A/N: As Much as I enjoy writing this, I have to say that the lack of feedback is somewhat discouraging. I don't write to get a response from others, but I feel my energies might be dedicated to a story which has more appeal. I will come back to this I'm sure, I have further chapters written and in various stages of Editing, but for now I think I'm moving on to another project. If you are a reader of this or any of my works, do leave some feedback, good/bad (and hopefully constructive in either case) that's the best way to help me grow as a writer. Best to you all. Enjoy!

17 was just about as surprised as Ubuu, who was recoiling in fright.

"Ubuu!" he exclaimed in hushed whisper. He reached out quickly, clamping his hand over the other's mouth before he shouted. The fighter's eyes opened wide, and his breathing turned into a sharp gasp for air. "It's us!"

18 stepped next to him, a look of concern crossing her soft eyes. "My god, what happened to you?"

"He fought J'erah, it's not exactly a cakewalk." 17 studied the man's face for a second, watching the maturity begin to sink in amidst the unrecognizable hardened visage left by battle and ridiculous fear. It was like nothing he had ever seen before. Ubuu was always an unshaken pillar of strength, just like Goku had been before him. And now, it was revealed that he, too, was human after all, capable of folly, capable of downfall.

"You're safe now." After a dawning moment of relief, Ubuu promptly passed out. Their leader collapsed before them, and his limbs fell limp from exhaustion.

"We need to hurry," 17 spoke quietly.

"You're right, J'erah is close."

Together they knelt, and 18 helped her counterpart toss Ubuu over his shoulder. With speed and grace, they turned, darting down the alleyway, taking the time to pause and listen every few seconds, making sure that no one was following them. After several minutes of the start and stop routine, the two backtracked and found the hidden subway entrance. 18 drew her firearm, and hopped down first, clearing the area before 17 followed. Just as it had been left, the small speed craft was waiting for them upon arrival. The android approached it, laid Ubuu down carefully in the back.

"You're lucky to be alive, friend," he reminded his silent comrade.

The lights from the subway were flickering on and off randomly, barely illuminating the series of tunnels laid out before them. The disabled fixtures provided a steady buzzing noise, shooting up and down the rails as they took turns displaying dusty brilliance. Outside, the rain trickled in through cracks of the ceiling. Several drops splashed onto 17's head, and he looked up to find their source. The cold beads of water connected with his skin several times in succession. A part of him couldn't help but wonder if he was actually sensing the cool feel of moisture on epidermis, or if it was a sensation triggered by the mechanics implanted inside of him. How much of him could actually feel? And was it a normal amount of sensitivity? Enhanced? Downplayed? Perhaps one day, he would know. When things returned to normal. If they did.

His runaway thoughts realigned to the present when he turned to see 18 gazing down at Ubuu from the passenger seat. It had been her suggestion, no, urging that prompted them to return to find their friend. He hadn't seen that kind of look in her eyes since she had last been with her husband...

How did she do it? Cocking his head to one side, he observed her. How did she break past looking at herself as nothing more than an artificial being? Synthetics, parts, circuits, and flesh. That's all that 17 could see himself as. Why try to be something you're not? Why pretend? But watching her watching him- he only felt envy for her. If it was really envy. For all he knew, it was a psychosomatic response generated by artificial impulses. Whatever it was, he knew that he longed for it, too. He wanted that kind of hope. Perhaps that's what the Wayward really needed. Perhaps that's what anyone needed...

"Ok, let's get out of here," 17 shook his head, and sat down at the speeder. "I'm starting to freak myself out."

"It's ok," 18 answered lazily, still looking down at Ubuu. She tossed him a sideways glance, and flashed a crooked grin. "You freak me out, too."

"Whatever... ugly." He kicked up the engines, and the whirring jets squealed to life. They launched from their standstill to rapid velocity, screaming down the tunnels.

"What was that?" She asked in his ear.

"Sorry, can't hear you," 17 responded. "I'm too busy driving." The other's retort was simply a small blow to the ribs. He smiled, and made a sharp left. Just ahead, they were going to find the entrance to the Wayward compound. Hopefully, they could put this mess of a day behind them. Everything was going to work out.

For now.

