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What was it that made a being? Was it sentience? Emotion? Decision making abilities? Was there actually anything to achieve? Are all things equally capable of the same level of existence?
No, was the answer. Nothing was created equal in this universe or the next, and Cell was very well aware of this.
Standing on the curbside across from the stunned Piccolo and holding the collar of a plump businessman, the bio-droid savored the expression on the namekian's face as it had for all of its victims thus far. These were the precursors to what it would experience when hit had achieved perfection and towered over these simple beings, and the practice was extremely satisfying. They had no idea that their lives were now redundant, but Cell would educate them. Oh yes, yes it would.
"Who are you?" Piccolo threw out, knowing that this was no creature to take lightly. It had already killed all but one citizen of this town, and the sheer evil that Piccolo could feel was nerve wracking.
"A good question, but not the one you should be asking," Cell hissed, tongue flitting out briefly. "Rather, the matter is what I am."
"And what is that?" Piccolo asked, taking the bait.
"Why, dear Piccolo, I am the future. I am perfection. I. Am. Cell."
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The terrible thing about Otherworld was also the most obvious: the literally infinite line of waiting souls that stretched far beyond the extent of vision into the horizon. This would have been a viable reason for the deceased souls to revolt against the admittedly underpowered ogres and cause untold havoc in the land of the ethereal and probably require the direct intervention of the lower kais, except for the fact that they could barely perceive each passing consecutive second.
Physical bodies were the slaves of time and its passing, but mind and soul could never be affected by such a concept without the interference of flesh. So thoughts were scattered and very, very, very slow for the yellow puffs that people became and thus peace was maintained. Every now and then, a being of extreme evil, good or resolve would die and end up keeping their bodies since they had been so unified with the three essences in life. This could have been problematic if too many of these happened at once, especially if they were all evil, so King Yemma created a counter measure that forced anyone with mind, body and soul still connected to be bumped straight to the front of the line and he could judge them right then and there before they could overcome the confusion of being dead.
And for those unfortunate enough to have died with the three essences in conflict or completely neutral on the morality scale, there was nothing Yemma needed to do. For once such a person departs the land of the living, they no longer exist by any definition. Their body is where it died, the mind has vanished and the soul is instantly collected into the Soul Cleansing Machine. Only a powerful entity like Yemma himself or one of the Eternal Dragons could reunite all three to reconstruct the person. Unless, of course, they had died of natural causes; then they were bound by the rules of the universe to the afterlife and nothing could bring them back.
Vegeta found himself floating above the ivory main road of Otherworld, in line to be assessed by the Judge of souls and determined where he would end up. His cottony form would have caused him no end of outrage, if he could focus on anything. Instead, he found his memories and ideas flighty and difficult to grasp so he just ignored them and watched the orange cloudscape as he slowly advanced in line.
However long it had been since he had come here, he couldn't say. But if it was any indication, he wasn't too far from the Check-In station anymore. He couldn't remember how far back he had been before. Didn't really care. Things used to seem so important…he couldn't remember what anymore…or why they had mattered. He just wanted to…dream.
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A lonely van traveled along a deserted mountain road, trundling unhindered like any other in the world. True, 'Lucky Foods' vans weren't very widely based, but still nothing appeared out of the ordinary with the sight of one driving by.
On the inside, the three android 'siblings' were riding along in quiet, radio playing soft music that was only an undertone with the volume turned low. Seventeen was driving and Eighteen was resting her head on her crossed arms on the opened passenger side window sill. Sixteen sat in the back, having ejected the pink catering boxes when they appropriated the vehicle an hour ago. He had yet to say a single word after his fight with the Z-Fighters and the other two were still confused on the whole matter.
It was easy when they had only wanted Gero dead and then the freedom to do whatever they desired afterwards, the power to be unopposed and never controlled again. But the words of Goku and Krillin still echoed in their ears and played over and over in their minds. Why had they been so easily disrupted from their goal? It just didn't make any sense to them, much like anything else after waking up as androids with no memory of their past lives.
