FPM: …First, PLEASE excuse the EXTENSIVE TIME between this update and its previous…and, I've come to a conclusion:
Those previous chapters sucked.
I mean it! They truly did!
I mean, who "giggles incoherently"? WHO?
So…I came to another conclusion. I will leave them up, primarily because I had donated one to Ginny-Hates-Them, and it would be horridly rude of me to delete it. If I had done so, I would be forever branded an "Indian Giver" (though I have no intent to diss Indian-related peoples of the net by using the phrase). This chapter, though named "12" by FFN, will be in fact "10", where I noticed the evil virus of "crappy-writing" had unfurled and had begun to spread.
Now I ask…Is this wrong? I have heard that the tactic of deleting chapters has been executed a number of times, but my fear is that I might accidentally delete the entire story…and who would want that? Also, I am not like other writers…so I cannot do, as some say, "go with the flow" of deleting chapers. It is a sad problem, actually…(As sad as those other chapters…)
(17: I liked my saying the robots taking over the world bit, but I don't think I can say anything more…)
Either way, I bless you readers who continually review and for dealing with slow updates—time simply is nothing exquisite in my life at this time…and now, here's the chapter, starting after "9".
Cell woke later in the morning, around ten or ten-thirty, finding himself having rested (in a rather more uncomfortable position, if he should comment) on a somewhat soft yet hard couch. He found his vision blurred, and head aflame, as well as throbbing. Too what occasion could he dedicate or commemorate this migraine to he could not figure out—and where was he? Cell's eyes darted around the room, scanning for something that could tell him where he was…though this did not help much as his vision was unclear. He was thoroughly annoyed by the possibility that, even after his "putting people to rest" brigade, he had left a pedophile (or something of the like) person, who had probably forgotten who Cell was. He clenched his jaws together as his brow furrowed; if that be, the person had a very keen sense of well-groomed style ( he could tell from the well-decorated room)…which would mean if the person were male, they were probably gay.
He sighed and lifted his right palm to his forehead, closing his eyes as he became deeply entwined in thought. And what of the Cell Games? He buried his head deeper into the couch, laying on his front-side. Cell-Games, Cell-Games…Crap. Possibly a slight delay or cancellation…?
.-Cancel?...Then you would have a grand reason to let us out…-
/And no reason to keep us in./
.-…You know what the first thing I'm gonna do when I get out? Order some pot-stickers…yummy, yummy…-
/Then you'll join up with Weight-Watchers again and lose money that could otherwise be spent on my magazines. Which, by the way—oh, 17, have you-/
'WOULD YOU BOTH SHUT UP!'
Cell growled then, and pushed himself off the couch with his hands on the couch and arms extended. He then allowed his left arm to bend, causing an imbalance, and he rolled onto the floor on his back. Staring at the ceiling, Cell found black stripes running the same direction his head was pointed, and he tilted his head back to see an extensively long hall go for what seemed forever…ending in a dark shadow. He sighed through his nostrils and then picked himself up and stood. Cell stretched his tired and cramped muscles. How, again, had he come here?
He took a step, and then promptly found himself back on the floor, facedown. He growled quietly again.
'Fucking leg…'
.-Waste not, want not.-
'What the Hell?'
/I myself do not understand my brother's words…if you don't throw it away, you don't want it? Huh/
.-…Hmm? Oh, I'm reading a book that's like meditation for each day…it's quite grand, actually…Ooh! A movie coupon!... "Receive one dollar off when you and a friend go to watch I, Robot with Will Smith as the leading detective-"-
Cell blinked. I, Robot? How did that sound so…familiar…
Suddenly, his eyes shot open and Cell stood to his full height, straightening his back, and dashed off down the hall. No way was he going to let some gay raper get near Crystal!
Crystal screamed.
The first thing she had come across when she had opened her eyes was vomit right next to her head, as well as a few pieces of the dried goo in her brown hair. Grimacing, she held back the warning bile that bubbled at the back of her throat as she stared at the pile and then began peeling some of it off of her hair—though it had been tied back in a neat bun, it had come loose when she had…Wait, what was she doing last night?
Crystal silently observed her surrounds. In front of her was a large, one way street that lead to where she was, and what surrounded her sides was grass…and what was behind her was…
When she turned, Crystal found the words "Capsule Corp." in bold, black letters staring back at her. She blinked, confused. Capsule Corp?...
Morbid curiosity caused her to stand and edge nearer to the large, white building addressed as "Capsule Corp." She soon found herself near the structure after many small shuffles of her feet, and Crystal laid her hand on the building to find it cold and hard…Why was she here? Who was she? …Did she live here?
