On the horizon, the sun was just beginning to rise.
Lying in her bed, Bulla watched out the window at the pastel-hued sky. The city was starting to come alive and the streetlights had just flicked off. Soon, Capsule Corp. would be bustling too, and not much longer after that, Bulla would be suiting up for the showdown against Cell. She hadn't slept much the night before, her mind consumed by the thought of their fight with Cell. She hated admitting it, but she had doubts about whether they were ready to defeat him or not.
She pushed her hair back into a messy bun and swung her legs around the side of the bed. Cradling her head in her hands, she took a deep breath in and out—a pitiful attempt at centering herself. It didn't work. Inside, her stomach was twisting in knots and her heart felt like it was lodged in her throat.
Gently, she cracked her door open and felt for ki in the rest of the house. Immediately she felt her grandparents in the other wing of the house, and then the baby version of herself a few doors down. It was when she scanned for her mother that she realized there was someone else in Bulma's room: Vegeta.
She sighed. Of course he had weaseled his way back into her bed before the possible destruction of Earth. Could they both be that predictable? She wasn't going to let this bother her—she didn't have the desire or the time to go meddling in other people's relationship problems, especially those of her parents. Somewhere, though, was a small part of her that wanted to shake this version of Bulma and ask her what she truly saw in the Saiyan prince.
Making her way to the kitchen, Bulla ran her fingers across the wall, brushing them against the sides of picture frames that adorned certain parts of the walkway. Each picture held a sweet memory in it: family vacations and celebrations, marriages, births and deaths. A few of the pictures she knew from her Capsule Corp. of the future, but most she had never seen. They didn't hang in the hallway because there was no hallway to hang them in, and decorating the crumbling remains of the building was extremely low on the priority list.
Right as she reached the stairs, she spied the last picture in a small, wooden frame—one that had obviously been there the entire duration of her stay, but one that she was somehow just noticing. It was a picture of Bulma holding baby Bulla not long after she was born. Cherry blossoms were all around her against the bright, blue sky. Her smile was radiant and her eyes beamed with pride and adoration for her baby daughter.
Beside her was Vegeta, and Bulla could've sworn he was smiling.
The scene was different from the picture underneath her bed, but it felt the same. The only difference was that this family had not yet known tragedy. Night after night she had looked at the photograph she kept under her bed and dreamed about life with her father by her side to cheer her on, to teach her what it meant to be a true Saiyan warrior.
She stared at the new picture for a long while until it was imprinted in her memory. A life with her father, she once thought, would be one filled with meaning, but now she knew the truth. Demons haunted her father and he was the only one who could conquer them. Cruelty was all he knew for so many years, and now he was battling to extract that part of himself. Perhaps, if they survived, it would change him, and the Bulla of this time wouldn't have to chisel out a space for him in her calcified heart. Sunlight pierced the wall and perfectly illuminated her father's face.
Despite the fear pumping through her veins, it was increasingly clear what this journey had done for her. In her time, she was consumed by him and the thought that if she had only known him like Gohan knew Goku, maybe she would find a resolve inside herself and rise above to defeat the androids. Even as a dead man, his shadow cast upon her like a torturous taunt. But not anymore. Not now.
Whatever came of the fight with Cell would be the legacy she had carved out for herself. Victory or defeat laid in her hands and her hands alone.
She was finally free of him.
The shuffling of boots jarred her from her own thoughts, and she looked up to see her father approaching her slowly. He stopped and stared for a few moments, his expression static. For the first time in her life she felt the grip he held around her heart loosen ever-so-slightly, and she wondered if he could feel it too.
"We should prepare," he said solemnly. "Get something to eat."
"Yes," she replied, her voice cold. "We should."
He continued on, and as he passed her he spied to see which picture had so commanded her attention. Sadness rippled through him as he saw which one it was. A family—a happy family, one that she had never had. His hand gripped the railing of the staircase and began his descent, Bulla's eyes following him with every move.
"I haven't said it enough, but you're a very good fighter." Vegeta didn't make eye contact with her. "I wish you luck today."
Only a few feet separated them from one another, but it felt like an ocean. As if giving him permission, Bulla nodded and he made his way down toward the kitchen.
The ring—if you could call it that—was crudely made. Four wooden posts signaled the corners of it, and a trench stretched around its entirety. By the time Bulla and Vegeta had arrived to the fight, a swath of others had already gotten there. And not just Z Fighters, people had come in droves to see if they could be the one to defeat Cell.
