A quick explanation for the end of the last chapter, with the kiss between Gohan and Eighteen being rushed. It definitely was and very much intentional. There are some psychological studies that link depression with One Night stands. Not saying that's the only reason, just what I was aiming for in this story. Not some romantic get-together, but a casual fling meant more to momentarily distract. I did answer the reviewer in PM who pointed out how rushed it was but felt I should explain it to anyone who thought the same but didn't say anything, or to any future readers I may have with the same thoughts.
Beta - OjOrangejuiceofthewild
Cover Art - AR-UA
Chapter 2 - Endings and Beginnings
Bleary eyes opened to the darkness, the television in her room probably turned off by the timer sometime during the night. Her back ached from the hard-as-stone mattress she slept on that her father refused to replace. A yawn escaped the blonde's lips as she stretched her arms out. Or, that's what she had wanted to do.
The young woman found her wrists entrapped by metal, strapped to where she laid. The sleep evaporated instantly, which allowed her to take in more of her situation. The mattress she had complained about for the past half a year was not underneath her. Her palms rested atop a cold steel surface. Mechanical noises resounded through the room, from the tell-tell signs of monitors to others she couldn't place. With her vision adapted to the blackness of the space, the finality of the situation set in. Gone was the dresser to her left, where her make-up and Hachi, the stuffed octopus, sat. No longer was the small tv on a now non-existent stand at the foot of her bed.
This wasn't her room.
Her heartbeat thundered in the blonde's ears as the panic rushed through her. She shook her arms and tried to kick out her legs; the young woman's ankles, too, had been locked down. Her body thrust upwards as she struggled.
Where was she? How had she been taken from the room she fell asleep in and why?
"Lapis," she cried. It was just a bad dream, she told herself. She'd call out for her brother, he'd wake her up and give her shit, but that would prove it was just a dream.
But why did his name feel so unfamiliar?
Nothing happened. No one shook the blonde awake. There was no snarky voice to give her hell for crying or waking him up because of a bad dream.
"Lapis," she called out for her twin again. "Lapis!"
The blonde's hips bucked as the struggle against her restraints continued, with metal biting into her skin. It wasn't real. No matter what the pain said. No matter what the situation was or how her heart hammered away inside her chest. It couldn't be real.
"Dad!" tears flowed from the corner of her eyes, full of fear and frustration. "Dad, help me!"
Once again, the silence was her answer. The sensible part of her mind wondered what she expected. The man had lost the love for his children after their mother had died. As if it was their fault. But the blonde was desperate. Her brother hadn't answered her pleas, and she had no one else to turn. No friends or loved ones. No other family. She was alone.
Cries for help became choked sobs—her breathing rapid as hysteria set in. The name Lapis came out over and over. Calls for her father, while fewer, still fell from her lips. The young woman's face had become a mess, smeared with ugly tears and nasty snot.
"Somebody!" she sobbed desperately. "Anybody! Please! Help me!"
A door opened behind her, allowing light to illuminate the room full of monitors and machinery. She heard the footsteps approach her, while some split off to other parts of the room. Her heart sank as they came in sight, dressed head-to-toe in lab coats, white shirts, and black pants. Their faces covered, except for one. A man, the wrinkles of his tan skin the signs of his age with a bushy white mustache that matched the hair that fell behind him. Blue eyes met her grey-blue, and he smiled at her. A smile that caused her heart to sink.
"Hush now," he said."There's no need for all the screaming. You're just fine."
"Who-" she choked, "Who are you?"
"Doctor Gero," he introduced himself. "Founding member and head scientist of the Red Ribbon Army."
The Red Ribbon- wha? "I've never heard of anything like that."
His smile fell, "No matter. You shall be taught. We have the time, after all."
The finality in that statement sent shivers down her spine as she began to thrash again. Screaming out for her brother or father or anyone. Anyone that could hear her. That would rescue her.
"Be silent," Doctor Gero commanded. His aged hand covered her mouth and squeezed her cheeks together with a strength that belied his years. "This is my lab. The only ones that can hear your incessant whining are myself and those working under me."
Hope shattered as despair took hold. The tears never stopped, if though now she was quiet. The feeling of helplessness ruling her. His hand released her, but the back of it caressed her skin. A wave of nausea surged through her at the touch. Gero's grin was back in place. Taunting her.
