"Don't look at what you have lost."
His eyes slowly fluttered open as the sunlight hit his face, forcing him from his slumber far sooner than he would have liked. For a second, he lay there in his bed, appreciating the warmth of his pillows, and the comfort of his sheets. The simple pleasures of his life were often enough to stave away the dangerous darkness that danced, ever close, on the horizon. As Son Gohan yawned, that darkness was invisible, lost to that moment of the morning where a body forgets itself, and the situation it may be in, not yet washed over by the tentative call of the duties of the day or the burdens of the past.
He let that feeling consume him, as he rolled beneath the sheets, adjusting his body so that the sun's rays would no longer shine in his eyes. He knew that it was about time to wake up, because he'd developed the annoying habit of waking up just a moment before he was supposed to, and the equally annoying habit of trying to get just another minute of sleep in before he had to wake up and get to work for the day. It was a cycle he'd fallen into just after his father died, back when every day had felt like an endless nightmare, and before he'd come to realize that nightmares could only last as long as you were asleep.
"GOHAN! GOHAN! GOHAN! GOHAN!"
Trunks' voice screamed from the alarm clock on his desk- which sat just across the room - and roused him from his moment of blissful sleep. As much as that kid was practically his little brother, his voice was easily the hardest thing to hear in the morning. Bulma had rigged his alarm so that it used her son's voice, and gave Gohan a reason to shut the kid up for once, instead of encouraging him to test his limits. It was both a playful tactic, and one meant to keep him from endangering her child. He knew that she didn't expect him to put Trunks in any dangerous situations, but it was kinda an occupational hazard for him.
He couldn't decide when those monsters attacked any more than he could decide where they would attack. For all he knew, they'd be coming for his home, next. That was the thought that made him decide to get up out of the bed, and cross his carpeted floor to shut off his alarm clock, even despite the chill of early morning that lingered in his bones like a bad taste in his mouth. It was bitter, even with the pleasant summer weather. His right arm rose to wipe the sleep-spurs out of his eyes. He didn't like waking up any more than the next guy, and waking up earlier than most other people didn't exactly help much.
Once he was sure that his eyes were properly clean, he made his way over to his closet, where he surveyed his selection of clothes. He was already dressed in his father's typical orange bottoms, with a black belt and a firmly weighted blue shirt that hung on his chest like it weighed over a ton (it actually weighed about four) that accented his training. The undershirt had been a gift from Bulma over their last Christmas, which had continued her tradition of giving him great training gear. His boots weighed a ton each, which he noted as he slipped his black-socked feet into the familiar fabric-insides that his father had favored. Gohan didn't know how Bulma always knew what he wanted…
He reached out with his right arm, and snatched a familiar orange do-gi from the rack. This was where he deviated from his father's old get-up. With enthusiasm and a little bit of work, he pulled his custom-tailored orange gi over his head, and slid his arm through the right hole. As he looked in the mirror, he felt validated, as he did every morning, by the knowledge that his own name adorned the back of his gi. While he had originally worn his father's, to show respect for the man, he'd never been trained by King Kai or Master Roshi. Wearing it had felt wrong, almost like he was lying about where he'd come from. He had been trained by Piccolo, Vegeta, and Son Goku, arguably three of the strongest warriors ever to exist. He was proud of that training, and he kept it with him in his mind every day.
With a little more hop to him than usual, Gohan exited his room, trying to sound as quiet as possible despite the weight of his clothing and the difficulty of keeping them from sounding like gunshots on the flooring. It was both a benefit to the rest of the building, and a test of control. Though Bulma would already be awake (he knew that to be true, because he could smell her bacon cooking), Trunks was most definitely asleep at the end of the hall. That kid could have slept through a hurricane, but somehow, Gohan almost always managed to wake him up in the morning (and sometimes, late into the night, when he'd return with a new bruise or a fresh scar).
Taking special care not to wake his little brother from his sleep, Gohan made his way into the kitchen, where he didn't find Bulma. His brow furrowed and his face twisted in confusion, but he didn't exactly mind. Bulma had a habit of slinking off to her lab whenever a new idea struck her; she was a workaholic, and while Gohan wished he had that kind of determination, he knew that she didn't need to be stressing herself over ideas that may or may not have worked in the past. With a bittersweet smile, he remembered her first attempt at a time machine, which had done little but teleport him halfway across the planet and then explode in a ball of fire and smoke.
He was half tempted to go check on her, but the rumbling in his stomach told him that he needed to sit down and get something to eat. Besides, she'd left a note on the table. He could probably read that as he ate, and figure out whatever it was that she was working on. He took his seat at the head of the table, which he'd taken once Vegeta had passed, and reached for a fork to start devouring his bacon and pancakes. Bulma's cooking wasn't quite as good as his Mom's, but it was still some of the best food he ever ate. Because of her influence, she often got the best foods, and even though she often tried to turn it down so that others might have it, she usually ended up stuck with it.
