Disclaimer: Here's a list of some of the things that I don't own: Mars, a trampoline, a million dollars, and Dragon Ball Z. Oh, well!
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Chapter Six: Finding Out
Seventeen made a mental note to add librarians to the list of things he hated.
By now, the list could fill multiple phonebooks.
His newfound dislike of librarians stemmed from the elderly, hawklike, bespectacled, and very stereotypical woman hovering inches away. Since Seventeen entered the library, she had been circling him much like the bird of prey she resembled. Obviously put out by his less-than-stellar clothing (he felt no need to change from his trusty jeans and t-shirt just to go look something up on a computer), the decrepit caretaker had branded him a hoodlum and so would not trust him alone in her precious library.
So for the past three hours, Seventeen had been attempting to ignore her, an endeavor that he failed miserably at.
Damn old lady.
Still, Seventeen did not regret his decision to come here. Libraries meant computers, computers meant information, and information meant a more seamless disguise.
His main goal was to find out what the hell had happened. Why wasn't he all-powerful? Why were dead people once again alive, back to haunt him like ghosts rising from the past. Not that he cared about the people themselves. No, if Seventeen killed you, you should have the good grace and sense to stay dead, damn it!
Unfortunately, the computer wasn't omniscient. It could only tell him about the world now, not what had changed.
So he started with the person most important to him: himself. And here was what he found:
Two other Androids had terrorized the country briefly before meeting their downfall at the hand of Goku and company.
He and Eighteen had indeed been activated and sent to fight.
One of the fighters had a description eerily similar to Trunks, although he couldn't have been more than a year old back then.
He had been consumed by Cell.
That last bit was what shocked him most of all. As far as Seventeen knew, he destroyed Cell, the so-called "Perfect Android," while it was floating in an incubation tank in Gero's lab. For good measure, he and Eighteen had burned the lab down afterward. Hence, Cell should not exist. Especially because, upon their arrival, he would still have been a grotesque fetus-thing, unable to move or breathe, much less fight.
Well, nothing else made sense. Why should that?
Seventeen also found a list of humans who had been born or who had died within the last twenty years. He scanned rapidly through, his databases automatically cross-referencing this with prior knowledge. The multitude of contradictions gave Seventeen a headache.
Ignoring this, he decided to search for certain people. First up: Son Goku.
The computer listed a date for his death. Actually, it listed multiple dates, as well as for his birth. Seventeen assumed that this was because of all the times he had been wished back with the Dragon Balls. However, the computer assured him that Goku was currently alive.
Joy.
He spent a while hunting down the rest of the Z fighters. None of them were dead at the moment.
See, now that just sucks. Seventeen put all that effort into killing those guys and they had the gall to come back?! Some people were just rude, plain and simple.
Seventeen tried searching his own name with no success. Same with Eighteen. Well, they were never born, were never registered as citizens, so why would the computer know them by name? It was as clueless about his fate as he was.
Wait, that wasn't true. The whole never being born part. He was born, a long time ago. Back then, he had a name; he had a heart. But Seventeen knew exactly when that person died.
Sato Akira, as well as his twin sister Ayame, had both died December 17, 763.
After years of tinkering and hibernation, they were reborn as Seventeen and Eighteen, the most feared beings on the planet. Formerly. Or imaginarily. At this point, Seventeen wasn't entirely sure.
After failing at his quest of self-discovery, Seventeen immersed himself in news articles from the past nineteen years, marveling at the differences. The changes began the day Freiza died, killed not by Goku but by a mysterious lavender-haired stranger who appeared in a yellow pod seemingly out of thin air.
Seventeen could guess who that was. And for good measure, he could even identify the ship, which was currently lodged in his back pocket.
So Trunks had wheedled his way into the past and fucked everything up. From Seventeen's perspective, of course.
Goku hadn't died from heart disease. The Z fighters hadn't been destroyed by the androids. Seventeen had not reigned supreme.
No, Cell had shown up and eaten him! WHAT THE HELL?!
This was all definitely that pathetic, whimpering, annoying excuse for a fighter's fault. Somehow Trunks had gone to the past, had cheated fate, and had gotten strong enough to beat Seventeen and Eighteen single-handedly.
Life wasn't fair.
Seventeen's internal rant was then interrupted by a loud, irritating jingling sound. He blinked, befuddled.
The malicious librarian pounced. "NO CELL PHONES IN THE LIBRARY!" she shrilled, pointing to a sign saying just that.
Oh, right. The cell phone. He fished it out of his pocket, gave the librarian a cool look, and strolled out.
He would kill her someday. And he would really, really enjoy it. But first, he had a call to attend to.