-------

As always, the lab was a hustle-and-bustle centerpoint of activity. Dr. Derhat brushed his way past the onlookers, coworkers, and fellow scientists, ignoring their solemn pleas of "are you alright?" and "I was so worried". The shuffling of papers, ultraviolet lights, and ringing of footsteps filled his ears as he crossed the area. After making his routine sweep of the lower lab, he entered a set of double-metallic doors that led to the holding room. The holding room was a small, secure office that permitted him entry to his private sector, where he performed his most priceless research and experimentation. The bright lights inside flickered twice, and he wiped the sweat from his brow.

The communicator buzzed to life in his hand once more. "Suspect has escaped," an anonymous voice informed the masses that were listening. "Repeat, all suspects have escaped." Suddenly, a new voice, deeper, joined the mix. J'erah. "Continue search." A slew of "yes sir's" answered back.

With a combination of anger, relief, and defeat, the scientist slammed the communicator on the ground, where it promptly shattered to pieces. "Sorry, Durt," he told the security officer as he passed the man's desk. He retrieved his passcard from his labcoat pocket, and slid it in to unlock the door. After a light hiss, it opened.

One of the biggest days of his career, completely ruined. And all because of J'erah. Derhat was somewhat naive, but he knew when he was being made expendable in the eyes of others. It had happened to him practically all of his life. And now was no different. The Galactic officials were obviously intending to catch whoever it was that they had set up to assassinate him. He imagined, knowing J'erah, that it made no lick of difference whether he survived or not; someone would just be moved up into his position. The young scientist brushed his wirey hair behind his ears, and cursed loudly as he gazed upon the private labratory.

"Of all the miserable luck..."

Trashed. Everything was completely torn apart. Computers, tables, chairs, desks, research papers- all strewn about the floor. What the hell? He turned back out to the holding room, rushing with what little strength he had left. As he did so, one of the shoelaces on his left foot came untied rather quickly, and in no time flat, he was on his face. Grumbling in frustration, he pulled himself up to a stand at Durt's desk.

"Durt, something's happened to-"

He stopped in midsentence. Durt wasn't there. Had he even been there before? Or did the doctor just pass by in anger, without even noticing the man's absence?

"Durt?" Derhat lifted himself on the edge of his toes, peeking over the back of the desk. From the corner of his vision, he could see the heel of a black security officer's boot. With a rushed scramble, he pulled himself over the top, slipping on a sign-in datapad, and tumbled head over heels to the floor. He landed with a loud crash, kicking up papers as he slammed through the chair that was waiting to break his fall. This day was just getting better and better...

The young scientist rolled over on his side, turning his gaze to see the limp body of his long time bodyguard, Durt. A hole was blown clean through his chest, and a spray of blood coated the floor underneath. The Galactic leaped to his feet, stumbling backwards against the wall. He had seen autopsies on animals and humans and things of that nature before in his schooling, but this was far different from that. The stench of ozone and blood soared like death to his nostrils, and he fought the incredible urge to vomit. Clumsily pulling a tissue from his unwashed pants pocket, he lifted the cloth to his mouth to keep away the stench. A glance at the edges of the wound told him that it was cauterized- intense heat from a ki blast no doubt. Maybe the security cameras could tell him something...

Derhat hurriedly punched the code in the computer to access the data recorder for the holding room, and, just as he suspected, it came up empty. Someone had removed the file. Whoever it was, they certainly went through a bit of trouble. So what were they after?

Stepping timidly over the dead body of his coworker, the scientist hopped back towards the labratory, making his way inside. A perusal of the room showed that the culprit was mainly just making a big mess more than anything else. If he knew what he was after, he should have found it. Nothing of dire importance was located in the filing cabinets and computer records he kept on this floor...

He stopped dead in his tracks. No. That couldn't be it. The Galactic darted to the other side of the room, sliding to a halt before a massive table. Though it looked to weigh well over a ton, he briskly remedied the situation by the brief press of a button on the underside of the left corner. It lifted, and slid aside. As it parted from its place on the metal floor, it moved to reveal a small but distinct hatch engraved into the tiling. Kneeling down, Derhat inspected it to find just what he had expected- burn marks around the edges.

