"Letters"
by Acey
Valley Girl Disclaimer: Like, I don't, like own DBZ, like, 'kay?
Acey (rolls eyes after rereading disclaimer): Originality. Sheer originality.
Shoutouts:
Kelly Neptunus: The server was like that with you, too? Hmm. Now I know it wasn't just me...
Nikki Knight: I'm glad you like it. The idea of communication (albeit one-sided) by letters in an electronic world is a neat one.
Anyway, here we go with chapter eleven. Wait a second, chapter eleven? I never thought I'd get past four chapters, let alone eleven... well, enjoy.
'Two more letters,' she thought savagely as she bit into a piece of apple cake five minutes later, 'two more letters left to figure out.'
The cook had been adamant with the woman. She'd yelled from the stairs after she had finished the fourth letter that Miss had to get something to eat, and she had made apple cake, Miss had to eat-- oh, the words infuriated the woman. Cook was nicest and most understanding (or at least she thought she was; she had no idea what was really going on with her mistress, never did) when her mistress was tiredly irritated. All the help only made it worse on the aging doctor's nerves.
"How's the cake, Miss? Should I put any glaze on it?"
"No. It's fine," she said shortly, quickly destroying any of Cook's hopes for praise. The cook ignored it.
"Would you like anything to go along with it, Miss? There's some ice cream in the fridge that I could--"
"I'm fine. Let me go back to my lab."
The cook shrugged and mutely took the woman's plate.
"It's your house, Miss."
**********************************************************************
My dear ___________, February 13, 760
I do hope you have at least half of my intentions understood by now. Be a dear and disregard the slightly ominous, bragging nature of my previous letter. How am I to know if my plans don't go up in chemistry lab smoke as I speak, after all? The dampness here may make everything go awry. But I am quite sure of my calculations. If I fail now, then it's going to be because you figured it all out in time and told the right person, most probably. If I know you like I used to, I'll wager that if you find out too late, you'll just think of some other way to avoid this catastrophe to be unleashed. You're resourceful enough to do that.
Or better yet, why not find a smart young employee of that Capsule Corporation that you despise to do so for you? We are getting up in years, and time was only on your side in college. Back then you didn't give a care if anything or anyone was on your side. You were going to do what you wanted to do, the world could fall apart and you wouldn't mind terribly as long as it didn't interfere with what you were trying to accomplish. You had such a lack of interest in others then. We were the same in that respect, aloof, separate. I don't know if we are now.
Anyway, dear, before I close this letter I want to tell you of how I am faring with the twins. I dind't catch their names, and they won't remember them if the drugs I'm giving to them work, but experiments Seventeen and Eighteen will do now. As doubtless you know, I haven't the desire to give them any of the twenty million promised. If all goes well, they'll get more than all the money in the world can buy, regardless. Think, a literal fountain of youth at a person's fingertips if they're willing to accept what comes along with that. Not only that, power. People have killed for power, be it the power that comes with excessive wealth and the influence following such, or the simple power of brute strength; it doesn't matter an iota. The outcome is the same, always the same. People fear those in power, regardless of whether they hate or, indeed, are planning to overthrow those rulers. They fear them, not only for what they really can do to them but also what they could in their wildest nightmares do to them. People fear the unknown. That is why the scientist was persecuted in early days, why the doctor was accused of black magic, no matter if he was as religious as the Pope. The unknown is always worse to one's mind.
I am digressing. You must excuse that. Yet what does one want? Never does a person put someone else first on his long list of unfulfilled desires, never. He wants a long life-- and he's specific in this, he wants to have a long life and be in the prime of it throughout. As I said, he wants power, to be respected, feared, even. He wants to be in control. He doesn't want a boring job at the bottom of his place of work. He wants to be the chief executive officer, calling all the shots from his spacious office handsomely decorated in mahogany, with a lovely secretary dutifully typing up his reports and such. He wants, also, to not be alone in these wonderful endeavors.