They didn't really know if they were biological siblings, but their connection had felt like they were and neither wanted to challenge the notion. In the years that Dr. Gero worked on them, they were each the other's only comfort and support and would back each other until the very end. They had been unified in their goal for all that time, mutually knowing exactly what was to be done.
But still they had been thrown into disarray by the seemingly minor confrontation with the bald warrior, a wedge being driven between them due to conflicting interests. Eighteen wouldn't mind just going back to life and living each day like an average person, while Seventeen maintained that their power and strength was theirs to do with however they wanted and no ordinary person would be granted that ability, meaning they were anything but. But when pressed about what it was he wanted to do now, he remained silent after reciting "Kill Goku", and that was where they were now: recovering after what had become a heated argument and not wanting to be the one to apologize first.
Listening to every word, Sixteen didn't look it but he was secretly feeling regret unfathomable. Not only was he forced by his programming to take a life, but he had also caused conflict amongst the two people who had unflinchingly called him 'brother'. He couldn't tell which hurt him more, and that caused him even more pain. The cold algorithms that were supposed to determine how he thought shouldn't have been capable of the emotions he felt, but somehow they did.
This was the true reason that Gero had sealed him away: not because of his remarkable strength, but rather with his ability to empathize with the enemy and become a detriment to Gero's plans. No cyborg could be given the strength he had, though Seventeen and Eighteen were fairly close, and the scientist couldn't risk losing control over the red head and being destroyed. Nineteen had been designed to counter act these flaws by being driven by a desire to fight and kill like most saiyans, meaning that so long as he was promised a battle and plenty of enemies he could be directed like a weapon.
'Why would anyone be so cruel as to create beings designed only to hurt others?' Sixteen queried inwardly, yet another attribute he shouldn't have been able to do. He enjoyed living, but not if he was just another one of those weapons, being used no matter what and not given the freedom of choice. Would his time in existence mean anything at all, or would he only be remembered as another one of Gero's assassins? And was he dragging the only family he had down with him by making them accomplices in his murder, willing or not?
Closing his eyes, the behemoth android tried not to think about it any longer, wanting to drown out the thoughts of freedom and happiness. But they didn't leave him, nor would they ever so long as his CPU still maintained that his prime and only directive was to kill Son Goku, no matter what he felt about it. And if he tried to resist that directive, then the automatic kill switch would be triggered and he would be destroyed anyway. Either way, he was damned.
"…sorry," he heard from the front seats. 'At the very least, they may very well be freed from all this evil.' Realization made him open his eyes and look at the backs of the twins in a new light. 'They are my responsibility to save. And even if I am doomed, they will be given the lives that were denied to them by Dr. Gero.'
Deciding that that was his true directive, Sixteen let the tinniest of smiles show on his otherwise impassive face as conversation resumed between the brunette and blonde like there hadn't been a very long pause, awkward to boot.
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"So," Yamcha started, exaggerated calm allowing him to simply nod congruously at the other Z-Fighters, "that's a thing."
"Well, now we have even more to be worried about than just the androids," Piccolo summarized their encounter with the life form, Cell, neatly enough that none of them bothered to add anything on. "This is rapidly getting out of hand and we are severely outgunned in this conflict. I believe it's time that we try and rebalance the scale."
"What do you mean Piccolo?" Krillin asked as he slid down from the pillar of upraised concrete he had been surveying the land from. The battle between Piccolo and Cell had been destructive to the empty Nicky Town and little remained in the way of intact structures.
"I mean that there is a place in the Lookout that would be perfect for training in this kind of situation." Goku had been remarkably silent since arriving with the others to spook off Cell, but he now perked up slightly and looked towards the tall namekian.
"You mean the Hyperbolic Time Chamber?" The others, not in the loop, looked from one to the other, needing some (lots of) clarification on the subject. "It's a room where time is really slowed down, to the point where a day outside is worth a whole year inside."
The others were astounded by the news, having no idea that such a place could exist. The implications were obvious and they realized this the room might very well be their last hope at catching up to any of the androids.