"Besides, you're in no danger here. If anything, you should be thanking me. I'm going to make you far greater than you ever would be. Physical abilities far surpassing humanity. The perfect weapon."
The woman's eyes followed him as he took a step back. They widened when one of the old man's people brought a tray of tools she wasn't familiar with to him.
He took one such item from its place, balancing it in his hand, "Now, this may hurt a little."
The blare of her alarm clock had Eighteen shoot up out of bed; a ki blast launched at the offending object. Breaths came out in rapid, deep gasps. The blanket that once covered her tossed aside in a panic, bare skin drenched in a cold sweat assaulted by frosty air. Steel-blue eyes darted around the area as she took in the room.
To her right, an open door leading to an en-suite bathroom, shrouded by darkness. In front of her, just beyond the foot of her bed, a large flat-screen television hung from the wall. Another door sat to the right of the TV, closed. To her left sat a dresser, with a vanity mirror atop it. The blonde brought her legs up to her chest, arms entrapping them in place, and her forehead placed on her knees. Her breathing slowed as where she was finally set in. She was at home, in her apartment in Satan City.
Eighteen looked to her bedside table to check the time, only to find soot where a digital clock had once been. A frustrated sigh escaped her as if it was the device's fault for not being durable enough to brush off such an attack. A few moments later, having collected herself from the nightmare, she swung her legs off the queen size mattress. Bare feet padded to the bathroom, the light flickering on as she took in her appearance. Hair going in multiple directions from unrestful sleep. Underneath her eyes sporting dark circles. Her flesh was unscarred despite what she had experienced in the past.
The devices planted in her, from the data chip in the woman's brain to the infinite energy reactor located somewhere in the lower-right abdomen. Little things here and there, from surgery that should have littered her body in discolored skin. But even that was artificial. Submerged in a biological augmentative chemical substance, her flesh and bones enhanced to super-human levels. Aging slowed so the blonde could remain a powerful tool.
Nausea came over her, just as it had in the dream. When that monster had touched her. Eighteen fell to her knees, toilet lid pushed up as what little that resided in her stomach came out. She cursed angrily into the porcelain bowl, the unpleasant sour taste lingering in her mouth even as she tried to spit out the foul flavor. How was she even sick? Were that damned man's enhancements faulty?
A few minutes later, Eighteen found herself dressed in a blue nightgown traveling down the small hallway into the living room connected to the kitchen. The stove clock read eight twenty-four, though the darkness made it seem much earlier. She moved aside the curtains from the small window above the sink; storm clouds discovered to be the cause of the lack of light. It fitted, in a way. As it always when she was awoken by remnants of memories the blonde could do without.
Memories of a time long past, and the birth of a monster.
Once again, a sense of nausea overtook her. Her stomach empty but unsettled. Barefeet shuffled from the laminate flooring onto the carpet, hands resting on a countertop to keep the woman upright. As she reached the black faux leather sofa, Eighteen fell onto it. She laid back, head rested on one of the few cushions that decorated the piece of furniture, her eyes covered by the arm. Eighteen knew she should stay up, prepare for the day ahead and work in two and a half hours, but the sleepiness took hold.
Just a few more minutes.
Steel-blue eyes opened as the sun shined into the room, illuminating the blonde and her bedmate, a short man with a shaved head, and only the covers of their shared sleeping space hiding his muscular form. She couldn't help but smile at his sleeping face. Mouth open wide as he snored in blissful sleep. Maybe some, or most, would find it to be disgusting or at least annoying, but to her, it was cute how such a strong man could be so defenseless, so comfortable at her side. He mumbled something, and Eighteen let out a small laugh. With a peck on the cheek, the blonde laid back down, resting her head on his shoulder.
I love you, Krillin.
/-/
"Are you alright?"
Those words, filled with concern, were barely heard over the thumping of her own heart. Eighteen turned to see Krillin looking at her, unsure of what he should do. She reached out to him, pulled him into her embrace. It was okay; it was just a dream. A past that couldn't touch her in the present. Her love held onto her, rubbing her back, confused, but doing his best to comfort the woman with tears in her eyes. Eighteen didn't know why she started having these dreams, why she began to remember bits and pieces of things best left forgotten, but it would be okay. He was here with her.