Do you see how faulty this way of thinking is? Like it or not, he can't have all of those things at once. Simply being the president of a company makes him lonely, at least at his company. Those lower on the scale don't enjoy talking to those higher up, the rich people, because they seem (whether or not they are or not) pretentious, aware of their massive assets, while they are struggling to get by. And longevity creates its own problems. Who would knowingly marry someone who'll outlive them a hunedred, even a thousand years? Control only goes so far without being mis- or overused, and then people hate you for it. The twins won't exactly be happy when and if they find out what I've done and am doing-- but I'll say one thing, the twenty million zene will be the least of their worries then.
So, if one can't have all of what he wants at once, what does one do? What can one do? My humble enough suggestion is to go ahead and get what you can have at a particular time and forget the rest, penalties attached. I will be giving that brother and sister half of what I've listed above: incredibly longer lifespan, power in one sense guaranteed, and the other, optional. Respect? No, fear, and fear can be better than respect at getting things done in my experience. Control? What kind of control would a cyborg programmed for destruction have of his or her own actions, without a conscience to bother speaking of? For if you haven't understood what I'm doing thus far, you won't, ever, and your reputation as brilliant has dropped considerably in my mind. I can't put it more clearly as to what I am trying to accomplish now, dear, and rest assured I am not going to bother spelling out where I am now that I have wound up telling you of my intents.
To never be alone was another desire, but like it or not, if only one of the twins survives these experiments or one of them is deactivated or destroyed, the other will be as alone as anyone can imagine, unfortunately.
But enough on that subject. The point is that I doubt the two will hug my neck when they realize what they are. At the very least I expect a large amount of most colorful swearing and several things in my lab to be broken, provided they don't realize how much strength they have upon awakening. At the most I can imagine my murder, the first out of billions soon to occur, provided...
Provided you don't manage to stop me, ever. One more letter, dear, and we'll find out if you can. Your old colleague,
Doctor Gero
**********************************************************************
Valley Girl Disclaimer: Like, I don't, like own DBZ, like, 'kay?
Acey (rolls eyes after rereading disclaimer): Originality. Sheer originality.
Shoutouts:
Kelly Neptunus: The server was like that with you, too? Hmm. Now I know it wasn't just me...
Nikki Knight: I'm glad you like it. The idea of communication (albeit one-sided) by letters in an electronic world is a neat one.
Anyway, here we go with chapter eleven. Wait a second, chapter eleven? I never thought I'd get past four chapters, let alone eleven... well, enjoy.
'Two more letters,' she thought savagely as she bit into a piece of apple cake five minutes later, 'two more letters left to figure out.'
The cook had been adamant with the woman. She'd yelled from the stairs after she had finished the fourth letter that Miss had to get something to eat, and she had made apple cake, Miss had to eat-- oh, the words infuriated the woman. Cook was nicest and most understanding (or at least she thought she was; she had no idea what was really going on with her mistress, never did) when her mistress was tiredly irritated. All the help only made it worse on the aging doctor's nerves.
"How's the cake, Miss? Should I put any glaze on it?"
"No. It's fine," she said shortly, quickly destroying any of Cook's hopes for praise. The cook ignored it.
"Would you like anything to go along with it, Miss? There's some ice cream in the fridge that I could--"
"I'm fine. Let me go back to my lab."
The cook shrugged and mutely took the woman's plate.
"It's your house, Miss."
**********************************************************************
My dear ___________, February 13, 760
I do hope you have at least half of my intentions understood by now. Be a dear and disregard the slightly ominous, bragging nature of my previous letter. How am I to know if my plans don't go up in chemistry lab smoke as I speak, after all? The dampness here may make everything go awry. But I am quite sure of my calculations. If I fail now, then it's going to be because you figured it all out in time and told the right person, most probably. If I know you like I used to, I'll wager that if you find out too late, you'll just think of some other way to avoid this catastrophe to be unleashed. You're resourceful enough to do that.