Cell found himself nowhere…and possibly quite lost. Coming to a stop, Cell stood strait again.
.-Great, now we're lost!-
'No, we're just…temporarily set off course.'
/o.o What? HOW IS THAT ANY DIFFERENT THAN BEING LOST! YOU LED US HERE, NOW LEAD US OUT! …NOW/
'AND HOW DO YOU PROPOSE THAT?'
Cell stared at what laid ahead of him: a white hall that lead to darkness. He turned, and stared at what laid behind him: a white hall that lead to darkness. He turned in each direction, front, back, front, back…and suddenly finding himself wondering where he had come from.
.-…Five dollars says it's a Monday.-
"Trunks? Sweetie, it's time to wake up…And for Heaven's Sakes, child, must you sleep with your head under the covers? …Oh. Did Barney scare you again? I swear, T.V. is just another way to scare a kid…"
Bulma turned away after shaking her boy awake. Trunk's violet eyes opened slowly, and he rubbed his right eye with a clenched right fist. He found his dark-blue bed-cover over his head and his laser-gun accessories still applied…Funny how things turn out in the morning.
He shrugged and sat up, shoving the comforter off of him, and ripped off his gun supplies. Staring at the clock to the side of his bed on a small nightstand with a lamp on it, Trunks found the time to be ten-forty-one. He had expected his T.V. to automatically turn on at eight and wake him up because he had set it for that time when he had gotten the television set as a birthday gift from Vegeta, but why it didn't work had yet to trouble Trunk's simple mind and he hurriedly dressed himself so he could hurry downstairs to eat his Coco-Puffs (lol, what a long sentence).
Goku was in the kitchen, and had been up and awake since five. He was presently bashing away at a newly-discovered recipe for low-carb pancakes…maybe he had gained a pound to upset Chi-Chi? He had come to accept Chi-Chi's divorce-like state, but wished feverishly to understand what her point was and what she would gain from it. And what would happen to Gohan? Or Goten? He would be torn if he was just hinted the fact his parents were going to be divorced—Goku knew that. Gohan had even beat up a little kid when he was younger that called Gohan a bastard: he didn't tolerate any idea that concerned divorce.
Goku sighed, and peered around the kitchenette, finding something else to entertain his mind for the time being. Goku sighed again and then stared at the batter in the bowl in his arms—it was taking to long…Was this why Chi-Chi didn't want him anymore? Because he took too long on things?
Finding the batter to be stirred enough, Goku smiled and set it down on the counter next to the stove. He had previously assembled eight pans into each part of the stove to cook as many pancakes at the same time as possible—he was feeling extra-hungry…THAT'S why Chi-Chi doesn't like me! I eat too much!
He smiled, and then frowned at his conclusion. Goku loved food as much as he loved Chi-Chi. Both were what he loved. How was he to give one thing up for another? If he continued eating, he would then be "cheating" on Chi-Chi, and if he went back to Chi-Chi, it would be like "cheating" on food. Goku sighed—he couldn't win.
The battles with his wife seemed to be the only battles he wouldn't and couldn't win. She was the perfect warrior, Goku thought. In life, teaching, strength (for a woman), and bed…
He shook his thoughts away as his attentions came back to cooking. Would Crystal like pancakes? He hoped so…he made some specially for her…
Taking a large spoon, Goku gathered some batter into the utensil and poured small and large blotches onto the first pan, and the next, and then the next, and continued doing so until all eight pans were filled. He grinned as he waited and smelled the cooking pancakes—though he loved food, he rarely cooked because Chi-Chi had always done so. …Suddenly thought of Chi-Chi didn't bother him anymore. He felt…butterflies in his stomach and happy…about what? He smiled, suddenly knowing who he was thinking about: Crystal. He had slowly grown attached to her, it seemed, and the attachment was further than just friendship…
As he continued waiting for the pancakes to cook, he ran his hand through his hair, and then laughed, remembering that his hands were smothered from the explosion of flour when he had opened the bag earlier… He picked up a pan, and to his astonishment, found a reflection that was not his own—a purely white Goku was staring back at him with brownish batter blots dappling his skin. He smiled—so that's why Chi-Chi didn't let him cook.
Goku shifted the pan to his left and suddenly found Trunks staring up at him.
FPM: WUPS! I'm sooooo sorry, I was thinking about the Buu saga, when Goten and Trunks are actually able to function by themselves, and not the Cell sage when they're babies…
Cell: (-smiled evilly-) So what are you going to do?