The pancakes were warm and fluffy, like he liked, and the bacon was crunchy - but still chewy - like he liked; over the years, she'd learned to cater to his specific interests, and while he felt kinda bad for having imposed upon Bulma for so long, he knew that she wouldn't have had it any other way. She wouldn't let the son of her best friend go homeless, and he wouldn't have stayed with his mom, just in case she ended up getting hurt because of him or his actions. When you were the last line of defense against an apocalyptic threat, it was kinda hard to stay under the radar.
Thankfully, Bulma had long since put up a ki-masking shield over Capsule Corp. Anyone inside appeared to have a power level of five, so long as they didn't fry the generator or the electricity didn't go out. He'd only seen the lights go dim once, and when they had, Vegeta'd nearly blown a gasket. It would have been absolutely hilarious if it hadn't been so dangerous; nevertheless, the Androids hadn't found them in time and Capsule Corporation was still standing, even if it was on it's last legs. There were cracks along the outer walls, and the interior of the building was finally starting to lose some of the luster from the glory days, back when Dr. Briefs and Mrs. Briefs had run the place.
Once he'd finished devouring his food, Gohan turned his attention to the note that Bulma had left him on the table. He didn't know quite what to expect out of it, but he hoped that it'd prove illuminating enough for him to figure out what she was doing before he wandered into her lab and inadvertently caused everything to explode. He'd done that once, and she'd nearly killed him… He didn't care what the news said about the Androids, he'd have rather faced them than an angry Bulma almost any day of the week. Hell, the thought was already making him shudder.
He held it between his fingertips, squinting to examine the thin scrawl that was her "I'm busy but still free enough to leave you a note" handwriting.
Gohan, I'm in the lab. Come check out what I'm working on; I think you'll like it! By the way, don't wake Trunks up yet, he's been trying to sneak out and follow you lately. I think he really wants to help, but he's too eager. I hope you enjoy the food!
Gohan had the intense urge to smile and frown at the same time. He didn't like the idea of Trunks following places (but it was cool that he'd learned to hide his power level), but he did like the idea of getting a cool new gift from Bulma's lab. Well, provided it worked. Once again, his thoughts drifted back to the time machine that she'd tried to rig up for him, and they tried to stay away from the look of defeat that'd decorated her pretty face when he'd come back, a bit banged up, from the Southern Capitol. At least this time there'd probably be less room for error. He rose to do the dishes and clean off the table before he went to her lab. Son Gohan had always been the type to pick up after himself, cyborg-apocalypse or not.
By the time he entered her lab, his thoughts had already been scattered all over the place. He seriously had to wonder what it was she'd been cooking up for him. Maybe she'd updated his gi? That wouldn't do him any good, considering that the current one he wore was already pretty heavy on him, but it would be useful for the future. Oh! Or maybe she'd made him something else, like a cool weighted headband (like Vegeta said his grandfather had worn), or a neat combat-sword to chop the androids in half! Okay, so, maybe a sword wouldn't have been that helpful. They were made out of tougher metal than they had access to, anyway. Still, he'd have looked really cool with one!
Machines buzzed and beeped around the room, giving off sparks of electricity and visible pulses of light that had the nasty habit of blinding those who were unused to it. Gohan knew better than to stare directly into most of the lights by now, however, so he made his way towards the back of his friend's laboratory, where he knew her desk to be. As he moved through the room, Tama the cat jumped up on to his shoulder (annoyingly, the right one), and made himself comfortable. Gohan didn't have the heart to dislodge him (or the constitution to deal with his claws), so he let him rest there as he came up behind his blue-haired… Well, his blue-haired whatever Bulma was to him, now.
"Hey, Bulma! You said to come check out your lab when I was -" He hardly had the time to start his sentence, much less finish it, by the time Bulma turned around, holding something that looked remarkably sinister. It was draped in black cloth, and the size of a small baseball bat. Gohan leaned forward, eager to investigate, but Bulma tugged it away, and held it to the side, where he couldn't get to it. The halfbreed frowned, and had been about to protest when she spoke up.
"Don't be so eager, Gohan! I'm trying to do a dramatic reveal here, jeez. Do you know how long it's been since I've gotten to do one of those?"
"Bulma, that's not fair!" Gohan tried to debate it, but she shushed him with a dramatic fluttering of her hand over the cloth. "But… Oh, alright, but this better be worth it! No blowing me up this time, okay?"
She frowned, and it became apparent that she was resisting the urge to smack him upside the head. In response, Gohan smiled, and buried his remaining hand somewhere deep in his shaggy black hair. With a barely audible harumph, the building's resident belle went ahead and continued with her spiel.
"I was up all night working on this, so you know this is good. I went ahead and got your measurements while you were asleep, by the way -"
Wait, what?