She wasn't alone.
/-/
"I'll kill you!"
The blonde shouted at the top of her lungs, distress pouring from her eyes. He was a monster! He wanted her and her brother to be tools, weapons! No. No, she couldn't allow that. Wouldn't. Her hands were freed from their shackles, steel ripped apart by her enhancements—his mistake to think that she would be loyal to him. The chip planted in her brain didn't stop her hands from squeezing his throat.
"E-Eighteen,"
That damned name. No, not even a name, but a number. An experiment. Her hands tightened, demanding the breath of life to vacate this abominable excuse for a human. His voice was raspy as he called her number again.
"Stop calling me that!" the blonde cried out in a rage. "I'm not a number! I'm not one of your experiments! My name is-"
Her screams were cut off by the lighting outside, the darkroom illuminated by the brief flash. Her eyes widened as who she had within her grasp fell from her slackened grip. The blonde stumbled back, horrified.
No, she told herself, backed into a wall. Not you. I didn't want to hurt you.
The light above her turned on, and the room she was in was on full display. Instead of a table she had been strapped to, it was a queen-sized bed, the sheets in disorder and the covers on the floor. There were no monitors, and it hadn't been Gero who she had tried to kill, to strangle the life out of. It had been Krillin. The man she loved. And he didn't look at her with fondness nor concern...
But with fear.
/-/
"I'm sorry."
Those were the words she said to him, luggage in hand. She wanted to say more, to make him understand that she didn't want to be like this. To wake up in a rage. To push him away. But after that incident, it had only gotten so much worse. Even as they began to sleep alone, her temper would fester for no reason. Arguments became the usual. He decided it would be best for her to go. To leave what she had considered home.
He didn't say anything. He didn't stop her; he never tried. She didn't blame him for giving up; it was too much. She was too much. Outside of Kame House, the skies wept for her broken heart as the monster set off alone.
Eighteen awoke to the sound of her phone ringing. With a sigh and a quick wipe of her eyes, the blonde picked up the mobile device and answered, "Hello?"
"Where are you?"
The blonde rolled her eyes, "Good morning to you too."
"It's four in the afternoon, Eighteen," her friend and manager said, causing the woman to look over to the clock. The blonde's eyes widened as she discovered it was indeed as Melody had said, if not a few minutes later.
She cursed, explaining to the ravenette on the other end what happened. Waking up sick and falling back to sleep, not setting another alarm as her clock had malfunctioned, leaving out the details of said technical difficulties.
"Are you alright?" Melody asked her at the end. "You've been getting sick while here, too."
"I'm fine," Eighteen told her for the umpteenth time. "Just a stomach virus or something."
The or something being the cause for concern, as for all intents and purposes, she shouldn't be feeling ill. Not with everything that had been done to her. But her friends didn't need to know that.
There was an exasperated sigh on the other side, "That's what you keep saying, but it's been a week now, girl. Really, stop being stubborn and see a doctor or something."
There was no explaining to the other woman how much she just could not do that. Not without revealing the modifications that a certain dead mad scientist decided to force on her. And that was not a conversation she wanted to have.
"I'm fine," Eighteen repeated. "I can take care of myself."
"That's what you keep saying, but we don't believe you."
We?
Just then, a knock sounded at her door. Then another. One after another, slow at first but picked up speed, as what sounded like two fists hammering at the entrance to her apartment. With the phone in hand, Eighteen turned the knob, letting in Olyvia and Erasa, neither of them showing any remorse for the commotion they caused nor care for whatever those in the neighboring apartments may think.
"Sounds like your ride is there," Melody's voice sounding much too smug for Eighteen's liking.
With a beep, the call ended. No word of parting, as the older blonde told herself she couldn't kill the ravenette. At least, not without being within eyesight of the annoying little-
"Are you okay?" their voices overlapped, but it was Olyvia that continued. "You never showed up today. Didn't call in. And you've been sick all week."
"I'm fine!" spoke the broken record, feeling the onset of a headache. "I just fell back to sleep. It could happen to anyone."
"It could," the brunette relented.
"But you're pretty punctual," Erasa finished. "You're like my friend, Videl. She's never late for anything."
"Videl Satan, the one that plays vigilante in Satan City?" Eighteen asked the younger blonde, who nodded. "Didn't you tell me she's late for classes constantly?"
