Of all the reactions he had been expecting - anxiety, anger, pain - excitement hadn't been one of them. How long had it been since he had done anything like this? When had he last had a proper fight? The cannon hadn't posed much of a challenge, but this? Thinking, fighting individuals? Nothing compared to fighting real people and, as Roshi was quickly discovering, the old fighting instincts died hard.

Twirling on the sand, the wind snaking around his body even as his aura grew, the old turtle master caught one blow with a frail old hand that tightened around this fist until his knuckles glowed white. Ignoring the cry of pain he took a step backwards; in one fluid movement he drew the shocked warrior off his footing and hammered his free hand deep into his opponent's stomach. It didn't just hurt, to the amazement of both his opponent and Roshi himself, a man twice his size was lifted up and sent careening backwards into the air.

Had he ever been so strong?!

What Roshi remembered of his past life held a lot of shame to it. The shame of being out matched by his pupils - all his pupils. The shame of growing weak without ending. The shame of a hundred tiny things that hadn't seemed important but had stuck in his head when all others deserted him. He had never been this strong, never strong enough to repel so many with ease. When Roshi came up against those stronger, and such people did exist, he could remember taking joy in the fact that it was his skill and experience that supported him.

Now, however, he was actually knocking away warriors and he wasn't nearly so arrogant as to believe that their training was so lacking when compared to his own. Something was very different, those centuries fermenting in that battered old hut had affected him in a way he could barely comprehend. And what was worse than all of this; he didn't care.

As he threw his head back and screamed, full of the unfamiliar feeling of overwhelming strength, a small voice whispered in the back of his head that something was wrong and he didn't care! Because nothing at this moment was stronger than him. Not Goku! Not Krillen! Not Frieza or Cell or a dozen other names that held no faces to them! He would destroy them all! The Turtle Master would rise again and all would tremble at the mentioning of his name!

It ended without a bang, without even a whimper. All that commemorated the end of Roshi's brief affair with power was the numbness that clutched at his heart as he turned to see Robert, the student he had all but forgotten in the chaos, fire another of those outlandish guns at the leader of the whole group. The leader who was staring at him with cold calculation through a purple tinted lens that, for some reason, filled him with dread; as though he were staring at some unholy relic from a bygone age. For some reason he felt that the scouters - how did he know that word? - along with the guns did not belong to this world. It was as though he was in the presence of demons waving pitchforks.

Without for one second looking away from his target, the leader swept his right arm out in an almost careless move and sliced Robert's attack in two. Robert himself looked terrified, all the colour draining out of his plump cheeks to leave a very large, pale man with no hope of survival. And yet he didn't falter, in fact he set his feet further into the sand and, tapping on the weapon, started firing a continues spray of attacks that sent sand and wind in spirals around him. It was a testament to the boys resolve, any fool could fire once but it took - lets face it - a born fool to keep firing on his own people just for the sake of one old man.

The leader glanced around and focussed, for the first time, on his attacker. Calm even as bolt after bolt spluttered harmlessly off the palm of his hand; he turned to fully face Robby and smiled. It contained absolutely no humour. But then again neither did Robby who, if possible, looked even more serious.

Roshi doubted anyone else followed the leader after that, apart from himself that was. Slipping into a level beyond the others, he ducked under a bolt that was now moving with all the speed of a balloon on a calm day and kicked off the ground. Staying low for a moment, sand bursting out on either side of him as he flew mere inches above the ground, he sped towards Robby and rose twirling out of the path of another bolt - his hand blurring even from Roshi's point of view and coming down hard on Robert's head.

On where Robby's head had been.

Roshi knew all about the tunnel vision one gains when the fighting truly starts. You concentrate in on one detail and everything else just fades away. In fact even as he stood there two of the lesser warriors had tried to attack him only to be caught by a particularly virulent case of sand-in-the eye – the wind, his tireless guard. It was, more than anything else, tunnel vision that saved Robert's life that day by blinding his opponent to the reality of the situation. That Robby, an unskilled pencil pusher, had anticipated his attack and dived for the ground before the soldier even began to move. That meant that while the soldier was stumbling forwards, off-balance and confused, Robby was lying on his back with his gun glowing from the compressed energy of being charged to its fullest.

The Turtle Master saw all and understood nothing.

Robby fired, the energy salvo that left his gun containing enough power to carry the warrior backwards through the air, soaring into the clear blue sky and fizzling out somewhere in the distance - over the ocean. When Roshi turned back Robby was unconscious and very weak - that is to say weaker than before - and when he looked for the warriors, they were gone. Some had gone to rescue their leader from drowning; the rest had simply decided that they valued their lives a lot more than their positions.