"So, should we go there or keep an eye out for Cell before it kills anyone else?" Tien asked the group at large, crossing his arms in thought.
"Well, the Chamber does have limitations, like only two people can go in at once and if you stay for longer than a day at a time you might get permanently stuck inside."
"You might want to lead with the drawbacks next time," Yamcha whined, deflating from the hope he had gotten.
"Goku and Gohan should be the ones to go," Piccolo declared in a tone that left very little room for argument. Yet argue Goku did.
"What are you doing Piccolo?" The saiyan turned toward his ally and took a step forward, strangely diluted anger in his eyes. "I'm not the one that should try to train and Gohan is too young for it."
"Hey!" The demi saiyan advanced on his father and looked up at him with resentful and hurt eyes. "I was too young when the saiyans came, or when we went to Namek and fought Frieza, but I never backed out or gave up. That's not the way you raised me! So why are the one cowering in fear now Dad? Why, when you were always the one that we could count on to be strong against impossible odds? We still need you, and your masochistic sense of survivor's guilt is only hurting us more than if you actually fought against us. " The impassioned speech of the almost-ten-year-old was bitingly sharp, the words barbed with the pain of a neglected child.
Goku bristled with anger at the accusations and, for a moment, it seemed to the others that he was going to return to his old ways of accepting the next challenge head on. But then the indignation left him swifter than it had come and he was once more slouching his shoulders and lowering his eyes to the pockmarked ground.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be getting mad like that at any of you, least of all Gohan. I'm just…no help to you guys anymore." Dejectedly, he started to turn away from them, but Krillin's hand on his arm stopped him short.
"Goku," the short fighter said quietly so it only passed between the two of them, "what's wrong with you? I know Vegeta dying is tearing you up inside but that is no excuse for treating your son like that. He needs you now more than you need this self-blame. He was there when Vegeta died, how do you think he feels? He had to comfort Bulma by himself and then try and get the rest of us off our butts and back into the fight." His eyes glinted with pride for his young friend. "He's got that same saiyan spirit that Vegeta did."
Goku opened his mouth to protest, to try and make him understand why he was to blame, but his focus instead shifted upwards towards his son who had turned his back to him and was trying to be discreet about wiping tears off of his face with the back of his arms. He had never once thought about what his son must be going through, or Trunks for that matter, or even any of them. While it was his fault that the Prince was deceased, the others were suffering as well and the kind soul he had wouldn't allow for others to wallow without hope as he himself was doing.
Making his decision and setting his jaw in the best attempt at stoicism he could muster, he clapped Krillin on the shoulder as he walked past.
"Come on Gohan. If we want to catch up with the androids, we'll need to start now." His son looked back at him in surprise, which quickly turned to relief. Holding out his hand and placing two fingers to his forehead, Goku looked at the assembly of his friends as Gohan grasped his hand tightly. "Take care all of you, and please try and keep safe."
Then he was gone with that distinct fizzle of Instant Transmission, leaving the Earth born Z-Fighters to mill about for a few seconds, still wondering what they were going to do.
"If it's alright with you guys, I want to go see my mother." Trunks gazed down at his scuffed boots for a beat, toying around a rock he found nearby.
"No problem kid," Piccolo announced, smiling encouragingly at the time traveler. "We should be fine without saiyan support for a little while. And tell her-" his smile faded noticeably, replaced instead by a far more somber one. "Please tell her, from all of us, that we're sorry." The other's agreed silently, looking away awkwardly.
Trunks smiled wanly before taking to the air and blasting off towards West City, going so far as to transform into a super saiyan to hasten his flight. He had already delayed far too long in comforting this timelines Bulma, and he didn't know how this one would handle losing Vegeta.
"So, where were you all before coming here?" Piccolo probed as he turned back to face all of the other fighters.
"Halfway to Kame house," Tien remarked, cracking his neck to alleviate the stiffness that always built up there after using the kaioken at any level. "We wanted to be somewhere we could feasibly sense the androids attack and respond in time. Kame House is fairly centered so it seemed the obvious choice."