FPM: o.o What's with the evil smile?
Cell: XD
17:…How's about everyone lives with the fact FPM screwed up and say Gohan is fourteen and Trunks is seven, and Goten…is three. Kay?
FPM: …That's actually not a bad idea. …TIME FOR JAMBA JUICE! WEEE!
18: well, I was going to say time for the story, but I like your idea…
FPM:)
Goku smiled. "Want some? I can make more…"
"What? That's allfor you already?" Trunks gawked at Goku's silence, an indication of "yes". "Holly COW! That's…THAT'S COOL! Wow, I wish dad could eat like that…" Trunks turned to walk away, and then back to Goku, placing one hand on his chin and the other on his hip. "...You know, you look different. …Are you opposite Goth? Or have you not cooked in a while?"
"…The latter."
"Ah. That explains it." Trunks smiled. "I really like the hair—the white doesn't make you look older."
Goku paused. I have actual white hair?
"No, the flour, Goku. …Oh, sorry, I think you meant for that comment to be a thought…" Trunks shrugged. "Don't worry about looking like you're older, even if you do—which you don't—it's just another step towards the next life, which is supposed to be better…but I'd rather enjoy this one right now, thank you. Oh, and with my Coco Puffs. Gotta have those…excuse me."
Goku watched Trunks turn away and walk to the table, grab a chair and slide it next to the cabinets, and then climb on top of it. He got onto his tippy-toes and opened the door, and then reached for a bowl. Grasping the bowl, Trunks leaned back and closed the door, hopped off the chair, and returned the chair to its original place. He noticed Goku's stare, and turned towards him. "What?"
"Oh…Why didn't you just fly?"
"Mum doesn't want me flying around, or using 'powers' in the house…" Trunks shrugged. "Doesn't bother me, though."
Goku nodded and picked up the spatula. He flipped each pancake, and found that none were burnt—a good omen. He smiled and waited for the rest of the pancakes to bake.
Trunks was getting a spoon and milk. He sat down at the table, and felt Goku's eyes on him again. "What now?"
"…The cereal is the main ingredient for cereal, is it not?" Goku smiled. "But, of course, you already knew that…"
"Hey, it's morning, and I'm a night-time person, thank you," Trunks murmured defensively. He sighed and went to the cabinets again, and opened one that was at his level. Pulling out a box, he closed the door, and went back to his spot. Trunks smiled as he poured the contents into the bowl, and then added the milk. After putting the milk back into the refrigerator, Trunks went back to his spot, sat, and began eating his longed-for cereal. He smiled as he crunched away on his first spoon-full, and then turned to Goku. "Can I watch T.V.?"
Goku shrugged as he stacked the pancakes onto a plate, and then used the large spoon and batter to pour more pancakes onto the pans. Trunks smiled and shook his head as he used the remote-control to turn the television set on. He changed to Cartoon-Network, andgroaned as Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends came up.
Goku smiled. "Don't like it?"
Trunks shook his head and took another spoon-full. "…My friends think I have an imaginary friend and call me Mac…but I guess it's better than being named after boxer-shorts."
Cell was panting now. He had run for what seemed eternity, and found himself nowhere nearer anywhere than where he had been before he woke up. The secluded scene was creeping Cell out to an extent he couldn't stand, but he continued running anyways—he was determined to find Crystal. Cell's thought quickly reverted to the night before—though he couldn't move, he had heard everything that had gone on the other night…
She had been so ready to help him that it surprised him. Here Crystal was, so beautiful to him, and yet it seemed possible she liked him back. Cell smiled and ran on, racing to find her…
Sad thing was, he ran into a wall, two seconds after that.
FPM: …WOOT! I GOT ANOTHER UPDATE UP:):):):)…
Cell: …What did Zhealy mean, "review please"? 'Update', possibly?
17: (-shrug-) "ZHEALY" IS A COOL NAME! WEEEEE!
FPM: o.O…Anyways, thanks y'all for your comments and reviews…
17: (-flabbergasted-) "Y'ALL"!
FPM:…I LIKE CHANGE!
Cell: Well, chocolate maks you fat and gives you zits, so…oh, wait, you already have them. (-smiles evilly-)
FPM: …Yeah, well YOU'RE them!
Cell: -.- What was that?
FPM:) That's for me to know and you to find out.
17: Shaka Baka!
FPM: OOH! I love saying that…It's SO MUCH FUN B/C THEN NOBODY KNOWS WHAT YOU'RE SAYING!
