"Infinite"
by Acey
He was standing there as she said goodbye to Pan, a lithe figure underneath a tree, concealed in the shadows with a past he could not remember and a present he hated, no matter how he intimated otherwise. He was there when she walked outside, throwing down her capsule in the grass, idly admiring the sheen of the vermillion automobile as he glanced at it. And there he remained for some time as she disappeared from all views but his own, watching, waiting.
At long last he strode away from his hiding place, if only to show whatever passerby was there that he was not merely a mirage of the shadows but real, and had substance, even if that substance was bitter to the tastes of the decent, unpalatable to those of the righteous. For rare are the righteous who can look upon those tainted vilely without a mixture of anger and pity, and the only righteous who can bear the world day by day are the ones who ignore it. He was clearly a man of the world, one to be shied away from.
The usual discrepancies can be brought about, of course. Few were the people that could really call him evil, for the antihero would be the villian outright if there was no decency in him. But this man had played the part of villian twice in thirty years, giving even the gullible reason to doubt.
He walked away, sharp eyes following her, tracing out within his mind where she was headed, even though her car had long since passed. His tread was light, easy on the ground, like that of a cat's. After less than a minute of this his feet stopped touching the ground entirely and he floated upwards in flight, past the trees as though he were trying to touch the sun. No, he was going somewhere, toward Bura, for no real reason at all.
She had been pretty enough, a dead look-alike for Bulma, the memory of which Gero had implanted in his brain. More than likely she was her daughter. Her expression had been a sulky one, tired of the sun's heat on her back, even as she waved her goodbyes to her friend, driving away like a racer.
Humanity instantly stereotyped the teenager as a brat. So did Juunanagou.
Still, there was something vague about her that interested him, the sheer shallowness of her character, surprising. He had never known of anyone with that one trait so prevalent. Her brother (for Trunks had to be her brother, if Bulma was her mother) had never been like that, the one that he remembered, the one doomed to inherit a terror-filled world, losing his birthright to a pair of half-machines. But that Trunks was gone now, back in the future that had he any sense of decency about him would have stayed in, in Juunanagou's perspective. The Trunks now was only a baby when Juunanagou first recalled him. He would have to be around his early thirties by now.
He was digressing. At any rate, he highly doubted that even the Trunks of the present-day was very much similar to his sister on watching her alone. Too much of the same abominable trait was evident on her face, as the holes are all too visible on a piece of pumice, enabling it to float, and enabling her to stand out from the crowd, a regular "look at me, notice me" apparent on her face, utterly devoid of depth. You could tell that with some people, and this girl seemed to be one of them.
The cyborg thought, and in an instant a wry, half-smile appeared on his face, a twisted smile, a deviating smile. For he had deviated often during the decades, one thing that he did not have the wisdom to regret nor thought worth regretting. It had gotten him into all his recollected troubles and yet he proceeded, like a raccoon with its paw caught in a trap that refuses to let go of the object that caught him there and would free him.
Fate's hand is cruel to those who mock her.
Juunanagou would have troubles here as well.
***********************************************************************
He eventually found his way to her car, that automaton he had always most enjoyed out of all human gadgets. He had personal preferences in cars, though no real justification for them and little knowledge of the automobile industry's best models. Juunanagou loved the cars that were the fastest, the sleek ones that rode on the road like proud horses in chariot races, overtaking the slow and the wary with ease, letting them swallow the dust behind in mouthfuls as they pushed ahead. There was a feeling of adrenaline in that, a rush of energy, pure, unadulterated by the cybernetics in him that threatened daily to overcome him. He was in control when he was behind the wheel of a car, dominating, afraid of no one at all.
He had heard a borderline ancient saying once that God was an Englishman. He had never understood this until he read somewhere that the English had ruled the better half of the world at one point in time, a point long ago that was remembered by historians and students cramming for tests only. Juunanagou had ignored the saying then but realized at that second as he flew down to her vermillion automobile that the British must have felt as he did when inside a car, turning the steering wheel, determining where it went as they must have determined what happened to whole countries.