Seventeen flipped the phone open in a single, fluid motion.
"Hello?"
The voice on the other end was familiar. After all, only one person had the number of the phone he had pilfered from its rightful owner. It was brand new, and the cell phone service was already paid for. He wasn't worried about it being cancelled, either.
It was incredibly difficult to make contact from the bottom of a lake, after all. Especially when you had no phone.
"Hi, Akira. It's Trunks." The aforementioned individual sounded nervous.
"Okay. What's up?" drawled Seventeen, purposely displaying a decided lack of interest.
"Oh! Well, I was thinking," Trunks said hesitantly, sounding like a twelve-year-old boy about to ask someone out on a first date, "do you want to hang out for a while? That is, if you're not busy."
"…Sure."
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Seventeen watched in awe as the man across from him shoveled yet another bowl of rice down his throat.
Now, Seventeen knew that humans had to eat. Just another reason why they were inferior to a perfect creature such as himself. Seventeen required no sustenance to survive, although he could consume pretty much anything if the situation warranted it. Case and point: He currently sat with a plate in front of him, piled with rice and steamed vegetables. The small bites he took made their way down to where his stomach used to be; he would have to figure out a way to remove them later.
Seventeen did not think, however, that most humans ate thirteen bowls of soup, five plates of vegetables, and twenty-three and counting mounds of rice. Although Trunks ate this vast quantity of food with the utmost restraint and grace, the sheer amount was nauseating.
Their waitress shuffled over apprehensively. "Excuse me, sirs. Do you need anything else?" the girl mumbled, peering meekly from behind bangs that shrouded her eyes.
Trunks smiled genially at her. "No thank you, miss. I've had just about enough." He glanced over at his companion. "What about you, Akira? You've barely eaten anything."
Seventeen waved his hand dismissively. "I'm not very hungry. Thank you, though."
Procuring a bill from somewhere, the waitress placed it on the table, bobbed her head politely to the two seated gentlemen, and took her leave.
Trunks picked up the check and, after examining it briefly, laid several bills on the table. Seventeen allowed him to do this, although with apprehension. An incredible proud and independent individual, he never relied on others for anything. But seeing as Seventeen had no job (and thus no money) and had procured all of his current possessions through dubious means, he thought it best to permit Trunks to pay. Either that or kill all occupants of the restaurant, which Seventeen's newfound concept of restraint advised him against.
"Sorry if my timing sucks. I wasn't really thinking when I suggested we come here to eat. I mean, most people don't eat huge meals at three in the afternoon, do they?" Trunks sighed and ran his hand through his lengthy lilac locks, a nervous habit he had been unable to break since childhood.
Being the perceptive person that he was, Seventeen noticed Trunks' discomfort. Being the bastard that he was, Seventeen decided to make it worse.
"What are we doing here?" he questioned, voice devoid of all emotion.
Trunks started. "Yeah, like I said, not my brightest idea. But still…"
Seventeen cut him off. "That's not what I meant," he retorted, leaning closer and locking Trunks in a gaze. "This is all so… commonplace. The people sipping tea. The laughter. The cheery servers popping in and out of the room."
Trunks sat frozen in his seat. His usual witticisms, his smart remarks, had suddenly abandoned him. He could see where this was going, and it took all of his composure not to clench his eyes shut and pretend not to hear.
That would be pathetic.
Seventeen continued, his voice low and even. "You don't fit in here, Trunks. You try really hard, but you just don't fit. You could break everything with a sweep of your hand, and you're constantly petrified of doing just that. Everything is too fragile. You don't belong."
Trunks couldn't breathe. Here was a man, little more than a stranger, that Trunks had connected with. He felt that they were similar. And now this person, who Trunks so desperately wanted to befriend, was calling him out on his abnormality.
Seventeen leaned back, closing his eyes gently, apparently unaware of his companion's inner turmoil. "But that's okay. I don't belong here, either," he finished, voice so soft that Trunks barely heard it above the throbbing of his own heart.
Was that acceptance? Trunks sat, slightly dazed, staring at the man recumbent across from him. Were his fears of his own strangeness unfounded? After all of these years of self-alienation, such a casual dismissal seemed unreal.
Seventeen opened his eyes, smirking languidly. "Besides, being average is boring." He winked.
Trunks couldn't help it; a radiant smile stretched across his face.
"Yeah. I guess you're right."
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Thank you for reading! I bow and bid you adieu. I sincerely hope that you enjoyed this installment of Double-Crossed. Whether you did or not, feel free to let me know! I should have the next chapter up by next week.
-Shadow