Deceive the World

By: Atomic Kokoro

Storyline

Toboe awakes, severely injured. Alone and in pain, he finds a house in the grassy plains. Inside are a boy, a mother, a father, a baby brother, and an orphan. Outside is a world he never knew existed.

...

Before You Read

TOBOE RULEZ!Sorry. I'm hyper. But Toboe fans know it's true. Toboe is EPIC! One of the best anime characters ever created. So is Rino. Who is in this story. I like this trio. Rino, Toboe, and Gohan. Best anime boys to ever live. Aya is the best video game character in the world. So is Dart.

So, I currently have an obession over Toboe. Toboe reminds me of Rino like crazy, okay? They both have similer voices, they both can do flips and tricks, they both seek peace...kinda...and Toboe has this Gohan thing going on, too. Wants peace, and snaps when his friends are in trouble. Too bad Rino doesn't do that.

Also, this story connects with Rino's Origins. It's kinda like a sequal, 'cept not. It has a couple details in this story as Rino's Origins and similler reasons as to why Rino is there, but not.

Anyways, Toboe is in his human form all the time. Like, he sometimes acts like a wolf, but he rarely goes into wolf form. This is because I like him in his human form. That, and I want the stuff that happens to happen. I still want him to act like a wolf sometimes, because he's kawaii when he does. :3

Anyways, on with the STORY!

Sorry...hyper...

...

Chapter 1

Of Blood and Memory

His golden eyes opened half-way to the bright, yellow sunrays that streaked through the leaves of the Maple. He layed still on his back, a searing hot pain burning through his chest. He opened his mouth, not to sure why at first. He froze for a moment, then inhaled painfully. Every breath he took was sheer agony and every second he spent, lying on the forest floor, felt like one sufferful eternity after another sufferful eternity.

Finally he grasped the reality of his open mouth, and with what little strength and voice he had, he shut his eyes tight and screamed.

The scream echoed through the forest, burrowing through every tree, every plant, every form of life. The scream was dead with pain and fear. And loneliness. Color was bearly an aspect of what he could see. It was also an aspect forgotten in his pale face, almost pure white. His usually peach skin had lost all color.

The only color that stood out to anything was the color of blood, soaking through his redish-orange flannel shirt. As his scream faded into silence, he rested one pale hand on the wound in his chest. His eyes slowly opened half-way yet again, the caramel irises glowing in the sunlight.

He whimpered, whinning like a small wolf pup would. Clutching the wound in his chest, he proped himself, slowly and carefully, onto his elbow and looked around. No one was there. He was alone, in a bright forest, somewhere in the world.

I have to get out of here, was one of the many thoughts that circled in his head. He managed to push himself to his feet and look around aimlessly for the closest way out. He placed a hand against a tree to keep his balance. Then, step-by-step, he walked foreward, down the path before him.

Blood trickled down his green pants and passed his black military boots. Spots that weren't caked in mud of his soft, silky hair glisened a bright red in the sunlight. The brown twigs crunches and snapped under his heavy footsteps. Tears spilled over his eyes and rolled down his cheeks, cleaning away the dirt and mud stained on them.

The pain was becoming worse and worse with every step. He could taste blood overfill his mouth and drip down one corner of his mouth. The blood began to trickle down the wrong side of his throat and he coughed, the blood in his mouth dripped onto his body.

The smell of the aftermath of a rainstorm filled his nose. Mud was beginning to slide down the skin on his back, if it wasn't attached to his shirt.

He was covered in bruises, burns, cuts, mud, dirt, and blood. He was afraid, he was in pain. He didn't even want to begin to think about food. The pain was too great, and hopeless was swelling in his chest, tightening it.

He didn't know how long he had been walking. Relief fought against the hopelessness, loosening his chest. Light, above the bushes and between the trees. Grass, creating a horizon against the blue, blue sky. He quickened his step, a small smile appearing on his lips. He sped his pace. Faster, faster until he was running, notwithstanding the pain.

The young boy practically leapt out of the bushes. He was temporarily blinded by the sudden sun. He regained all his senses and his eyes were only able to open half-way. Through the slits of his eyelids, he spotted a house. A few yards away. A round, red roof with a small wooden shack beside the front door.

