"Can We Start Over?"
Part 2
A "Dragonball Z" original flavor/alternate reality fanfic
by: Jennifer L. Mondazzi
originally written: 11/07/1997-12/03/1997
revision 1.0 written: 02/20/1998
Ah, kono mama dakishimete (Ah, hold me the way I am)...
Nureta mama no kokoro wo (My heart, damp as it is)...
Kawaritsuzukeru kono toki ni (Is being changed at this moment)...
Kawaranai ai ga aru nara (If unchanging love is there)...
March 19th, in the year 765
"Hang on just a little longer, and I promise, I won't ever leave you
again. Please, Bulma..."
Bulma opened her eyes weakly, blinking against the stabbing light.
Colors swirled around and around in her vision, and then the world
righted itself once more. The first thing she made out clearly was a
gentle woman's face, looking down upon her. For a moment, she believed
it was her mother hovering over her, just like in the past, during the
few times that she had been too sick to go to school. She allowed
herself to relax within the safety of the memory, feeling strangely
light-headed and euphoric.
The image quickly faded, however, to be replaced by reality.
The hair was not blonde and curly, the lips were not painted a soft,
pastel pink, and the eyes were not a crystal-blue; instead, the
raven-colored hair was pinned up in a bun, the lips were imbued with an
attractive scarlet color, and the eyes were the darkest brown that
Bulma had ever seen.
"She's awake!" Chichi cried out, her face looming largely in Bulma's
sight. Other faces quickly appeared around her, each of them filled
with relief and happiness. Bulma tried to stretch her hand out for one
of them to take, but it was as if her limbs weren't attached to her,
and nothing responded to her half-conscious commands. Instead, the most
she could manage was a weak grunt.
"Bulma, can you understand me?" the older woman asked, bending over
and grasping her limp, weak hand. She nodded in response, and Chichi's
eyes flooded with tears of joy. The woman's tears spilled down her
smooth, alabaster cheeks to land with a splash upon the place where
their fingers entwined together. "Oh, thank Kami," she whispered,
overcome with emotion. "We thought we'd lost you."
Bulma tried to respond, but simply couldn't. Her strength had left
her, and it was all she could do just to manage to keep her eyes open.
Vaguely, she heard a man's voice in the distance calling out for a
doctor to come over, as another one, close by, addressed her directly.
"Yo, Bulma! Good to see you again."
She instantly recognized Goku's chirpy voice, and swung her head over
to the left to see him better. Her childhood friend stood behind his
wife and son, smiling in his usual goofy way at her. He gave her the
thumbs-up sign, and winked at her encouragingly. He put his other hand
on his son's shoulder protectively. Gohan wiped at his eyes and smiled;
he had obviously been as worried as his mother.
Bulma started slowly putting faces together with names.
Beside the Son family stood Kuririn, who also smiled at her
triumphantly, and jumped up with an excitable "yaa-hoo!" At the end of
her bed, Oolong, Puar and the Master cheered her recovery rowdily,
dancing around the room like children at play. A soft touch on her
right hand drew her attention to that side of the room. Her mother and
father were there, tears pouring from their eyes as well, and coming up
behind them hurriedly was Yamucha. He smiled when he saw her, and
looked as relieved as the others at her awakening.
At that moment, Bulma knew who her real friends and family were, and
she silently thanked God for having them all in her life.
Tired beyond what she had ever known before, her eyes closed of their
own volition, and sleep took her away once more.
Ba-dump... Ba-dump... Ba-dump... Beep... Beep... BEEP....
The noise from the heart monitor woke Bulma for the second time that
day. It keened for an instant after she became conscious, then evened
out once more. She turned her head slightly, and could see the green
and yellow blinking lights on its panel. The spikes of the EKG were
regular and strong.
She was alive.
The fog that had encompassed her earlier was completely gone now, and
she could feel and see things with clarity and understanding. Her
eyelids felt heavy, but she fought against the urge to close them once
more, forced herself to keep them open by concentrating on the pain
throughout her body. Everything hurt - her arms, her legs, her head,
her lungs. There was a peculiar burning sensation in her chest, and
each time she inhaled, it stung like a thousand razor cuts. An
intricate set of tubes were shoved up her nose and down her throat as
well. She had no power to remove them, and so, could only lay there,
feeling the plastic rub against the side of her esophagus harshly.