Juunanagou advanced upon her, and she saw him, flying up to her car. At first her reaction was one of surprise as a wondering of what he was doing there crossed her mind. Bura did not recognize him-- she could not recognize him.
The fact that the person was flying was suprise enough. Far more was the sudden realization that he was following her as well.
Bura sped on, swerving around, attempting to get him off track. SHe doubted he could go faster than a car, anyway, and so only increased the speed a half-dozen more miles per hour, unthinking, unfazed. Bura glanced back after a few minutes, deciding that if the man remained after that she would become worried. For the present, the dense part of her let her pay him no mind whatsoever.
The azure-haired girl looked back, suddenly noticed him still there in her rearview mirror and he saw her crimson boot press the gas pedal, nearly breaking it. Her face was not visible to him, but he could well imagine the look of horror and terror on her face, the face of one spoiled by all that life has to offer, now scared, now fearful. She turned repeatedly, desparately, dodging through other people in their own cars and pedestrians attempting to cross the street, trying to get him away, make him lose track of her. Her car skidded around for several minutes, as she broke every driving rule ever enforced by law in an attempt to get away from him.
A sudden idea caused him to grin in spite of himself as he descended closer, taking care not to overtake her. He acted upon it and stuck his right thumb up from his fist, the sign of a hitchhiker. The girl in response pressed the acceleration further, harder. She turned on empty roads in an attempt to lose him, detours, seeing but not noticing as the car went from the city to the suburbs to the rural areas once again that she had left.
She made a turn into a dead end, and could only watch as he came at last upon her, as he landed gently on the ground. Bura immediately locked all the doors, common sense not yet depleted, as she sat still, waiting for whatever he would do.
'Wait.'
For crying out loud, she thought, annoyed. Who was she the daughter of, anyway? Were her parents cowards, to shiver at whatever seemed more powerful than they? Had they taught her to be like that?
Bura straightened herself in her seat, bravado replacing fear. If that man was going to do anything, she would put up a fight. She had Saiyan blood in her; despite never have bothering training past basic ki blasts and flight, that was still a threat in itself. Or, at least, she hoped it was. Bura wasn't sure, and to not be sure might mean her death.
She rolled down the window impulsively, tried to put on a brave face. He responded with a smile, the same smile that he had used during the chase, a smile of incorrigable enjoyment, interest. This was a new thing to him, something that he had not expected from the girl, with her too-revealing clothes, skintight like an M.T.V. singer's. He hadn't thought she had mettle enough to even do that one action, to roll the window down to see her antagonist.
"What do you want?!" Her voice was a brave attempt at fiery, at impassioned. Juunanagou instantly saw through it and rested his hand on the outside mirror of the car, his attention seemingly on other matters.
"Tell me!" She struggled for a threat. "Don't you know who I am? My grandfather invented the capsule!"
His eyes met hers for a second, then flickered away, as Bura noticed the gleam in them, achingly realizing it wasn't for her.
Juunanagou turned away, smirking, coal-colored hair shining in the afternoon sun. At last he spoke, softly, with a rough edge slicing through each word like a blade.
"He ought to have invested his time in other matters. If he had then maybe you wouldn't be such a waste of breath."
Thus saying, he began to walk away.
"But-- you're going-- hey, what--?"
Her sentences came out as embarassed fragments, red face proving her feeling of insult. He turned around again and stopped.
"Did you want me to kidnap you, kill you? Worse? You aren't worth the effort. I realized that as you nearly hit that poor old pedestrian near the highway. But it was fun. That I can admit."
"Hey! Why, you--"
His laughter pealed in the distance as his steps faded into the forest.
"Don't worry, you're in quite good company. By the standards set I'm not worth my breath either."
