaring at the giggler.

All at once, Priss realized just who the older woman was. "Uh ... you're Nene's mother?"

The older woman stopped giggling with an effort. "Yes, I am. Patience Romanova. Pleased to meet you, I'm sure."

Priss blinked. "Patience?"

She shrugged, still smiling. "My mother had an odd sense of humour. You can call me Shinobu if you'd rather, I've gone by both names." A small giggle escaped her lips. "I'm sorry, but when you said that, you sounded just like Nene when she was little and --"

"Mommm!"

"Oh, this is funny, Nene -- when she was little, and she didn't know about swearing, one day she came home from school, and when her father asked her how her day had been, she replied in this cute little voice --"

Naoko was busting a gut laughing, and Priss was having the damnedest time keeping her face straight. Meanwhile, Nene's face was as red as her hair.

After that, of course, Priss couldn't refuse Shinobu's invitation to join them for dinner. After all, she rationalized, I might get to hear other stories about Nene's childhood ... and I couldn't pass up a chance like that, now could I?

Somehow, the discussion came around from the constant inquiry of the parents of grown children -- "So when will you give me a grandchild?" -- to a debate about artificial inseminnation. The always-touchy subject had been brought into the limelight by allegations of dirty dealings at MegaTokyo's largest clinic, involving genetic tampering with the deposited material.

Priss was a bit surprised by Shinobu's vehement disdain for artificial insemination as well as the newly developed technique of exocorporeal conception (the so-called "cyberwomb").

"It's a fairly personal subject for me," she admitted. "I don't like the idea of mothers having children without having a father around ... largely because I went through that myself."

Priss blinked, and stared at Nene. "You didn't say anything about losing your --"

"No, no!" Shinobu interrupted. "Nicky -- my husband -- he's fine. But my father died before I was born, and I never knew him." She smiled sadly. "Mom did her best, but I always wondered ... what kind of a man he'd been, if he would have been proud of me -- and of his granddaughter on the police force." Nene blushed again. "He was a sort of policeman himself, you see. Fortunately, some of his friends were able to tell me more about him, and I also found photo-- uh, is something wrong, Priss-san?"

"No," Priss lied evenly, getting her expression under control.

When the rain finally let up a few minutes later, Priss said her goodbyes quickly, and headed out. She hopped on her bike, and began to ride, her thoughts ablur, without any clear idea of where she was heading.

Like that's any different from the way that I always am ... No, that's not true. That's the way that I was. Geez, it hasn't even been three years since that night.

I haven't thought about him in ages.

Sylia ... dammit. I'd really like to be able to talk to you about this. I -- no, you wouldn't have any time for this kind of shit. Stuck-up ... hell, at least you know what your parents looked like. At least you could grieve. How can I grieve for people I can't even remember --

Am I scared?

Shit, I'm scared. What if I start to remember and I can't handle it? I should ... I should just ...

She automatically slowed for a stop light, and idly looked at the street sign of the street that intersected the one she was on.

It was the street on the address of Natsumi's mother.

For a few moments, Priss cursed her subconscious, before turning onto the other street.

* * *

The buzzing noise, which had been going on for quite sometime, finally managed to drag Miyuki out of her light doze. For a second, disoriented, she wondered why Natsumi was taking so long to turn off her alarm clock ...

And then reality ran up her spine.

Miyuki activated the smartchair's lift servos, helping her get to her feet. She curled the fingers of her right hand around the handle of her cane, and hobbled over to the security panel, flicking the intercom on. "Yes?" she answered the buzzer in her clear voice, the only part of her that was more or less untouched by age and care.

"Is this Miyuki Nakajima?" came the harsh electronically processed sound of a young woman's voice.

"Who wants to know?" she replied, suspicious. This isn't the Tokyo I knew in my youth, Miyuki reminded herself as she activated the video surveillance system. The image took a second to clear --

-- and then Miyuki's heart caught in her throat.

"Um, your daughter asked me to come up and --"

"Natsumi?" she whispered.