The room was semi-dark, with only the moonlight coming in from an
uncurtained window to her left, and a sliver of the artificial light
entering from under her closed door to the right. It was obviously
nighttime, and she was alone. It seemed the visitors hours were
long-since over, and everyone had probably been forced to leave. Or,
maybe, they had left on their own, figuring that everything was fine
now that she had awakened once.
She tried to reach out for the button to press for the nurse, but it
was just beyond her reach, hanging above her head, and to the right.
Never one to call it quits easily, she continued to try, but it was no
good - she just couldn't reach. She fought back at the tears of
frustration, blinking rapidly to force them away, but it was useless.
They slid down her cheeks silently, and she lay there feeling more
helpless than she could ever remember in her entire life. Giving up on
the call button, she relaxed, and closed her eyes once more, wishing
that the hurt would all end, and that she could rest. She was so
tired.
A warm hand covered her limp one, and she weakly lifted her lids to
look at who it could be. He was shadowed, so she couldn't see his
features, but his shape, outlined against the small amount of light,
seemed vaguely familiar. Was that Goku? It resembled him... but the
hair wasn't quite right. It wasn't Vegeta either - this man's hair
didn't stick straight up like some punk's bad nightmare. Yamucha wasn't
as stocky of build, and she couldn't think of why Tenshinhan would even
consider visiting her (besides, the triclops was as bald as the moon,
she reminded herself).
So who was it?
The man's calloused fingers stroked her small hand, soothing and
gentle, confirming that he meant her no harm, and, although he didn't
say a word, Bulma felt strangely relaxed in his presence. After a
while, his even breathing and the regular beeping of the EKG machine
lulled her into a state of insensibility. She closed her eyes again,
sleep pulling at her.
The young man waited until he was sure that Bulma was fast asleep
before letting her small hand go. He gently reached out and moved a
stray hair away from her cheek, letting his knuckles stroke against her
skin softly as he did so. His rational mind told him that he shouldn't
be doing this, yet his heart ached as he looked down upon her beautiful
features, and he felt the familiar pain well-up within his chest.
She's not even my Bulma! he reminded himself, pulling away, and
stepping back. I have no right to do this! His thoughts, though, seemed
to hold little weight when in the presence of the woman he loved.
He shook his head, and standing, moved towards the window. The
brilliant, multi-colored lights from the city below were entrancing,
and reminded him of a memory from his childhood, so long ago...
"Father, mama's been really lonely lately."
"Has she?"
"Maybe we could take her into the city this weekend. It is her
birthday, you know?"
"Is it? Do you think she'd like that?"
"Yea, I think she would...."
Pulling himself away from the view, tucking away the lost memories,
Mirai Son Gohan concentrated on what was important in the here and now.
He knew that if he didn't find a way to put #17 down fast, a future
much worse than the one he had known would arise in this timeline. No
matter what, he could not let that happen. For Bulma's sake, for
Trunks' sake, for his father's and mother's and friend's sakes, and for
the child Gohan's sake, he would do whatever it took to assure that.
He opened the window, and stepped out, floating above the ground
effortlessly with the use of his ki. Quietly, he shut the panes behind
him, and flew off towards the giant silhouette of Capsule Corporation
in the distance, his plan firmly ensconced in his mind.
"That damned bastard," the Jinzouningen murmured to himself, rubbing
at his cheek, feeling the ache of the bruise there. "Soon, Son Gohan,
you'll regret everything," he promised, and increased his speed, hoping
to arrive at his destination soon. He watched the mountainous land
beneath him fly by at an incredible rate, and after several minutes, he
realized that he was close. Landing in a small glade in one of the many
forests on the island, he glanced around.
Vaguely, he remembered it being around here somewhere...
"Halt intruder!" a voice came from behind, through the dark canopy of
the forest. #17 turned in the direction of the voice, and caught a good
look at the creature which had addressed him, as it stepped out from
behind a tree, a small laser gun in its hand.
"Identify yourself," it commanded, pointing the weapon at him.
It stood a little taller than himself, #17 realized, and was covered
with the test-tube grown flesh of Dr. Gero's earlier artificial human
experiments; a clear indication that this synthetic being was an
android - not a cyborg - and therefore, inferior to him. Its pasty
skin, brilliant red eyes, and lack of hair on every part of its body
would never allow it to pass for human either; a dead give away as to
its placement within the 'laboratory hierarchy'. The Jinzouningen
thought back to what he had known about the previous experiments by his
creator, and matched the face with a designation.