Someone had unknowingly grasped a hold of the handles on either side, only to find that it was booby-trapped with a high emission of ki extract. Basically, anyone that touched it without entering in the passcode on the underside of the table was given a handsome reward for his efforts. And nobody should even know that any of this was here... Though the naive part of him wanted to believe that they couldn't possibly be after what he thought they were after, deep down he knew. Which is why this whole thing didn't make any kind of sense. It could be that the theif was searching for the data on the centurion upgrade, located below... but he doubted it.

Shaking his head, the scientist stood, restoring the table to its original place. He would figure out other things later- right now, he had to get this mess taken care of. Reaching for what was left of his communication screen, Derhat pressed the button that would page General Abgar. He always hated these kinds of conversations... he had never been good with people. Which is mostly why he became a scientist. In an instant, the plump face of the grotesque Galactic fighter flashed into view.

"What do you want?" he spat immediately, sending globules of spittle onto the screen.

"Oh, um, sorry sir," Derhat replied, taken back by the forecfulness of the General. "I have a bit of an emergency here in my lab... a really enormous security breach, to be exact."

Abgar rolled his eyes. "No one really cares about your lab right now, Derhat. We're trying to catch the Wayward that nearly killed you. If you really want us to drop what we're doing, and play detective for your research..."

"No, sir, I appreciate it, it's just that..." the wirey-haired scientist paused. Should he tell Abgar about the lower level? After all, he was the head of security...

"What is it?" Abgar grunted in irritation. "I haven't got all day, Derhat."

"Nothing, it's just that... Well, Durt is dead."

Abgar didn't seem the least bit affected. "Well, I've already sent someone down to clean up the mess, so they should be there momentarily."

Derhat narrowed his brow. "Wait, who said anything about a mess?"

"Well, that's usually what comes with dead bodies," the General answered in mock indignation. "Durt was too old to try to put up a fight with some crazed Wayward attacker anyway."

"How do you know it was the Wayward?" Derhat asked, confused. In the holding room beyond, he could hear the sounds of several Galactic officers entering one by one, starting their efficient and quick clean-up process. Durt was just going to be thrown out like another piece of garbage.

"Does that brain of yours accomplish anything?" Abgar growled. He was growing irritated now. "Think about it, Derhat. They try to assassinate you, and they try to find and eliminate your process on the new Centurions. One way or the other, they were hoping to stop them from being completed."

The young Galactic cocked an eyebrow. It was possible, but it didn't seem too logical. "How do you explain them getting past the other labratory? And why aren't you concerned that they got in to the Palace?"

"I'm looking into it. They're tricky bastards, aren't they?" Abgar shot him a look across the monitor that screamed "drop it"- he was getting really annoyed. Derhat never understood how such a non-people person was made into the operator of security- a branch of power that relied on its head being understanding and concerned. With a sigh, he decided not to press the issue anymore. Too much pressure, and Abgar would start wondering what he was so worried about them finding- and that would only attract unwanted attention.

"Yeah," Derhat nodded. "I guess they are."

Abgar huffed smugly. Beings of lesser intellect were always pleased to take home some kind of verbal victory. "Is there anything else you would like to report, good doctor? See any suspicious bugs looking at you funny?"

"No, sir," the scientist breathed quietly. "Sorry for-"

"Good." The image shut off without even waiting for a response of any kind. He shook his head. What more could he expect from Abgar? He would have to sort this whole thing out himself, then. Luckily, the lower level had been kept secure, or else he would have a serious problem on his hands.

The clean up team was moving inside now, searching for more things to remove from the labratory. No one asked if they should be careful with this or that- they just started moving things around. It was just as well, Derhat thought. Nothing here was that important, anyhow. He brushed past the team of officers timidly, and exited the holding room, sprayed down with disinfectant to remove the blood that was splattered on the wall and floor. As he left the sterile hall, the Galactic obtained a small datapad from his breast pocket. First things first...

Finding a chair and a computer, he sat down quietly, waiting for the screen to load while he plugged the small device into it. When it finally did, he opened the database on Galactic criminals. Making sure that nobody was paying any attention, he leaned forward slightly, and typed the word "Ubuu."

After seeing a brief flash of information, he stood, turning the computer off as he did so. He had what he needed. It was just a hunch, but perhaps it would pay off.

And maybe he could meet the man that saved his life.