Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Android B ❯ Ghosts of the past ( Chapter 3 )

There was darkness around him. It left him cold and naked and vulnerable to eyes, only he could make out in it. Darkness was almost everywhere. Almost, because in a distance he could make out a thin ray of light, trying to break through and illuminate the darkness. If he squinted his eyes, the light seemed slightly turquoise. The threatening darkness seemed less threatening, if he kept his eyes trained on it. The light was comforting. He heard a husky laughter, and almost too scared to do so, Vegeta turned on his heel. He stared at eyes, the color of dried blood. Frieza. Frieza laughing huskily. Vegeta growled, but that didn't seem to impress the icejin at all. With a mocking grin he faded into darkness, not saying a word.

"Vegeta..." a voice whispered. It was suddenly there. Soft like a breeze, tender like a kiss, and just as scary. Where did it come from? Who did this voice belong to? He looked around searchingly. "Vegeta..." the voice repeated. It seemed to be ahead, in the direction of the ray of light. Slowly, he took a step towards it. "Vegeta", the voice whispered again, more urgently. It was oddly familiar. "Vegeta," the voice repeated, and it seemed to have moved a step or so further ahead. It was trying to lure him into the light. Insecure, but steadily, he walked towards it until he was just out of it's reach. yThe voice whispered his name again, ever so softly and gently. He didn't react. The voice kept calling his name. Gradually, it spoke faster, until his name was only a jumbled mess of sounds and he knew, that if he stepped into the light, he could see who was calling his name. Indecisive, he stood at the brim of the light, debating, whether or not he dared to take this final step. Finally, whatever it was in him, that wanted to step into the light, took over and Vegeta found himself surrounded by it. Bathed in light- it really was turquoise.

Suddenly, he felt cold. He shivered and found, he was naked. Stripped of everything that could protect him; his clothes, his strength, his anger, his pride- everything had been taking from him. And now he could see who was hiding in the darkness. It was an army of figures, enclosing him and the ray of light, threatening to make both of them a part of the darkness. He saw faces that were bloody or blasted/torn half apart. Faces of people that he had killed. He saw faces, he had missed all his life, sneering at him in disgust. He saw faces, he had come to loathe in the past 24 or so hours. They were pointing at him, laughing, mocking him. He spotted Karkarot not too far away and as soon as they locked eyes, Karkarot seemed to zoom in.

"Look at that. What an incredible weakling the supposedly prince of all saiyans is. He is unworthy of his title. Weakling," he sneered. Vegeta shook his head. His eyes locked on a pair just as black as his own. "You are not our son," his parents said in unison. Vegeta heard a choking sound and it took a moment until he realized that he was the source of it. He tried to step out of the light, to conceal his nudeness and seek protection, but found he couldn't move. The Briefs zoomed in on his left. "What a fool! So easily to deceit," they laughed. More mocking. "No, stop it. STOP IT!" he finally rasped out. And the figures and faces around him fell silent. Still, they grinned at him as if they knew something he didn't. It wasn't over yet. Slowly, they moved apart to form an opening in their circle. How strange it was to see them move around, even though none of them was moving on their own accord. Like a ghostly hand, pushing pawns in a game of chess around. He heard steps coming closer. Vegeta wondered, where the voice that had lured him here had went and why he hadn't found it's source yet. The steps grew louder and more familiar. It was the sound of gold-tipped boots. Slowly, Vegeta raised his head further to see, who was walking towards him in the darkness. Something flashed on the figures chest. It seemed to be jewelry, but it was too short for Vegeta to be sure. He had an odd feeling in his stomach. As if some part of him knew, who was coming up to him, yet didn't dare to...

The figure's hair stood up like black flames and slowly, it detached itself from the darkness and stepped half into the light, facing him. The blood in Vegeta's veins froze. A cold smirk. Black flaming hair. Icy coal black eyes. Blood red cape. Pure white gloves. A chest armor of the same white. A sign on the left chest, right over the heart. A necklace, he had last seen his dead father wear. "No..." he whispered, closing his eyes to not see the face in front of him. His own face.

"Weakling. Look your enemy into the eye, like a man. Like a warrior," the man, that looked so much like him, sneered. Reluctantly, Vegeta obeyed his dream-self. He was aware of the fact, that the prince in front of him was the person, he could have been.