"Hello there, Number Eleven," he addressed it casually. "It's nice to
finally meet you." The android known as Number 11 processed the
conversation instantaneously through its purely mechanical brain, and
came back with a response within seconds.
"How is it that you know my designated identification number? I do not
recognize you," it responded flatly, raising the weapon a fraction of
an inch higher - aimed directly at Number 17's heart. The boy shrugged,
indifferent. "No, probably not," he confirmed, stepping casually
towards the android. Its response was to charge the weapon, and the
audible hum it gave off reverberated in the quiet air around them.
Number 17 stopped, annoyance flickering across his handsome features.
He suppressed his impulse to simply destroy the creature, knowing he'd
probably need it later on.
"We never officially were introduced, since you were destroyed before
I was awakened from stasis," he explained to the android. "Allow me to
introduce myself. I am Number 17." He kept his arms out to the sides,
palms facing up - a non-threatening gesture that he had learned from a
group of foolish humans who had begged him for mercy several years ago.
Of course, those pleas had never been granted, but Number 17 had
learned from that experience, and now, he used it to his advantage.
The android analyzed the data it had been given, and quickly came up
with another conclusion. "Impossible," it stated, preparing to fire the
gun. "You are not an android."
"No, I'm not," Number 17 responded quickly, internally disgusted with
being compared to the less-than-perfect android. He kept this emotion
from his voice, however, as he spoke. "I am Jinzouningen - a cyborg,
and I came from the future to change what I know will happen. If you
take me to Dr. Gero, he can confirm my identity."
The gears in its computerized brain clicked and whirled quietly as it
considered this information. Number 17's augmented hearing picked up
the noise clearly, and he was hard-pressed not to sneer in loathing at
the archaic pile of circuitry that stood before him. Patience wasn't
one of his strong points, as his sister used to constantly point out to
him, but he endured it all in silence.
Just thinking about his Juu started his blood boiling again, and he
forced himself to turn those thoughts away, and concentrate on the here
and now.
For several more seconds, the android seemed to consider the best
course of action, but finally, it indicated that Number 17 should
follow it with a flick of its wrist. "Come this way," it dictated, and
turned towards the southeast. After several silent seconds, the android
turned back to find that Number 17 had not moved to accompany it. It
raised the gun again, preparing to fire. The boy pointed off towards
the southwest.
"The back entrance is just over the next rise, in that direction," he
indicated, "Much closer, than the three miles it would take to get to
the front door." Clearly Number 11 had known this, for its expression
registered a computerized surprise. Number 17 started off towards the
way he indicated, letting the subordinate android follow if it chose
to, his patience for the game having reached its limit.
Within seconds, the two arrived at the back, secret entrance to Dr.
Gero's underground lab. Number 17 was intimately aware of the android's
close scrutiny, as he reached for and found the release mechanism for
the outboard computer, punched in the correct code, and opened the
entryway for them. Without looking back, he entered the familiar
domain, and marched straight for the main computer room, his pace never
wavering. He could have flown, leaving his counterpart in his dust, but
he chose not to; he'd need Number 11 to witness what was about to
happen, to validate his identity to the others when he woke them from
stasis.
Besides, he wanted Number 11, like the rest, to understand his power,
to see the fear he could instill in their creator. That should be
enough to gain the loyalties of his brethren - for they were programmed
to respect strength and might above all else. His 'father' would be the
example, and when he had broken the old man, he would kneel to Number
17 as well, swearing fealty. The others would all fall into line after
that, and they would be his to command.
Be afraid, daddy-dearest, he thought to himself with a wicked smirk,
your prodigal son has returned.
TO BE CONTINUED........
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AUTHOR'S NOTES:
"Mirai" means "Future" in Japanese.
"Forever Love" was written and sung by X-Japan, copyright,
Dahlia/East-West Japan AMCM-4271, 1996.
"Dragonball" is the copyright of Akira Toriyama/Bird Studios/Toei
Animation/Sueisha, and the copyright, 1996-97 of FUNmation/Saban
Entertainment, all rights reserved.
All other characters and situations are the property of this author,
copyright 1997.