And so he left her, left her to recapsulize the miraculously undamaged car and go to the road, to return home.
by Acey
He was standing there as she said goodbye to Pan, a lithe figure underneath a tree, concealed in the shadows with a past he could not remember and a present he hated, no matter how he intimated otherwise. He was there when she walked outside, throwing down her capsule in the grass, idly admiring the sheen of the vermillion automobile as he glanced at it. And there he remained for some time as she disappeared from all views but his own, watching, waiting.
At long last he strode away from his hiding place, if only to show whatever passerby was there that he was not merely a mirage of the shadows but real, and had substance, even if that substance was bitter to the tastes of the decent, unpalatable to those of the righteous. For rare are the righteous who can look upon those tainted vilely without a mixture of anger and pity, and the only righteous who can bear the world day by day are the ones who ignore it. He was clearly a man of the world, one to be shied away from.
The usual discrepancies can be brought about, of course. Few were the people that could really call him evil, for the antihero would be the villian outright if there was no decency in him. But this man had played the part of villian twice in thirty years, giving even the gullible reason to doubt.
He walked away, sharp eyes following her, tracing out within his mind where she was headed, even though her car had long since passed. His tread was light, easy on the ground, like that of a cat's. After less than a minute of this his feet stopped touching the ground entirely and he floated upwards in flight, past the trees as though he were trying to touch the sun. No, he was going somewhere, toward Bura, for no real reason at all.
She had been pretty enough, a dead look-alike for Bulma, the memory of which Gero had implanted in his brain. More than likely she was her daughter. Her expression had been a sulky one, tired of the sun's heat on her back, even as she waved her goodbyes to her friend, driving away like a racer.
Humanity instantly stereotyped the teenager as a brat. So did Juunanagou.
Still, there was something vague about her that interested him, the sheer shallowness of her character, surprising. He had never known of anyone with that one trait so prevalent. Her brother (for Trunks had to be her brother, if Bulma was her mother) had never been like that, the one that he remembered, the one doomed to inherit a terror-filled world, losing his birthright to a pair of half-machines. But that Trunks was gone now, back in the future that had he any sense of decency about him would have stayed in, in Juunanagou's perspective. The Trunks now was only a baby when Juunanagou first recalled him. He would have to be around his early thirties by now.
He was digressing. At any rate, he highly doubted that even the Trunks of the present-day was very much similar to his sister on watching her alone. Too much of the same abominable trait was evident on her face, as the holes are all too visible on a piece of pumice, enabling it to float, and enabling her to stand out from the crowd, a regular "look at me, notice me" apparent on her face, utterly devoid of depth. You could tell that with some people, and this girl seemed to be one of them.
The cyborg thought, and in an instant a wry, half-smile appeared on his face, a twisted smile, a deviating smile. For he had deviated often during the decades, one thing that he did not have the wisdom to regret nor thought worth regretting. It had gotten him into all his recollected troubles and yet he proceeded, like a raccoon with its paw caught in a trap that refuses to let go of the object that caught him there and would free him.
Fate's hand is cruel to those who mock her.
Juunanagou would have troubles here as well.
***********************************************************************
He eventually found his way to her car, that automaton he had always most enjoyed out of all human gadgets. He had personal preferences in cars, though no real justification for them and little knowledge of the automobile industry's best models. Juunanagou loved the cars that were the fastest, the sleek ones that rode on the road like proud horses in chariot races, overtaking the slow and the wary with ease, letting them swallow the dust behind in mouthfuls as they pushed ahead. There was a feeling of adrenaline in that, a rush of energy, pure, unadulterated by the cybernetics in him that threatened daily to overcome him. He was in control when he was behind the wheel of a car, dominating, afraid of no one at all.
He had heard a borderline ancient saying once that God was an Englishman. He had never understood this until he read somewhere that the English had ruled the better half of the world at one point in time, a point long ago that was remembered by historians and students cramming for tests only. Juunanagou had ignored the saying then but realized at that second as he flew down to her vermillion automobile that the British must have felt as he did when inside a car, turning the steering wheel, determining where it went as they must have determined what happened to whole countries.