It wasn't over with them; you didn't have to be eight hundred years old - give or take - to know that. In spite of this he didn't trust himself in another fight, he was obviously stronger now than ever before and he wasn't ashamed to admit that it scared him. On top of that he had proven himself unworthy of his powers by losing control, perhaps if he had been a whole person instead of so fragmented he could have handled it but as it was he was untrustworthy.

These were problems he didn't want and, at the moment, couldn't handle. So he took a deep breath and set them aside, taking in a problem he could handle instead. Gripping Robby by the waist, Roshi lifted the young man up and held him balanced on the back of his neck; hands and head trailing across one side of his chest; legs trailing across the other. In any other situation, Roshi mused to himself, this would be the funniest thing I've seen in the past few hundred years.

"What a waste of a good laugh.."

With no true idea of where he was going, Roshi set off into the woods and was glad that his load prevented him from looking back.

And the leaves of trees and bushes ruffled like an aggravated bird, shivering in his wake.

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It was – though the idea itself seemed ridiculous – a relief to discover that he was still capable of feeling discomfort.

Since awakening he had a body that seemed almost alien to him; the strength he possessed now far outweighed anything he could remember. Granted his memory was quite a bit more guesswork than anything else at the moment but there was a definite feeling that this was not right. In spite of this new found strength, however, his body still seemed prone to the same aches and pains that had followed him through most of his mature life. There was still the ache around his knees, the twinge in his fingers, the pain of tired, naked feet traipsing through rough country – all as familiar as a lovers embrace and just as comforting.

The pain was proof that he was – in some small way – still normal. Still human.

Somewhere above his head a branch tapped off another, tutting at his self-absorption. One hand slid through the air in a reassuring manner and, with a wry smile, Roshi put the depressing thoughts away for the moment and assessed his surroundings.

The forest was, shockingly, unhelpful when it came to camping rough. There were no convenient hollows or clearings; just trees as far as the eye could see. Nor was the ground particularly attractive; the palm trees had long since been replaced with gigantic affairs the had carpeted whole area with damp brown and amber leaves. The tree's didn't stop there either – there wasn't a patch of ground that didn't have some kind of root bumping up.

Roshi was most definitely not a camping person. Even his fragmented memories were clear on this. He had hoped to continue walking until the trees broke but the entire country seemed infested with the things. He had hoped that, upon awakening, Robby would have some vague idea as to where they were headed.

"Can't you think of any sort of landmark? I could really use some help here, son.."

No response – Roshi hadn't really expected one either. The boy had offloaded a mess of energy onto one of Helion's top fighters, more energy than he could spare really and even while awake he was keeping himself to himself. The boy was something though, evading a blow that had really been going far too fast for him to follow and then knocking the guy out. It still baffled Roshi how Robby could have even considered doing it and even more so that he could actually pull it off. Roshi had felt something about the boy, not quite like the memory he had of Goku or Krillen but something none the less.

He had thought the boy lesser because the feeling was different. Now he wasn't so sure. Robert had endured a lot in his life, perhaps even more cruelty than Krillen had ever had to face. After all Krillen had still been a child when he had met Roshi. Robby was at least over 24, he probably had a whole closet full of skeletons.

"Robby?"

The more he thought about it, the more he began to believe that there was something all together different about Robby. He hadn't started moving when he saw the leader move, he had started moving before the leader had moved.

"Son?"

"What is it Roshi?" he sounded tired and dejected, which was to be expected. Roshi let the whine persist for the moment, though he had already decided to take care of it in due time should it continue. Robby was obviously not a child any more, he shouldn't act like a petulant one.

"Just wondering if you've considered where in your great country we might be.."

"Nope." At that Roshi had to crack a smile, the tone and inflection were exactly the same as he had used last night. Still it wasn't getting them anywhere and something had to be done; Roshi slowed his pace until Robby had was stumbling beside him.

"It's in there somewhere, you don't live in a place without getting something."

"I told you, I don't live here. I just work here, in the hover-car it's only an hour commute."

"But you must have spotted signs while driving down; their in your head somewhere."

Robby kicked at a tree root.

"If they are, they aren't making themselves known."

Roshi hesitated, one foot raised in the air as a memory struck him. He could remember a man, a tall Indian wearing a turban and many dark thoughts. Someone who never would have confided in him but he had found it necessary to know what his goals were. Roshi had actually looked into the surface level thoughts of his mind and saw what he needed.

"What is it? Not the soldiers?!"

Of course in that case he had been looking for something the man thought about constantly. In this case he was trying to find something submerged in many different memories. It would be much harder, that was certain – but he couldn't afford to go traipsing through a forest while Helion mounted another attack.

"Old man, I don't want to slap you but I will if you don't cut this out!"

Roshi blinked as one pudgy hand filled his immediate vision. The hand stopped an inch from his nose, so close that he could make out the pattern of Robby's fingerprints. Beyond him he could see Robby's stunned expression, clearly he hadn't expected Roshi to go from near comatose to catching blows in under a second.