Erasa laughed and waved it off, "Eh, that's just because she's fighting crime. Those are special cases."
Eighteen folded her arms, "Just like this. A special case that you three-"
"Three?"
"-are blowing out of proportion."
The brunette blonde duo looked at one another before turning back to Eighteen. Erasa slammed a fist down into her palm, "Oh, you're talking about Melody."
A frustrated sigh escaped the older blonde's lips as she pinched the bridge of her nose, "Yes, Erasa."
"We're just worried about you, Eighteen," Olyvia explained, eyes downcast.
Eighteen wasn't the most sympathetic nor empathetic individual. She'd freely admit this. But the blonde would be lying if she didn't feel a bit of guilt at seeing her friend's expression. They were worried about her. To the point of coming to her home to check on her when a call would have sufficed. Was it a bit much? Maybe. But that just showed how much they cared.
"I know you're worried, but everything's alright," Eighteen told Olyvia, a hand on her friend's shoulder. "What happened today was an accident. Besides, I'm feeling bet-"
She never finished the word as her mouth shut with an audible click as bile rose up in her throat. In a mad dash, she escaped the front door to the kitchen trash, releasing the contents of her already empty stomach into it. Eighteen heard the footsteps come from behind her and felt a small hand on her back as Erasa told her just to let it out, which was already what she was doing.
The girl gave the older blonde a rag from the sink. The sick woman wiped her lips with it after spitting into the trash the after taste. Eighteen's eyes met Olyvia's, brown orbs set in steel. "You were saying?"
Fine. She wasn't feeling any better than the day prior, or even the day before that. But that was her business. There was no way any of them could strong-arm her into getting poked and prodded for the sake of recovery.
"How did you strong-arm me into this?" Eighteen questioned from the backseat of Olyvia's hovercar.
"We didn't strong-arm you into anything, silly," Erasa replied. "We guilt-tripped you."
Was that supposed to make it better? It didn't, and the huff of annoyance should have made that clear. However, it wasn't just irritation that had settled inside Eighteen. Fear was slowly filling up space as well. It was true that they had guilt-tripped her into getting into the vehicle, agreed to get herself checked after getting an earful from Olyvia and Erasa's teary-eyed worry for Eighteen's health.
She agreed to go with them to stop the two from giving her any more grief but under one condition. That they take her to Capsule Corp. If anyone could figure out what was wrong with her, or at least weave a convincing tale for her two friends, it would be Bulma. The two gawked at her before explaining how long that would be to drive and how, even by jet-copter, it would take nearly a whole day going one-way. Absurd to Eighteen, as she could fly the distance in an hour or two.
So there she was, cornered into going to a hospital to see some unknown person that would most likely discover her enhancements. Could she have refused to go? Yes, but only if she wanted to keep being barraged by what would no doubt be neverending worried questions and guilt-inducing expressions. As they pulled into the hospital, Olyvia searching for a place to park, Eighteen's fight-or-flight instincts began kicking in. To runaway would cause the trip and her friends' effort to be meaningless. To go in and let herself be discovered would undoubtedly return her to being a lab experiment.
Her heartbeat pumped into her ears as the doors opened and closed. Eighteen could hear the two speaking to each other, maybe even a question threw her way now and again, but she couldn't truly make out the words. It felt as though the clock was counting down, and a decision needed to be made. She eyed the entrance, just to sigh as relief flooded through her.
Bulma.
"Bulma?" Erasa questioned, Eighteen having called the woman's name aloud. Erasa followed the older blonde's gaze. "Oh my god! It's Bulma Briefs!"
Eighteen separated herself from the duo that had flanked each of her sides, stepping through the clear sliding doors and into the lobby, catching Bulma's attention just as she was finishing up her conversation.
"Eighteen," the woman called, enveloping the blonde in a hug. "It's so good to see you."
"We saw each other little over a month ago," Eighteen remarked, returning the embrace.
"Yes, but would it kill you to call once-in-a-while?" The two backed away from each other, with Bulma giving Eighteen a look over, "How have you been? Why are you here?"
"About that-"
Before she could answer, the sliding doors opened, "Oh my god. It is Bulma Briefs!" Olyvia repeated what Erasa had said just a moment ago. The brunette shot the android a look of shock, "You know the Bulma Briefs?!"