"Alright. We still need to find Cell before it can take any more lives. We'll keep looking for three more hours, but after that we will recuperate at Kame House so we don't completely drain ourselves."
"Sounds like a plan," Krillin agreed, sternly looking toward the horizon as if Cell would pop up at any second. They all rose into the sky in formation and quickly decided to head north, searching everywhere they could along the way. Their energy levels were kept as low as possible so as not to give away their positions to a possibly ambushing Cell. They weren't going to take any more chances with the creations of Dr. Gero, not after being thrashed and outmaneuvered by two of them in a row.
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For the afterlife, everything was pretty well lit.
The thought came to Vegeta in a moment of tasteless humor, but he just as quickly forgot the wry remark in the next second as he crept along in line. Maybe it was due to every single one of the waiting souls looking exactly the same, but it sometimes felt like the line had actually lengthened when he wasn't looking, or drastically reduced under the same circumstance. There was no way to tell for sure and he probably wouldn't even have been capable of determining the cause of these anomalous feelings anyway.
An ogre was standing on a little platform at a curve in the wide path, directing the already docile souls to keep them neat and organized. The career outlook must have been exceptionally grim for them, what with them being extremely long lived beings of Otherworld with zero chance of promotion or even reassignment. But that was just the hand that life (or death, depending on how you looked at it) had dealt to them; beats being dead at least, though the distinction was a fine line, to be sure.
All at once, the wispy puff of existence that was the Prince of all Saiyans found itself just a few dozen meters away from the mawing entrance of King Yemma's Check-In Station. Looking ahead, he could see that the bearded judge was dolling out sentencing after sentencing at a rapid-fire rate, skimming the profiles before him in barely a second and coming to a decision. Clearly the eons of practice had done wonders in perfecting his technique and efficiency, allowing him to process billions in no time at all.
Before too long, the vaguely mumbling soul ahead of him turned left to Snake Way where it sank below the clouds and into the domain of Hell, leaving Vegeta before the enormous desk of the even larger Yemma. Like every case before him, Yemma's eyes streaked down the page of his records book, but when he realized that the page actually carried over onto three more he went back and saw the name printed at the head of the list.
"Ah, Vegeta; I've been expecting you for a while now." Uncharacteristically, the judge of the afterlife put his book down and leaned forward to fully address the wayward soul, fingers interlinked on the blotter of his desk. "I wanted to make several things clear to you before I sent you down below with the rest of the saiyans: chiefly being that you are only granted that form because of the vouches I received from both Kami and King Kai, insisting that you have at least earned that right after facing down some guy named 'Broly'. I don't really believe you have even begun to make amends for the years of killing that you lived through, but when the boss man says 'keep him sentient'-" Yemma made a 'whisk' sound while throwing a hand over his head.
Being spoken to so directly, Vegeta found that he could focus much better with something specific to concentrate on. Slowly, his sense of self trickled back and his recollections of his prior life returned in halting flashes. As though blinking away a sudden bright light, the saiyan started to perceive the world around him with rapidly increasing clarity, capacity for thought resuming full functionality (like a Star Trek thingy).
"Even though neither of them asked me to, or even know about it as far as I can tell, I believe you should know something else." Vegeta instinctively tried to ask what, but his cloud form was completely incapable of speech or any other form of communication. Even the phantom burbling most of the other souls made was absent due to his awareness. "Despite what you and the other warriors of Earth believe, you did not die naturally."
Vegeta didn't fully comprehend the meaning of those words for a few second, but realization dawned on him as brightly as the rising sun. Unbidden, excitement and hope began to fill him, a faint glow surrounding his ethereal form in response. Yemma noticed this but continued on with his explanation.
"It says here," he consulted the another page of his infinite handbook, "that you are one of Dr. Gero's victims." The confusion was now stronger than the uprising of hope, but that didn't dampen the effect in the slightest. "Apparently, and I'm just going on what little it says her, after witnessing your fight with Broly, Gero recognized your threat to his plans and so discreetly infected you several months ago with-" The king of the dead looked closer at the book in disbelief. "-microscopic machines? By the kais, I feel old."