"I'm fine. No soldiers. Couldn't if you tried, not yet anyway."

Roshi treated him to a toothless grin.

"However our army friends could very well be upon us at any moment and I don't think we can afford to just stumble around. So, with your permission of course, I'd like to try a technique to find those memories."

The old man took a few steps back, still grinning in what he believed to be a reassuring manner, and swept on hand before his face in an odd, smooth motion. He brought his other around before him with the same slow grace, the very air blurring around them.

"Sleepy, son, you feel very sleepy.."

"Roshi.." Robby attempted a snort but all he could manage was a yawn in the face of the mesmerising movements, "Can't hypnotise.. me.. I've.."

Robby trailed off completely and, hand thumping limp against his sides, merely stood there in a stupor.

Technically what Roshi needed to do didn't require Robby to be immobilised, with the Indian he had done it without the man noticing, but he didn't want to risk anything. He would be going far deeper into Robby's mind – anything could happen.

Coming back to the slight psychic ability that he had was much like riding a bike after many years. There was the sense of familiarity to it, that this was something he knew, but also the blinding fear that he was going to make a mistake and end up face down on the ground. Placing his hands on either side of Robby's face, Roshi began.

It was indescribable – there is little in life that can be compared to sifting through alien memories. The images Roshi saw weren't just images; they were the smells and thoughts and feeling that went with them. He avoided the surface – he wasn't comfortable reading the boys thoughts – and plunged himself deeper into the darkness. There were barriers that pushed back at him, memories he doubted Robby was even aware of. The worse the memory, the stronger the resistance. And there was a lot of resistance.

He tried to force himself deeper in the boys mind, the memories he needed buried deep inside his subconscious. The barriers, however, seemed to surround him. There were more in this boys mind than even the worst experiences should hold and they were far stronger than normal. Roshi wasn't a practised psychic but he should at least be able to pass through a normal persons barriers. Instead he was actually being herded away from the worst memories, his mind forced to choose between retreating and continuing on the set path.

Roshi couldn't afford to give up and so he pressed on, aware that less and less memories were becoming accessible. It was as though the volume of things were being toned down slowly, the memories a whisper in his minds ear as wall after wall fell into place around him. Robby might have been willing to let him root through his mind but his subconscious had very different ideas. And by Kami it was strong.

Frustrated but unwilling to give up, Roshi struck out. He had come to far to be held back because of fear and paranoia, he would not let the instinctual part of his pupil's mind – the part said to be the dumbest of all – keep him from his goal. He focussed all his attention on one of the stronger barriers, willing to bet that taking down one would weaken the rest. He poured his concentration upon it, feeling it give under his will power. The boy was good but so was Roshi, and he had been good for far longer than Robby had.

Then, as a raucous laughter filled his ears, he was falling. . .

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One eye opened and swivelled around cautiously, making sure that the room was empty. Once satisfied two hands were placed against the bed and, ever so slowly, he forced himself into a sitting position. The blanket was pulled away and left by his side as he swung his feet off the bed and took a deep, calming breath.

His brother wasn't here, he must still be outside drinking..

What's going on?

Brushing his hair from his eyes, he stood slowly and made his way to the window; his gaze found the shape of the barn even in the middle of the night and sharp eyes picked out the faint glow coming from beneath it's great closed doors. He took a step back and caught a glance of himself in the windows reflection, his expression set in one of scared determination.

I'm Robby?!

Sitting down again, Robby pulled his trousers on and stifled a yawn. If he started now he'd just fall back to sleep and he couldn't allow that to happen. For all he knew Johnny was tearing the place to pieces, his father had to have known that handing a Ki-Warrior a crate through of alcohol was a bad move. Hadn't he?

Nothing compared to experiencing a memory. Roshi could feel the texture of the the wooden floor beneath his feet, smell the sweat after a summer night, taste Robby's saliva as he swallowed his obvious fear. It was unnerving to say the least, to walk without control, to say things you don't know you're going to say. Roshi was most definitely not behind the wheel.

Five minutes of careful treading later Robert was standing knee-deep in the weeds that surrounded the back of the barn. While the front was in good condition the back had fallen into disrepair; the farm had once been a profitable place as it occupied one of the few treeless plains of Helion. Now, however, the country was concentrating on imports and the farm was slowly, but steadily, going out of business. The three animals they had, cows so old that they had to sleep indoors, clustered at the front. Usually they slept calmly but tonight they were as far back in their stalls as possible – their fear palatable.

Roshi tried to force Robby's gaze away from the animals, he could sense something happening on the other side of the barn. He could almost see it out of the corner of Robby's eyes but the boy seemed uninterested or unwilling to look. He would have put money on the latter.