Or better yet, why not find a smart young employee of that Capsule Corporation that you despise to do so for you? We are getting up in years, and time was only on your side in college. Back then you didn't give a care if anything or anyone was on your side. You were going to do what you wanted to do, the world could fall apart and you wouldn't mind terribly as long as it didn't interfere with what you were trying to accomplish. You had such a lack of interest in others then. We were the same in that respect, aloof, separate. I don't know if we are now.
Anyway, dear, before I close this letter I want to tell you of how I am faring with the twins. I dind't catch their names, and they won't remember them if the drugs I'm giving to them work, but experiments Seventeen and Eighteen will do now. As doubtless you know, I haven't the desire to give them any of the twenty million promised. If all goes well, they'll get more than all the money in the world can buy, regardless. Think, a literal fountain of youth at a person's fingertips if they're willing to accept what comes along with that. Not only that, power. People have killed for power, be it the power that comes with excessive wealth and the influence following such, or the simple power of brute strength; it doesn't matter an iota. The outcome is the same, always the same. People fear those in power, regardless of whether they hate or, indeed, are planning to overthrow those rulers. They fear them, not only for what they really can do to them but also what they could in their wildest nightmares do to them. People fear the unknown. That is why the scientist was persecuted in early days, why the doctor was accused of black magic, no matter if he was as religious as the Pope. The unknown is always worse to one's mind.
I am digressing. You must excuse that. Yet what does one want? Never does a person put someone else first on his long list of unfulfilled desires, never. He wants a long life-- and he's specific in this, he wants to have a long life and be in the prime of it throughout. As I said, he wants power, to be respected, feared, even. He wants to be in control. He doesn't want a boring job at the bottom of his place of work. He wants to be the chief executive officer, calling all the shots from his spacious office handsomely decorated in mahogany, with a lovely secretary dutifully typing up his reports and such. He wants, also, to not be alone in these wonderful endeavors.
Do you see how faulty this way of thinking is? Like it or not, he can't have all of those things at once. Simply being the president of a company makes him lonely, at least at his company. Those lower on the scale don't enjoy talking to those higher up, the rich people, because they seem (whether or not they are or not) pretentious, aware of their massive assets, while they are struggling to get by. And longevity creates its own problems. Who would knowingly marry someone who'll outlive them a hunedred, even a thousand years? Control only goes so far without being mis- or overused, and then people hate you for it. The twins won't exactly be happy when and if they find out what I've done and am doing-- but I'll say one thing, the twenty million zene will be the least of their worries then.
So, if one can't have all of what he wants at once, what does one do? What can one do? My humble enough suggestion is to go ahead and get what you can have at a particular time and forget the rest, penalties attached. I will be giving that brother and sister half of what I've listed above: incredibly longer lifespan, power in one sense guaranteed, and the other, optional. Respect? No, fear, and fear can be better than respect at getting things done in my experience. Control? What kind of control would a cyborg programmed for destruction have of his or her own actions, without a conscience to bother speaking of? For if you haven't understood what I'm doing thus far, you won't, ever, and your reputation as brilliant has dropped considerably in my mind. I can't put it more clearly as to what I am trying to accomplish now, dear, and rest assured I am not going to bother spelling out where I am now that I have wound up telling you of my intents.
To never be alone was another desire, but like it or not, if only one of the twins survives these experiments or one of them is deactivated or destroyed, the other will be as alone as anyone can imagine, unfortunately.
But enough on that subject. The point is that I doubt the two will hug my neck when they realize what they are. At the very least I expect a large amount of most colorful swearing and several things in my lab to be broken, provided they don't realize how much strength they have upon awakening. At the most I can imagine my murder, the first out of billions soon to occur, provided...
Provided you don't manage to stop me, ever. One more letter, dear, and we'll find out if you can. Your old colleague,
Doctor Gero
**********************************************************************