If Vegeta had eyes, he would have rolled them.
"Anyways, he set these…'nanomachines' to reside in your heart after infecting you with them through the air and a remote activation would cause them to attack you from the inside, greatly resembling the effects of the viral heart disease. He triggered them during your fight with android Nineteen and you were quickly stricken down. Hmph."
The elation that Vegeta felt then was enough to buoy him an extra several feet off from the ground, orange body now luminous with the pure emotions that had revived his mind from the soft purgatory it had inhabited. Even if he was confined to this measly 'body', the Prince of all Saiyans was most definitely back for good. Now, all he needed to do was get in contact with someone from Earth and-
"Wait." Yemma's tone was somber and serious, abruptly bringing Vegeta down from his elation. "I can see that this news is heartening to you, but I have to remind you that you are unable to contact anyone from Earth." The almost identical summarization of Vegeta's thoughts was unnerving, but he supposed that they were obvious enough topics. "You have no way of talking to anybody and I am bound by the rules of Otherworld not to interfere with the land of the living unless there is a threat that can harm the very walls of existence. These androids," the great king hung his head, having the empathy to feel remorseful in a small way for the saiyan, "are no such threat. I'm afraid that you will not be wished back and will spend the rest of your days in the afterlife."
The words were as effective as the news of his murder had been, but in the polar opposite direction. Desolation engulfed Vegeta and paralyzed him in his spot. He didn't even notice when two of the ogre assistants came over at Yemma's beckoning and escorted him towards the beginning of Snake Way. Once there, they nudged him over the edge and let him fall slowly through the deceptively powerful barrier and into the sky of Hell. He was now stuck for eternity, or at least until it was his turn to be siphoned into the Soul Washer and made into energy to sustain Otherworld.
Like a depleted depth charge, Vegeta sank all the way down until landing softly on the earthy ground, a dark red hue like volcanic rock. It was here that he withdrew back into himself and reviewed everything he knew. It was nice to know that his death wasn't natural and could be reversed by the eternal dragon, but that hardly meant anything when he was confined permanently in Hell, the place that was credited with 'damnation without relief' in mind. Now, if that simply meant there weren't any toilets, he didn't really care, but what he did want to know was if it truly was inescapable.
Casting his focus around himself, the crown prince 'saw' the uninviting landscape of the cursed domain: sharp craggy hills that rose and sank with the frequency of a stormy sea, vast tracts of sulphurous magma that bubbled groggily along like some kind of demonic streams, far off mountains that were comprised solely of ten foot or longer needles. All in all; not a very nice place. It certainly looked as foreboding as he thought it would, but imagination was hardly a passable alternative to the real thing.
If there was some kind of escape, it would doubtlessly be hidden, and hidden well to prevent any of the stronger beings from breaking out and causing havoc. But the only thing Vegeta wanted to do was escape these infernal realm, and that unshakable resolve had seen him through more than a fair share of impossible situations, and now managed to sustain him and overshadow the despair that threatened to engulf him. He knew that he could do this, he just knew it. He just had to exert himself a little more creatively this time round.
Consciously moving his 'body' for the first time, the saiyan found it harder than he thought to propel his gaseous self in the desired direction, but he rapidly learned and was soon puttering off across the land as fast as he could go (leisure jogging speed). Other souls were likewise loitering the area, nothing pressing for them to do or achieve. The sense of satisfaction Vegeta felt then gave another needed boost of resolve. If he was the only one of these cloud-people to muster up the same level of control as he had as a living being, then he was an even more unique individual than he had thought before.
Unfortunately, his triumph was quick to run dry as he had to contend with the excruciating slowness while traveling across a potentially infinite land. Used to subsonic speeds, he could only glower and simmer to himself while making very slow progress.
'If those androids are still loose, then I can't waste a single second.' Half an hour passed with this being the only thought in his mind, finding encouragement and motivation in the grim probability. More of his memory was coming back to him by the second, and that included the time that he had been dying from Gero's invading machines. Gohan's words floated back to him from an otherwise black section, the only bright points that had happened during that event.