Juunanagou advanced upon her, and she saw him, flying up to her car. At first her reaction was one of surprise as a wondering of what he was doing there crossed her mind. Bura did not recognize him-- she could not recognize him.
The fact that the person was flying was suprise enough. Far more was the sudden realization that he was following her as well.
Bura sped on, swerving around, attempting to get him off track. SHe doubted he could go faster than a car, anyway, and so only increased the speed a half-dozen more miles per hour, unthinking, unfazed. Bura glanced back after a few minutes, deciding that if the man remained after that she would become worried. For the present, the dense part of her let her pay him no mind whatsoever.
The azure-haired girl looked back, suddenly noticed him still there in her rearview mirror and he saw her crimson boot press the gas pedal, nearly breaking it. Her face was not visible to him, but he could well imagine the look of horror and terror on her face, the face of one spoiled by all that life has to offer, now scared, now fearful. She turned repeatedly, desparately, dodging through other people in their own cars and pedestrians attempting to cross the street, trying to get him away, make him lose track of her. Her car skidded around for several minutes, as she broke every driving rule ever enforced by law in an attempt to get away from him.
A sudden idea caused him to grin in spite of himself as he descended closer, taking care not to overtake her. He acted upon it and stuck his right thumb up from his fist, the sign of a hitchhiker. The girl in response pressed the acceleration further, harder. She turned on empty roads in an attempt to lose him, detours, seeing but not noticing as the car went from the city to the suburbs to the rural areas once again that she had left.
She made a turn into a dead end, and could only watch as he came at last upon her, as he landed gently on the ground. Bura immediately locked all the doors, common sense not yet depleted, as she sat still, waiting for whatever he would do.
'Wait.'
For crying out loud, she thought, annoyed. Who was she the daughter of, anyway? Were her parents cowards, to shiver at whatever seemed more powerful than they? Had they taught her to be like that?
Bura straightened herself in her seat, bravado replacing fear. If that man was going to do anything, she would put up a fight. She had Saiyan blood in her; despite never have bothering training past basic ki blasts and flight, that was still a threat in itself. Or, at least, she hoped it was. Bura wasn't sure, and to not be sure might mean her death.
She rolled down the window impulsively, tried to put on a brave face. He responded with a smile, the same smile that he had used during the chase, a smile of incorrigable enjoyment, interest. This was a new thing to him, something that he had not expected from the girl, with her too-revealing clothes, skintight like an M.T.V. singer's. He hadn't thought she had mettle enough to even do that one action, to roll the window down to see her antagonist.
"What do you want?!" Her voice was a brave attempt at fiery, at impassioned. Juunanagou instantly saw through it and rested his hand on the outside mirror of the car, his attention seemingly on other matters.
"Tell me!" She struggled for a threat. "Don't you know who I am? My grandfather invented the capsule!"
His eyes met hers for a second, then flickered away, as Bura noticed the gleam in them, achingly realizing it wasn't for her.
Juunanagou turned away, smirking, coal-colored hair shining in the afternoon sun. At last he spoke, softly, with a rough edge slicing through each word like a blade.
"He ought to have invested his time in other matters. If he had then maybe you wouldn't be such a waste of breath."
Thus saying, he began to walk away.
"But-- you're going-- hey, what--?"
Her sentences came out as embarassed fragments, red face proving her feeling of insult. He turned around again and stopped.
"Did you want me to kidnap you, kill you? Worse? You aren't worth the effort. I realized that as you nearly hit that poor old pedestrian near the highway. But it was fun. That I can admit."
"Hey! Why, you--"
His laughter pealed in the distance as his steps faded into the forest.
"Don't worry, you're in quite good company. By the standards set I'm not worth my breath either."
And so he left her, left her to recapsulize the miraculously undamaged car and go to the road, to return home.