But none of them knew the truth of his power. None of them understood what Vegeta and Bulla knew: That any mere mortal who challenged him was likely to die immediately.
Vegeta had wisely chosen to walk up to the ring. People had begun to gather on it's north side, and while he knew he would soon leave them in shock and awe, he decided his entrance didn't need to be an event in and of itself.
The fighters in the crowd were the easiest to spot. They had begun stretching and primping, curling weights in their arms and drinking various shakes to give them an extra buzz before facing off against Cell. For days, all the TV stations could talk about was the impending fight, treating it more as a spectator sport than a matter of life or death, and people responded to the call of heroism. Foolishly, they all thought they might be the ones to put an end to Cell, as if they had a chance. It annoyed Vegeta to no end.
And now, they made a makeshift camp. Along with an entire row of vehicles feeding bays and bays of cameras, there were some spectators who had brought chairs, blankets and snacks. Wafting along was the scent of barbecue, and the distinct hum of a radio floated throughout the various canopies dotting the field.
Vegeta scanned the area and found himself disgusted. After all the androids had done, he thought maybe Earthlings would get serious about impending threats, possibly even put together a massive army in an attempt to take down this monster. Instead they had turned it into a spectacle. One particular fighter had amassed a posse that followed him around like lost puppies. Camera flashes flickered from every side of the man—a tall, tanned guy with curly hair sticking out in every direction. Bulla recognized him from the news.
"That guy," she pointed to him. "That is Hercule Satan."
"How do you know that?" said her father, his eyes following him as he greeted several young female fans.
"He's been on the news," she said. "He won the World Martial Arts Tournament a few years ago and everyone thinks he is the one who is going to defeat Cell."
Hercule beat his chest like a wild animal and let out a lone howl. As he made his way through the crowd, he turned his head and briefly caught sight of the two of them. A wicked smile formed on his face, and he rushed over to her, camera crew in tow.
"Well, well, well," he slinked up to them. "If it isn't one of my most beautiful fans."
Vegeta grimaced as Hercule took Bulla's hand and placed it to his cheek.
"Come to wish me luck?" he cooed. A few cameras inched closer and Vegeta gave them a glare that instilled enough fear in them to push back just slightly.
"I don't know you," she replied flatly.
"Of course you do," he smiled. "I'm the great Hercule Satan! The greatest fighter on Earth. I'm here to defeat Cell."
When she didn't respond, he pressed her hand to his chest.
"After I win this tournament, I promise I will come find you again, and you can give me a victory kiss," he winked toward the camera. He leaned in closely to her and spoke out of the side of his mouth. "You are old enough, right?"
"I would watch it if I were you," Vegeta growled at him, making Bulla blush.
"Oh, no disrespect!" Hercule laughed, waving his hands as if to show no harm. He turned to Vegeta. "I didn't realize she had a boyfriend."
"I'm her father," Vegeta spit back.
The cameramen all side-eyed one another skeptically. Hercule shrugged his shoulders.
"Daughter, huh?" He looked Bulla up and down, and then Vegeta. How old was this guy to have a grown daughter? "Well, uh...sure. If you change your mind, honey, you can come find me after the show."
He sauntered off without even turning to look at her, his entourage following closely behind. Vegeta shook his head.
"This is madness," he seethed.
"These people are going to be killed," Bulla said somberly. "This is not what I was expecting."
"They'll run out of here the moment the fight gets intense," he said. "But by the time it heats up like that, it might be too late."
"Why would Cell want this?" Bulla's brow furrowed.
"If his end goal is to maintain global control and cement himself as the strongest in the world, this is the fastest way to do it," Vegeta replied. "Every circus needs a ringleader."
A gasp rippled through the crowd, their eyes transfixed at the sky above. Cell had finally arrived and floated down. By the time his feet touched the ground, the onlookers were fully shaking but unable to look away. Cameras were up and reporters were reluctantly holding out their microphones toward him, hoping to grab the latest soundbite for the evening news.
"People of Earth," he shouted. "Thank you for joining me for this joyous occasion."
He hopped over the trench and toward the cameras. People cowered as he sauntered past, with one reporter passing out and dropping her microphone just at the mere sight of him. Away from the crowd, Bulla and Vegeta stood watching cautiously.
"For the people watching at home, it's a beautiful day here outside of East City," he smirked. "Let's go over some rules, shall we? Oh that's right. There are none."
He let out a satisfied sigh. The fighters side-eyed one another. It wasn't like any of them expected this fight to be completely fair, but no rules at all? Bulla crossed her arms and shifted her weight.