'That boy that came from the future and warned us, that was Trunks? I suppose it is obvious when the facts are looked at objectively: he's a half-saiyan from twenty years in the future and neither Kakarot nor his wife have any shade of blue hair. He managed to outlast all of us in the end, even though we were all accomplished and experienced fighters. The androids picked us apart and barely even put any effort into it from what I can surmise. For him to survive so long against opponents of that strength is…'
He petered off, realizing that his train of thought was leading him towards fatherly pride in a son he technically didn't have. It was uncomfortable ground for him. His own father, King Vegeta the fourth, had rarely shown any interest in the Prince unless he had performed some incredible feat of power, like wiping out his first planet solo, or trumping the entire royal guard in combat. It was this kind of upbringing that had forged him into a highly efficient and bloodthirsty weapon of war as much as captivity under Frieza had been. Pride was something he knew very well, but the kind of pride that made you appreciate someone just for the fact that they were your flesh and blood was very alien indeed.
Was Vegeta any better than his father, or his father's father? They had been a continuous lineage of tough life and appreciation for strength, leaving no room for love. What he and Bulma had was complicated, being a combination of animal lust and overriding impulses that made him do things like wrap his arm across her lower back when she was dozing during a movie, or pull the blankets up over her before leaving to go train in the pre-dawn hours. It was as much a saiyan relationship as it was a human one. He wanted her to bear his children, but he also just wanted her to be there where he could see and experience, to hold and breath in that intoxicating aroma of life that permeated her very being. It was maddening.
Trying at first to shake these rebellious thoughts and notions, Vegeta instead decided to embrace them and make them into fuel for his relentless search. He had a better goal than defeating the androids. He would need to look absolutely everywhere to discover a possible weakness in the armor, and that was just what he was ready to do. The Saiyan Prince would not be deterred at any cost.
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Cell let the empty assortment of clothes fall to the ground like dry and dead leaves in a breezeless autumn day. They were all that remained of the loud mouthed man that had stood in the same spot just scant seconds ago, challenging adaptoid with false gusto, now part of something greater and far more aware than his feeble existence ever had a hope of being. What better gift could be given than to be a part of perfection? Cell knew that it was being overly kind by giving them that privilege, but it had been feeling generous for a while now, since learning of Vegeta's death and Goku's crippling depression when it had confronted Piccolo and then the Z-Fighters at Nicky Town. Really, the conditions couldn't be any better for it to set about the grand scheme that Dr. Gero had intended for his ultimate android. Seeing that the opposition was sure to be paltry, the bio-android had opted to next target a lavish and history rich mansion, treating itself on the fat and pampered that lived within.
Turning slowly towards the terrified and dry sobbing dark haired girl cowering in the corner the bedroom of that large estate, Cell memorized every detail of her face, sinking in just how awe-inspiring it was. If even a child such as her could see and recognize it, surely everyone else could as well.
"Tell me: am I not the very image of a larvae? The beginning of a metamorphis that will eventually lead me to a higher plane of existence as a higher being? Do I not look…like a god ready to be born?"
Instead of answering with words, the ten year old burst into renewed tears, the liquid running down the same tracks on her cheeks that the ones from earlier and her body jerking with the inconsolable grief. Laughing raucously at her clear stupefaction, Cell decided to spare her for the moment, knowing that she would meet her fate in due time. Still laughing, it rose upwards and through the roof like it wasn't even there. Speeding away in a blaze of clear energy, Cell continued to laugh in it's fulfillment, leaving Videl Satan to mourn her poor, loving father who had defended her to the very last.
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AN: more plot twists for your fancy. I'm trying not to twist facts to fit the story, but occasionally things seem a little too convenient for my taste. Maybe this is just due to the nature of the original story; mostly comedy instead of drama. Regardless, we're sure to see plenty of tense moments in the coming chapters, all leading to what is an inevitable confrontation with Cell, but what kind of changes will be made on the bio-android and will they affect the outcome of the fighting? Tune in next time to find out!
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