"Yeah, your daughter, Natsumi," the woman who looked like her partner, Natsumi, answered, not looking at the invisible eye of the video viewer.

A closer look at her revealed that Miyuki was mistaken ... there were more differences than similarities in the features of this woman. But her eyes were the same dark, lavender-reddish-brown colour that had only characterized the eyes of three women that Miyuki had ever known, all of whom were dead.

"So, can I come in?"

"Yes," Miyuki said dazedly. "Please do."

She buzzed her in, and a few seconds later, there was a knocking at the door. Miyuki checked the peephole, confirming that it was the same woman, before she unlocked and unbarred the door. She gazed at the visitor through the crack that the chain permitted. "Who, exactly, are you?" she asked, shortly.

From the young woman's expressive face, Miyuki could tell that she wasn't quite sure of how to go about saying this. Finally, she quirked her lips in a smile, shrugged, and said "I'm Priss Asagiri. I'm told you knew me."

If she'd claimed to be Natsumi's sister-in-law Olivia and also claimed to have gained the secret of eternal youth, Miyuki wouldn't have been as surprised as she was.

* * *

The old woman settled into her chair, not looking at Priss. She sipped her tea while Priss fidgeted on the couch.

"Uh ... I thought Natsumi would have told you about --"

"Natsumi, my daughter, you mean."

Priss blinked. "Uh, yeah."

Natsumi's mother shook her head. "No. She ... she and I are rarely on speaking terms with each other. Whenever I try and speak to her, it seems that we wind up arguing."

"Well, all I know is she said that my meeting you might make you happy." Miyuki flinched at that, for some reason. "Look ... I ought to tell you right off that I don't remember much of anything that happened before the quake. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or something."

"I see," the old woman said calmly. "Well, that will make proving it harder."

"'Scuse?"

Miyuki set down the tea cup, and met Priss' eyes for the first time since she'd stared through the crack at her. "Asagiri-san," she said formally, "I must admit to grave doubts as to the truth of your claim."

Priss blinked. "Are ... are you calling me a liar?"

"Not yet. However, I think there are a number of things that you should be aware of." She took a deep breath. "The day before the Second Kanto Earthquake ocurred, my husband had taken my daughter and myself on a camping expedition, and we had invited our closest friends -- the Asagiri family -- to come with us, but they had declined. When news reached us, we immediately returned home, and discovered that our apartment building had fallen into the huge rift that the earthquake had opened up. Everyone within had died."

There was a huge amount of grief and guilt in her eyes. "I spent the better part of a year looking for some vague chance that Mr. or Mrs. Asagiri or their daughter had survived. I was only compelled to break off the search when my husband had his first heart attack in the early months of 2026. My daughter blamed me for my husband's problems, and I realized that she also resented the fact that I was spending so much time searching and thusly abandoning her in the face of her own grief. By the time I realized it, however, it was too late -- my daughter had been alienated from me completely; when my husband had his final heart attack four years later, she moved out immediately after the funeral ... and as I have said, she and I are rarely on polite terms with one another."

Miyuki took another sip of tea. "In short, Asagiri-san, I suffered a great deal for chasing down leads to 'your' whereabouts. I am going to need considerably greater proof of your identity than just your word."

Priss swallowed. She hadn't been sure exactly what she was getting into when she came here, but this hadn't been something she'd considered. Her vague notions of blaming the older woman for having abandoned her to the orphanage had fled as she'd listened to Miyuki's patient account. Her life had not been rosy at the orphanage, but ... there had been moments of happiness there, moments which, from the older woman's tale, had been almost absent from her life since then.

"Um ... okay. You mean like a blood test or something?"

Miyuki nodded. "That should suffice."

"Just ... how did you know my mom, anyway?"

"We were partners," Miyuki stated as she sipped at her tea.

Priss blinked. There were a number of ways that statement could be interpreted, and one of them told her more information than she was ready to deal with.

Miyuki seemed to realize that as soon as Priss did. "Oh! Uh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean ... she and I were not ... we worked together, you see --"

"Right, right!" Priss said, strangely relieved.