Cell: …hello…stupid…I'm from Japan…GO JAPANEZIEZ!
FPM: I think I'm one-percent Japanezie…Or point-five…I don't really know…
18: o.o Is there a difference?
FPM: I THINK SO! Having HALF a chocolate Easter bunny is WAY-WAY-WAY different than having a WHOLE chocolate Easter bunny…or chocolate versus real one, anyways…
16: …I'm done writing your president report, FPM! Are you proud?
FPM: YEAY! GO 16! …He's a hottie-hottie with a sexy-bodie…
16: O.O…
FPM: Wups, I did NOT mean to type that up…
16: …SELF-DESTRUCT BOMB! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!...
17: …SWEET!
FPM: Wait…NO! DON'T DESTRUCT! DON'T DESTRUCT! Here, I'll say…uglie-uglie with a yicky-bodie. There. See?
16: (-sniff-) (-cries-)
FPM: ..Uh…How about being my boyfriend? Isn't that cool?
16: (-cries harder-)
Cell: Oh, yes, getting to be FPM's boyfriend will always make a cyborg feel better…
16: (-cried louder-)
Cell: What?
FPM: you insulted him. "cyborg" versus "robot". A BIG difference there…
Cell: huh?
FPM: …Okay, partly robot and partly human versus wholly human, or in his case, wholly robot.
18: (-to 16-)…How about being my boyfriend?
16: …Sing "I'm too sexy for my shirt" like that one German guy from last American Idol, then I might.
18: I'm …Too sexy for my…shirt? Shit, That's WRONG! …PERVERT!
16: my programing informed me that that particular song would not be demonstrated or approved by you, so obviously I knew you would do anything but sing said song, resulting in neither of us "hooking up", so to say, within our lifetimes.
FPM: Wow…He can say long sentences…Can I be your girlfriend?
16: It is possible…But I must first break up with your toaster, for it has run out of Pop-Tarts.
FPM'S toaster:…YOU USER! IT'S FPM'S FAULT THAT HER MOM STOPPED BUYING POP-TARTS! …USER! (-cries-)
16: o.O…
FPM: kay.
Cell: …why are we so overwhelmed in boyfriend/girlfriend madness? The last two chapters were immensely smothered-
FPM: BIG WORDS! YEAY! (-admires-)
Cell: o.o …immensely smothered in the strange craze…and what is 18 doing to be so quiet?
FPM/16: …Or 17?
FPM:…We said that together…
16: We're soul-mates!
FPM: …YAY!
17/18: We're watching SURVIVOR, so SHUT-UP!
FPM: ...HA-HA, YOU'RE SOUL-MATES!
17/18: (-glare-)
FPM: Uh…I didn't know they played SURVIVOR at one-thirty in the morning…
Cell: They don't.
FPM: …Oh. (?)
16: Why one would want to watch a show based entirely where nothing is truly real, I do not understand. They have at least ten cameras, which means a camera crew, which means trailers...
FPM: I would feel miserable too if I didn't get to sleep in trailers while everybody else did…and if I was stuck with huts too…No, nevermind. A hut just Rox my Sox!
18: I'm not a baseball person.
17: Okay...
Cell: Great to have that accomplished…
18: I thought so. That's why I said it.
Cell: -.-
FPM: well, I have to get back to doing my president report-
16: But I completed it for you!
FPM :Oh Yeah!…(-skims through the report-)…um…I probably couldn't say half of these words...what does "gyrate" mean?
17: I'll look it up! ..Gutter…Guttering…Gutterpress…Guteral…Guy…Gyve. Oh, wowit doesn't have it. …What a shitty dictionary.
FPM: what's the definition of guy?
17: "Guy, noun-"
Cell: First, not 17…
17: …18, how could you?
18: Huh?
17: YOU TOLD THEM I HAD A GENDER-CHANGE, DIDN'T YOU!
18: No I didn't!
17: Oh…well, that's good, because it never happened.
FPM/Cell/16: o.O…
17:" …a rope, cord, or cable used for steadying, guiding, or holding something."
FPM:…That's IT?
17: Yeah. What were you expecting? Like I said, it's a crappy dictionary. …Wait…a guy…is a rope? WHAT THE HECK?
FPM: I know. No guy is a guy anymore. …THERE'S NO SUCH A WORD AS 'GUY' FOR GUYS ANYMORE! …CURSE YOU FUCKING DICTIONARY!
17: I wonder if the dictionary has the word 'fuck' in it…(-skims through-) ...Oh Dear.
18: what?
17: …There's a four-page entry.