The clouds above him cleared the sky. He stepped ahead, his hand still on his chest. Inch-by-inch, he covered the few yards to the house. "Hello?" he murmered meekly to the door. He took a hand covered in blood and dirt and pressed his palm against the door. "Hello?"

He sunk to his knees, whimpering. He slapped his palm against the door once, twice, thrice, leaving bloody and dirty handprints on the door. "Help," he bearly whispered. The four silver bracelets on his right wrist clinked together quietly as his hand repeatedly hit the door ever so lightly. "Please. Please."

Tears strode down his cheeks as the hope began to vanish. His right hand placed firmly against the door, still bleeding from burns, from the blisters on his palms. His left hand pressing against the wound in his chest. The one that trailed through his whole body, just missing his heart.

Suddenly, he began to feel sleepy and weak. He felt as if nothing in the world mattered no more. He felt as though if he were to fall asleep, everything would be better. He tried to hold onto what little consciousness he had left, but all his attempts were useless. His eyes rolled back and he collapsed onto his side. The world spun and all the colors of it faded into a greyscale.

And the greyscale faded into a black.

...

All that morning had been raining, so there was no training. Not that he wanted to, but it was a nessecity. If he wanted to save the world, he had to stay in top shape.

But that day was an exception.

Gohan and Rino sat on the couch, watching whatever was on TV. And, by chance, it happened to be monster truck tricks on a sports channel. No martial arts compitions, no baseball, not even figure skating. It was a monster truck thing.

"This is boring," Rino muttered. "So much for training, rain or shine."

"Yeah," Gohan agreed.

The obnoxiously loud commercials came on and Gohan, who tugged on the front of his white blouse collar, hit the mute button. "God, that's annoying," he muttered.

Rino agreed.

The boys sat in the silence for a moment. Then, there was a small patting that only Rino's sensitive ears could detect. He looked out the window to see if it had begun to rain again. He stared at the puddles. There was not a single drop.

He looked around, his deer-skin red hair spinning with his head, trying to find the source of the patting from where he was sitting. Nothing had changed in the house. Gohan noticed Rino's odd movement. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing," Rino replied. "I just thought I was hearing something. A patting of some kind."

Gohan listened closely. He couldn't hear a thing. Rino stood from the couch and put his ear against everything he could think of. The patting sound came again, this time there was a soft murmer to accompany it. "You say something?"

"No. I don't understand what your hearing."

Rino stared at Gohan, waiting for him to hear what he heard. A tinkling sound filled the room. "You hear that?"

Gohan nodded. "Yeah," he said. "What was that?"

Suddenly, as if they were reading each other's mind, they turned to the front door. A small clinking and a bearly audioable thud. Rino slowly approched the door, Gohan following behind him. Rino was the one to turn the handle on the door and open the door, which slid inward.

To their surprise, there was a boy, about their age, lying on the ground. He looked as though he were comfortably sleeping on his side, but Gohan and Rino could, just bearly, sense his lifeforce fading quickly.

The five bracelets on his wrists clinked together as Gohan and Rino lifted the boy from the ground and laid him on the couch. Gohan shut off the TV and turned back to the mysterious boy.

The boy was dressed in a red flannel shirt, green pants, and military boots. Blood soaked the couch, and all of the small boy's clothes. He looked as though he could've been a year or two older, but was small for his age. What stood out the most were the four silver bracelets on his right wrist.

"Who do you think he is?" Rino asked.

Gohan shook his head. "I don't know," he replied. "But he's hurt and dying. We'll have to find Dende."

Although Gohan was a half-Saiyan boy with the ability to fly and perform other amazing tricks, his friend, Rino, couldn't. And that's what made it all the more difficult to get help. There was no way Gohan was going to leave Rino or the new boy here alone. His mother had gone shopping, God knows what happened to his father, and Goten was still in his crib, sleeping.

"We'll have to wait for dad to come home," Rino muttered. Despite the fact Goku wasn't his biological father, he did play a sort of fatherly role. And Gohan was his brother, in a sense. In all the years he spent with Gohan and his family, he had grown to be apart of the family.

When he was little, he had been abandoned by his real parents, whoever they were, in a scrap yard. He was adopted by circus robots and, in order to stay with his family because it was against the law for children to be raised by robots at the time, he learned to perform and dressed up.