"-- I drove the squad car while she --"

The relief went away. "Uh. Uh, excuse me. My mother ... was a cop?"

"Both Natsumi and her husband, Toshio, were police officers, yes." Miyuki blinked. "I take it that you're surprised by this development."

"You might say," Priss replied, her voice muffled due to her hands being placed over her face.

"Asagiri-san ... you are not ... a criminal, are you?" Miyuki asked, slowly.

"No ... well, not exactly. When I was younger, I ... ran with a pretty bad crowd. I was never actually arrested, but --"

"A street gang?" the older woman asked, disapprovingly.

"Cycle gang. Something wrong?"

Miyuki stopped coughing after a few minutes. "No, no, it's just that ... Natsumi was quite a motorcycle enthusiast." Her eyes were suddenly far away. "She was invited to be one of the first women on the motorcycle patrol, but ..."

After a few moments of silence, Priss started to wonder if the older woman had dozed off. "But what?" she asked.

Miyuki blinked. "Uh ... she gave it up to go back on traffic patrol with -- to go back to her original job."

Priss stared at her for a moment, considering. "Hell with it," she finally said. "You were gonna say 'with me', right? She gave up this thing for you?"

Miyuki glared at her.

"I don't get it, what's the big deal?" Priss demanded. "She cared enough about you to --"

"No you certainly do not get it!" the old woman retorted.

"Then try explaining it to me," Priss snarled.

Miyuki closed her eyes and bowed her head. "I wanted her to be happy, and I thought that she would be on the motorcycle squad," she said through clenched teeth. "It was her dream come true ... and she gave it up to stay with me, because I was too weak to do my job without her! If I'd been stronger --"

"You would've been alone," Priss finished. "But you could take comfort in the fact that the wonderful person you'd given up your own happiness for was doing fine, right?"

Miyuki didn't look up.

Priss stood up, and walked to the window. The rain that had cleared up earlier had returned with a vengeance. On the ledge, a framed photograph caught her eye.

It was a picture of two men and three women. One of the women was almost certainly Miyuki, forty years younger. Standing beside her was a shorter girl with brown hair and big round glasses, grinning widely. The two men towered over the women, but otherwise they were different as night and day. One was a huge, heavily muscled man, with thick glasses and a boyish smile, his hand rubbing the back of his head in the classic gesture of embarasment. The other man was lean and limber, with a crisp moustache -- actually, his clothes were so crisp that he looked as though he'd come out of a dry cleaner -- but there was a faint bit of mischief in his eyes.

And the third woman was Priss' mother.

For a second, Priss was stunned by the recognition. But then the details of the woman's features -- her bright lavender eyes, the shade of her hair, and a hundred other factors -- leapt out of her.

"It doesn't work that way," she heard herself saying. "Love is when someone else's happiness is vital to your own ... but it isn't really love unless your happiness is vital to them, too."

There was silence from Miyuki's chair. "That's very profound," the voice finally whispered.

Priss decided not to tell her that it had been something that one of the guys she'd dated in high school had told her right before he'd tried to get her to make the happiness of his other girlfriends and his boyfriends vital to her own. "So when she came back, it wasn't 'cause she thought you were weak. It was because she thought you weren't happy ... and that meant she wasn't happy, either. This is her, isn't it?" she asked, holding up the photo.

Miyuki turned, startled. "Then ... you do remember --"

Priss shook her head, and set the photo down. "Not a damn thing. It's like when I woke up after the quake -- I knew how to speak, and I knew how to read -- but I didn't know that what I was speaking was Japanese, or what I was reading was kana. Somehow ... I know that's my mom. I only know her name because you said it."

"Oh," said Miyuki.

"But ... listen, I'll tell you what. You don't get a lot of visitors, do ya?" She continued without waiting for an answer. "So, I'll come visit you ... and you'll help me remember, okay?"

Miyuki stared at her for a long moment. Come on, dammit, Priss thought, I'm reaching out here. I don't do that kind of thing --

"That would be ... nice," said the old woman, smiling.