Slowly, fighting against his own fear, Robert forced his gaze to fall upon his brother and two of his equally inebriated friends. He could feel their smug joy, their incredulity, their savage pleasure in the sport they were taking part in. One was holding a small white object in his hand and, with the clumsy feet of one who has taken in his bodyweight of alcohol, pulled himself to his feet. His brother, slightly better coordinated, stood up and raised one hand.

"Pull!"

The white object was slung into the air and, a professional look taking precedent over his drunken expression, Johnny tracked it with his hand. His brow furrowed for a moment, golden sparks collecting in the palm of his open hand, then an orb of bright light sped from his hand and caught the white shape – two halves spilling away as yolk filled the air.

It would be hard to explain to someone who couldn't sense Ki how horrible that simple action was. This was just a boyish prank, wasn't it? Kids egged houses every day. Nothing wrong a little childish fun. This is because those who cant sense Ki can not feel the tiny, fragile life dwelling inside the white shells. These were not store bought eggs which were too far gone for any hope. These were chicks waiting to be born, waiting to be welcomed into the world. And they were playing with them.

Murdering them.

It wasn't that they were his father's eggs. It wasn't that he was a stupid oafish jerk. Somehow it was more than any thing that normally would have annoyed him. Something in his expression as the egg exploded, that savage pleasure, coupled with the obvious fear the animals had for him disgusted Robby. This wasn't a human being he was watching. This was a monster.

Perhaps it was the combination of his own hate and Robby's disgust, but he'd like nothing more than to beat that 'boy' within an inch of his life. As it was he was impotent, he could do nothing but sit and watch. Things were undoubtedly about to get far worse; however disturbing the scene might be he doubted that this was sufficient for Robby to want to block it so thoroughly.

Johnny's second friend forced himself to his feet and drew back another egg in preparation, watching Johnny for his signal. The idiot in question smirked, unaware of the hate Robby was pouring onto him, and nodded. In the blink of an eye the egg was soaring through the air, sparks were collecting in Johnny's hand and, outside of it all, Robby focussed all his anger.

In the darkness of memory, Roshi felt something stirring. Around him the random thoughts that had filled the background quieted, falling silent to one of pure rage. One of the rarest of all thoughts, one with no trails or questions. This thought stood alone, simple and powerful, and it shook Roshi to his core.

This shall not continue.

The egg seemed to buck in mid-air, as though something pushed it, and as Robby snapped back to reality he bore witness to the end of the blast's journey. The sphere bore into the rafters and, sparks dancing around, set scattered hay alight. Stunned and terrified, Johnny took a step back and shot a glare at his friends – silently informing them of what would happen were they to allow the events of this night to leave the barn. He brought his energy to bare, aura crackling to life around him, and sent a blast of wind into the flames – but they only grew. Truly scared now, Johnny took a step back and tried again; his energy fanned the flames. Then he stumbled backwards, one corner of the barn already damaged beyond repair, and fled screaming into the night.

Roshi barely had time to mentally sneer at the boys cowardice, Robby was stepping into the barn and quick hands unlatching the stalls where the already terrified cows were beginning to moan. It was impressive, not many could keep their head in such situations, and, as the boy soothed the cows and guided them out into the night, he felt a new respect for the boy growing. Most of which was almost destroyed when the boy turned to re-enter in search of the eggs. Life or not they were still just chickens, it would be suicide to even consider going back-

. . . this shall not continue . . .

When Robby came to he was sitting outside the farmhouse; a collection of eggs by his side and three cows making their way steadily through the garden. Then his father appeared and there was much shouting, Robby was pulled to his feet and spent the rest of the night trying to douse the flames with an old garden hose. His father managed some grudged praise over his making sure the animals were safe but saved most of his emotion for when Johnny returned. Apparently he had been out all night; he was just as stunned as they; it's OK dad, I'm glad I'm safe too.

The last taste Roshi had was of bitterness. Robby had acted like a hero and gotten the barest of thanks, it wasn't surprising that he had sought to alienate himself from the rest of the world. There were other memories linked to this and the strongest was too buried for even Roshi to penetrate. He imagined that this was how Robby's arm and leg had been broken; his brother had discovered that his brother had been the first on the scene and made it very clear that no secrets were to be revealed. An unrecognised good deed always held a bitter taste. Even the teacher of heroes found it hard to justify.

(OOC: I mean no disrespect to my previous reviewers, without you guys I never would have taken this beyond the first page, but wow! I never expected someone I've heard of to send a review my way. Thanks for making my day and forcing me to make another post, The Rev. : )

I hope I'm not making Roshi too out of character with this fic. I've tried to make him different but in ways I think he would be after almost a millennia of life. I doubt Roshi at 300 was much like what he was at 30 and I hope that Roshi at 800 would be something like what I've made him.)