"I'm asking all those who plan to challenge me to make their way to the south side of the ring," Cell continued. "This area we can reserve for the media types and our marvelous viewers who came all this way to watch. A big thank you to you."
It disgusted Bulla how much he seemed to enjoy this. Vegeta was right—this was a circus, and Cell derived a sick pleasure from being the master of ceremonies. Despite the spectacle before her, she couldn't tear her eyes away. Whatever angle Cell was trying to play at, one thing was certain: He wanted this entire thing to be chaotic, so that even if he lost, it would come at a great cost. People would die today—innocent people—if they didn't get out sooner than later, and the impact this would leave on Earth would be known for so many years to come.
"So, please fighters, make your way over to the south end of the ring and we will begin in the next 30 minutes."
A trickle of men started to leave the crowd and around the ring. There were people of all shapes and sizes: Muscular men dressed in fighting gis, a few rotund fighters of varying heights, a group of strange dragon-like creatures that waddled as they walked. At the back of the pack Bulla spotted Goku and the rest of the Z Fighters, and she rushed over to join them, her father trailing close behind.
Whispers drifted through the fighters as they made their way over to the other side. At the very front was Hercule, strutting with his chest puffed out. A gaggle of other fighters followed in step behind him with their heads held high.
"That guy is going to get completely crushed," Bulla said to no one in particular. Vegeta let out a snort of laughter.
"They're all going to get crushed," he sighed. "We have to figure out a way to get these fools to leave."
Bulla raised an eyebrow. "I didn't take you for the empathetic type."
"There's a lot you don't know about me, girl."
Hercule and his party were the first to reach the south side of the ring. The fighters all settled in with Cell's watchful eyes scanning over the crowd, a nefarious grin on his face. Bulla could tell he was chomping at the bit to destroy these innocent people. Would he allow the Z Fighters to go first? She doubted it.
"So," Cell said, as if reading Bulla's mind. "Who shall go first?"
The crowd shifted uncomfortably, but at the front stood an overly confident Hercule. He walked toward the trench, slid down its bank and leapt up to land inside of the ring. A celebratory cheer sounded from the crowd on both sides, and people on the north end of the ring started to shout his name. Raising his hands above his head, Hercule nodded his head and smiled with an unbridled confidence—that is, until Cell stalked toward him.
Hercule was a very tall man, but even he was eclipsed by the sheer size of Cell. Something must've went off in his brain, Bulla noticed, because when he finally got to see the monster up close, he physically started to cower. His hands fell to his side and he visibly took a step back.
"My first opponent?" Cell said. Hercule swallowed hard.
"Uh, yeah," he said, his voice a little shaky. "That's...that's me. I'm, uh."
He turned around to look at his fellow fighters, all of whom had given him encouraging looks. His shoulders sank.
"Go get him, Champ!" A fighter from the crowd yelled.
"Yeah!" Another responded. "You got this."
"Champ?" Cell asked coyly. "You're a decorated fighter, I take it?"
Hercule's eyes bulged. He nodded his head, but his feet were frozen.
"Well then," Cell uncrossed his arms and his tail slithered in the air. "Shall we?"
Bulla was anxiously waiting for one of the Z Fighters to step in and save Hercule, but they all just stood there. As Cell inched closer to him, and as Hercule looked progressively more terrified with each step, Bulla struggled to control her urge to offer herself up as his replacement. Sensing her apprehension, Vegeta grabbed her arm.
"Calm down," he said to her quietly. "If we all jump in at once it's going to be a free for all. If he threatens to kill the man, we intervene. But I think this Hercule clown might forfeit before the fighting even begins."
Her father was right. She relaxed her shoulders and tried to quiet her mind, her eyes remaining on Cell. One foot moved after the other in a slow, hypnotizing rhythm that reminded Bulla of some graceful dance from another time. Hercule, on the other hand, was firmly cemented to the ground.
Reaching out his hand, Cell flushed his palm to Hercule's chest. With little more than a shove, Hercule was sent flying out of the ring. His body flung backward, skidding against the ground and carving out a second trench that ran perpendicular to the south side of the ring. No one moved, instead they all stood there with their mouths agape. One single fighter ran toward him and those watching from the other side of the ring were collectively holding their breath.
Cogs started turning in everyone's brain. If they severely underestimated Cell's power once before, they were no longer disillusioned. Each fighter on the south side shifted uncomfortably and their eyes were transfixed on Cell.
"Who's next?" Cell smiled.