Eighteen put her hands to her temples while Bulma looked amused as she answered for the blonde, "We've been friends for a few years now. What about you?" Bulma asked, holding out a hand for Olyvia to shake.
The brunette stared dumbly at the hand before shaking her head and coming back to her senses, "I'm so sorry. My name's Olyvia. I work with Eighteen, and we've been friends for a short while."
"And my name's Erasa," the younger blonde introduced herself, taking Bulma's hand from Olyvia's. "I don't work with Eighteen, but we get along really well."
If Bulma was upset by Erasa's rudeness, she didn't let it show. In fact, she looked as if she was close to laughing as she turned back to Eighteen, "I would never have expected you to have such interesting friends."
Eighteen caught the joke, how the two were much different than herself, but it didn't stop the indignant snort as her reply.
As Erasa let go of the genius's hand, Bulma turned back to Eighteen, "Back to my question, what are you doing here? Is everything alright?"
Olyvia beat her to answer, explaining how Eighteen had been sick recently. How today, she had missed work due to oversleeping that wasn't like her. And before they left her apartment, she had been vomiting. Eighteen's eyes met Bulma as she tried to signal her friend to make up some story for the other two.
Bulma nodded, "I understand. Luckily, you caught me here. The head of the hospital owes me a few favors, so I don't think he'd mind if I borrowed an exam room for a bit."
Not what Eighteen was hoping for, but one she would take. The four walked deeper into the hospital, as Bulma answered any and all questions Olyvia and Erasa threw her way. Eighteen calmly followed behind them, at ease with the fact that Bulma was the one doing the examination. The woman could make a story for her friends, and if anything was wrong, she could have Eighteen meet her at Capsule Corp in West City to fix any issues.
Nothing could go wrong.
It had been a long day for Melody. Not long as in difficult, but boring. The store had been dead all day. With Eighteen sick, Olyvia off and escorting their blonde co-worker to the hospital, and Erasa tagging along, the ravenette had not had a single thing to entertain her. Even the texts to any of three ended with no results. And with no new information and her own worry for Eighteen's health, Melody found herself at the woman's apartment. Sounds from a familiar sitcom came from the other side of the door, meaning someone was home.
The ravenette rapped her knuckles on the door, partially curious about what was discovered to be wrong with Eighteen and somewhat upset that no one had returned her texts if they were just sitting in there. When there was no answer, she knocked again. After a third time, the door finally opened, revealing someone around Eighteen's height, but instead of blonde hair, they had black.
And they were a man.
"Who are you?" The two asked each other at the same time. Silence followed while the Eighteen-male clone leaned on the inside of the frame. When he made no move to give her an answer, she replied, "I'm Melody, Eighteen's friend. And you are?"
"Her brother, Seventeen."
Seriously? Who named their children after numbers? "Is Eighteen here?"
"No."
Melody could feel her eye twitch. Twins. They had to be. That was the only thing that explained the similarities in appearance and personality. "Do you know when she'll be back?"
"No."
Don't kill him, Melody told herself. She wouldn't even get the satisfaction of wiping a smirk off his face as the man, Seventeen, held no expression. Just as the ravenette was about to ask if she could come in and wait, her phone went off. Removing it from her pocket, she turned on the screen to see a text from Erasa. Instead of an update on Eighteen, it was a picture of her, Olyvia, Eighteen, and...
Bulma Briefs?! How?!
Another text popped up, this one from Olyvia. Melody opened it, expecting to see the same picture, but it wasn't. Instead, two words were displayed, so shocking Melody choked on her saliva.
"Are you alright?" Seventeen asked her over her coughing fit, though the most he did was tilt his head slightly.
"Eight-Eight-," she tried to get out but was incapable. Instead, she turned her phone around, the text on full display. Melody watched as Seventeen's eyes widened in surprise as he said aloud what he read.
"Eighteen's pregnant?!"
I mean, even if you didn't read the first two chapters I posted before revamping it, who didn't see that coming? Obvious plot point is obvious.
And just in case I get the reviews, whether accusations or hopeful enthusiasts; No, I'm not bashing on Krillin. Sometimes shit happens, and the worst kind of enemies are those that can't be physically beaten back. It's just one of those things that happen, even in reality, as sad as it is.
Until next time.