Unfortunetly, the mayor had found out and the only choice Rino had to was run away. It was almost like a distant memory. A distant memory from six years ago, when he was five. Also was Gohan. He could remember running in the tiny robot suit, seperated from his family.

He ran several directions before settling down in a small allyway. It wasn't long before he learned his family was force to jump town. Desperate for his life back, he, too, jumped cities, learning he was always a day behind.

Several days later, he stumbled across to West City. He abandoned his suit weeks ago and was wandering around with blue and white streaks contrasting against his deer-skin red hair. There, he met Gohan in the market. The two became friends and Rino told Gohan about what had happened. Gohan understood the boy was tired, hungry, and cold. And since Gohan had just returned from his trip to Namek, he also understood what it was like to be scared and lonely.

It was also the same day Rino learned he was half-Saiyan.

"I guess that's all we can do," Gohan simply replied. "There's nothing else we can do."

Rino nodded and brushed some red hair from the boy's eyes, leaning foreward to get a closer look at his face. "Kiss 'im," Gohan chuckled, noticing how close Rino was to the boy. "Maybe he'll wake up."

Rino tossed a glare in his brother's direction. Gohan laughed. "You kiss 'im," he hissed. "Your idea!"

"Your closer!"

Rino rolled his eyes and turned them back to the boy. He watched him. The boy looked so peaceful, it was almost scary. From the amount of blood and cuts and burns on his body, it was obvious he was in great pain. Yet, he looked as if it didn't matter.

Gohan had wandered off to find some cloth to wipe the blood off the front door before their mother got home and began to freak out. Rino kept an eye on the boy. Rino turned to look back out the window to see it begin to rain again.

"Ts-Tsume..." the boy murmered softly. Rino turned back, unsure of it was the boy who said it or if he was just hearing things. "Kiba..."

"Oi!" Rino called towards Gohan, who was washing the cloths off in the sink and brought it with him to Rino. "He's talking."

Gohan dabbed the boy's face with the cloth. The mud and blood was dry and stuck to his face, forcing Gohan to press a little harder. The dirt and mud gained moister and finally stuck to the cloth instead. "I could see it," he said calmly. After a moment of dabbing, he undid the boy's shirt to get a look at the chest wound. "He's been shot."

Rino was so shocked about how Gohan could sound so calm at such a statement. "Is he going to live?"

"I already told you. I don't know."

"Tsume...? Wh-where...where are..." Gohan and Rino both smiled as the boy's eyes began to open. "...you?"

"Hello," Gohan whispered, as if talking loudly would cause more damage then touching him. The boy's caramel eyes blinked. "How are you feeling?"

Both boys lost their smile as tears began to well up in the boys eyes. "It hurts," he whimpered, his voice young and innocent. "Who are you?"

"My name is Son Gohan. Him here is Son Rino." The boy switched his sights between Rino and Gohan, trying to see any similer physical appearence.

"I'm adopted," Rino said, getting the hint. "What's your name?"

"I'm Toboe," said the boy. "Where's Tsume?"

Rino and Gohan exchanged worried looks before turning back. "Who's Tsume?" Gohan asked. Toboe leaned up far too quickly, earning a sharp pain in his chest. This cause him to cough and fall onto his back again. "Be careful."

"I have to find them. I have to find Tsume and the others," he insisted.

Rino leaned foreward a bit, looking concerned. He said, "Tell us who."

Toboe looked at Rino and Gohan before turning his attention to the ceiling. Wisps of hair fell passed his cheek and he began to speak. "My pack," he began. "My pack..." His voice trailed off and tears dripped to his ears. "I don't remember."

"Tsume," Gohan tried to remind him. "You said Tsume. And Kiba."

Toboe broke into a sob. "I don't remember who they are," he cried, covering his face with his bloody palms, wiping thick, red liquid to smudge against his face again. "I just remember their names."

Gohan placed a hand on Toboe's shoulder. "It's okay," he said. "It's okay. We'll find them."

Thunder cracked the a whip and silence poured over them like the rain outside, save Toboe's small gasps. The pain in his chest burned. It wasn't physical pain this time, but the pain of feeling that he had forgotten everything. Everything but his name and the other names he knew.

Lightening flashed blindingly and there was a small creek. All three boys spun to see the door beginning to open...