"So don't worry about whether or not it fits! Just check this bad boy out!"
And she pulled the cloth from over the object to reveal his arm! Or, at least, it looked an awful lot like his arm. A few wires and lines ran from the bit that was supposed to connect to his shoulder, and a thin black line rode down the side, but otherwise it was his arm! His jaw dropped for a second, and he resisted the urge to spring forward and take it with both hands (maybe only because one of them wasn't actually his hand, yet). He could hardly believe it! That was definitely a cool enough surprise for him to just jump for joy, wasn't it? Well, maybe he was a little too old for that now, but that didn't stop him from raising a hand to high-five his genius of a friend when she stood up.
"Oh man! Bulma, that's amazing! I love it! When can you hook it up?"
She went ahead and gave him a high-five with his own arm, which felt pretty weird, and instructed him to take a seat at her desk. He couldn't help but feel like a first-grader being given a new kind of candy.
"I've got everything I need to set it up right here, as long as you've got the time. You're not doing anything else today, right?" Her question sounded innocent, but he felt something else there. Was it worry? She wasn't worried he was about to dash off or something, was she? He could understand her anxiety, but really, she had nothing to worry about. While plenty of people had gone off and died on her, Gohan knew that he never could… and if he died, well, he was going to have hell to pay when she caught up with him in the afterlife. So, he smiled, and turned his shoulder to face her.
"Nah! Just sitting here and being insanely grateful. I'm sorry you had to go through all this trouble for me, Bulma," he said.
She returned his smile, and went about connecting wires to nerves, and melding his body with a piece of what appeared to be synthetic flesh. It felt cold against his shoulder, and even though the pain was intense at first, he could bear it. It was way less than he'd experienced losing his arm, anyway.
"Don't worry about it, Gohan! I didn't use any unnecessary materials in making it, though, so you probably can't use it to fight cyborgs with," she began, "but you can use it for things like training and every-day stuff."
"Bummer," he replied.
"Still, Bulma, thanks a bunch! Is there anything I should know about with this thing? Any kinda limit to what I can do with it?"
She took a second, as a particularly difficult screw twisted into his flesh, prompting a stifled yelp from the warrior at her mercy. He noticed, with no satisfaction, that Tama had jumped off of his shoulder as the pain had started.
"Well, I did rig it up with something special, but it should be able to take whatever your body can lift. It just can't handle collisions very well. Try not to break it though, okay kid? It was really hard getting these materials on short notice. I swear, people see you getting some fake-skin and they think you're trying to build some androids of your own."
Neither of them laughed, so Gohan decided to further their conversation as best he could, his dad's broad smile still plastered across his face.
"What do you mean, something special?" He inquired, innocently.
She took a second to screw in the last few connectors, and then stepped back to allow Gohan a second to check out and flex his new arm. He had to say, he enjoyed it! She'd added a glove to his hand, which he spent a second toying with while he flexed his fingertips, but otherwise everything was the exact same. He could have sworn she'd mirrored his right arm perfectly… If anything, his only disappointment was that he wouldn't be able to use it in combat. He had a pretty good feeling that he could use it against Trunks or some training robots, but using it against the cyborgs…
"This is my favorite part! When you shout out the codeword, it'll shoot off and explode!"
"Oh god, Bulma that's terrible! Why would I do that?!"
He was silenced by the firm thunking of a wrench slamming against his head. He used his new hand to rub the sore spot, looking at Bulma as if he were some kind of abandoned puppy. The scar on his face probably didn't help his look of innocence any, but still. She'd thwacked him over the head for basically no reason!
"It's not going to hurt, dummy. Sheesh, you're so much like your father sometimes, I swear," and she paused, temporarily overcome by the bittersweetness of his memory, "But it shoots at an enemy! It's called the Rocket Punch! It's not really enough to destroy anybody, but it's enough to save you in a pinch."
He pulled his hand from his hair and gave it a brief once over, examining it carefully. It was kinda hard to imagine his arm turning into a missile and firing at an enemy, but he figured that it was possible. Bulma generally knew what she was doing when it came to making things explode, after all. Still, he didn't like the idea of such a brilliant inventor working with explosives. Bulma deserved to be furthering her father's research, not building robotic arms for silly boys who couldn't keep a real one. It made him feel bad that she'd had to do this for him in the first place, even if he was super grateful.
He suddenly stepped forward and pulled Bulma into his chest for a hug. She seemed a little surprised, but she returned the gesture nonetheless, and when they parted Gohan noted that she smelled faintly of cinnamon and oil.
"Thanks, Bulma. I'll try not to use it unless I need it."
"No problem, just try not to get blown up with it, okay? I'd hate to see that much good material go to waste," she playfully chided him, chuckling.
"Don't worry," he grinned. "I won't."