* * *

"A cycle gangmember?" Yoriko asked, startled.

Miyuki nodded, sipping her tea. "I'd almost think that it indicated something about genetics, if I don't know better." She had been surprised when her old friend had called her up out of nowhere, and had invited herself over for tea. Inevitably, Yoriko had started to tell her about her son, the AD Police officer, and all the gossip he'd relayed to her.

"Well, you know, there may be something to that ... my son, the cop? Natsumi's daughter, the biker? Your daughter --" Yoriko stopped short. She had gained, in forty years, some ability to hold her tongue.

Miyuki smiled sadly, just as a buzzing noise issued from the intercom. "That's probably her, now."

"I'll buzz her in," Yoriko offered, and got up off the couch to do so. She checked the display. "Wow! She's really good-looking." The buzz was pressed, and she turned to look speculatively at Miyuki. "Do you think that if we were to try and match her up with my son she'd appreciate it?"

"Probably not ..." Miyuki guessed as she got up to answer the door.

Priss was smiling ruefully when the door opened. "Sorry about last week ... something came up." Namely, dimensional travel. I'd like to tell you about it, but Sylia'd kill me.

"It's all right," Miyuki reassured her. "Oh, I'd like to introduce you to an old friend of mine, and of your mother too."

"Hi! Yoriko McNichol, pleased to meet you!"

Priss grinned and hoped to hell it was just a coincidence.

Epilogue: Two Months Later

Miyuki watched as the physician gently closed her corpse's eyes, and covered its head with a blanket. "She's gone," the young woman said.

While Miyuki hadn't been quite clear in her own beliefs about what was going to happen after her body had ceased to function, she definitely hadn't been expecting to end up simply "hanging around".

She looked on, sad but ... distanced, somehow, as her daughter tried to hold in her tears. It was good that they'd been able to finally come to terms with each other before the end. Unfinished business was always messy.

She watched as Priss tried to mask her own grief with anger, beating a fist against the wall, and as Yoriko's son -- she couldn't remember his name; Leo, or something like that -- tried to comfort her. Miyuki winced a bit when Priss slugged the man in the gut, but he was apparently tough enough to take it -- amida, the man was huge ...

But eventually, the usual activity around the recently deceased died down, and Miyuki was left alone as the corpse was wheeled out of the hospital room.

"So now what?" she finally asked.

NOW YOU MOVE ON, said the voice.

Miyuki blinked, and turned to stare at the Presence beside her. She couldn't fail to recognize the source of the voice.

But she'd been expecting someone taller.

"Oh," she said. "Then ... have you come to escort me to my final fate?"

WOULDN'T DREAM OF IT. SOMEONE ELSE HAS THAT JOB. AND AFTER ALL, said the voice, THAT ONE HAS BEEN WAITING FOR YOU FOR A LONG TIME.

Miyuki blinked, trying to cope with the sudden shift in perception. She was seated in the driver's seat of a car, her hands on the wheel. Bright sunlight -- no, a light brighter than sunlight was streaming through the windows of the car. Everything was silent ... she couldn't hear the faint rumble of the engine, or anything else.

And then she turned ever so slowly to the left, and saw that Natsumi was seated beside her, staring intently ahead. Natsumi turned to stare at her, just as slowly, with an expression of impatience on her face. But it didn't reach her eyes. In those dark lavender pools there was wonder and exhiliration and an endless joy. Her lips moved, and no sound came. But Miyuki knew what she'd said.

"Floor it!"

She did.

And they raced towards the light.

The End.

Authors Notes

My thanks, as always, to the patient and talented Jeanne Hedge, for pushing me to make this the best that it could be.

"Taiho Shichauzo" or "You're Under Arrest" was created by Kosuke Fujishima and brought to North America by AnimEigo and Dark Horse Comics. "Bubble Gum Crisis" was created by Suzuki Toshimichi and brought to North America by AnimEigo. This story, while incorporating characters held under copyright by others, is copyright 1997 by Chris Davies.

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