He felt his counterparts eyes burn his nude skin. He didn't back down this time, like he had from the figures before. He stood as tall and as proud as he possibly could, preparing himself for whatever this creation of his pain-crazed mind would throw at him. "Weakling," it sneered at him, then it pulled something out behind him. It was the brat, held by his collar. No, the boy, Vegeta corrected himself. "This," the dream-image sneered, "is the evidence of your failure." The voice was deadly poisonous. Trunks struggled against the iron hand that held him, but it was useless. He looked pleadingly at Vegeta. Then, the dream-image raised a hand and an eerie red glow surrounded it, like the powering up of a ki-attack. Then, the hand dropped to the height of Trunks' head. The flash of light blinded Vegeta for a moment, then Trunks headless corpse fell down in front of him, blood spilling out of it like water out of a fountain. His dream-self crossed his arms and said with a smirk: "Now it has been eliminated."

It took a moment for him to understand, what had just happened, then he screamed bloody murder. His rage built up, taking him to new levels of pain and despair he hadn't known yet and he was ready to fling himself at the bastard when a pair of slender arms sneaked around his neck from behind. The dream-Vegeta's face, a grimace of triumph and disgust, fell. "No, go away," he hissed at whatever it was, that pressed it's body (just as nude as his own) against Vegeta's. He felt ample breasts caressing his back and hair, softer then silk, tickling him. "Vegeta," the person whispered. It was the voice, that had lured him into the light. And now he recognized it, knew, who the voice belonged to. "Bulma?" he asked shyly. Too scared to admit that he was scared. "Vegeta," Bulma said and he felt a tender kiss on his shoulder. "NO!" the dream-Vegeta roared. Bulma didn't seem to notice. Slowly, her arms loosened around Vegeta's neck to allow her to walk around the warrior. She stopped just in front of him, facing him. Her lips found their way to his, gently caressing them. Having Bulma close drove the coldness away. It made Vegeta feel protected for once in his life. He dared to embrace her, to kiss her back. And that was, when the dream-Vegeta stroke again. His hand shoot out and tore half of Bulma's face off. With a strangled scream, Vegeta pushed her away. Under the skin, the metallic skull of an android was visible. The dream-Vegeta went into roaring fits of laughter, pointing at him. The figures, that had been enclosing on him did the same. Only Bulma- her face half android, half human- didn't. She looked at him, beggingly. "Vegeta, a machine cannot lie. It can't fake anything. And a machine can't have a soul. I had a soul. There was a soul in me. You felt it. You touched it with yours! Vegeta, a soul cannot be artificial. Feelings cannot be artificial. It was real. I was real. We were real," she exclaimed, trying to drown out the laughter around them. Both, her pleas and the laughter became a deafening roar and Vegeta couldn't stand it anymore. He covered his ears, wishing for all this to end. "Vegeta, my love wasn't ...", she yelled, but before she ended her sentence, Vegeta's dream-self had cut her head off.

It was then, Vegeta heard himself scream and woke up.

He was disorientated for a moment, then he recognized the bed. It still smelled like the cursed machine had. No. He shook his head. A soul cannot be artificial, he repeated in his head. The bed smelled like Bulma. It felt soothing to think of her as a person again. Yes, Bulma. Not some android, just Bulma. He was about to settle back into bed (the starry night sky outside his window suggested he should), when he noticed something, a presence, behind his bedroom door. Vegeta stared at it and watched almost fascinatedly, how the doorknob turned slowly and the door opened just wide enough for a very slim person to slip through. And just as he observed that, a small, slender shadow slid into the room. With a clicking sound, the lamp on his table came to life and sheathed creamy orange-yellow light into the darkness. "Trunks." Vegeta stated. His voice was neutral, as usual, but somewhere well hidden in him, a tiny part regretted that he hadn't sounded at least a tiny bit more friendly or surprised.

"Dad, can we talk?" Trunks asked shyly, climbing on his father's side of the double bed effortlessly (and without waiting for a reply, Vegeta noticed with some pride). He was about to shove the kid away when he noticed his eyes. Blue eyes, looking pleadingly at him. Her eyes. Vegeta found himself nodding his head. Silence followed. The prince waited patiently. And he would have to wait some more, because for an hour or more, Trunks just sat across from him, trying to find the right words to express, what was on his mind. Vegeta didn't rush him, but remained calmly sitting, waiting for his son to begin. It was shortly before sunrise, when Trunks finally found the courage to ask the question, he had come to ask. "Dad, is it my fault mom is gone?" he whispered, and it sounded so desperate, that Vegeta could only fathom what was going on in his son's head. "What makes you think that?" he replied. He hadn't wanted to say that, though. He had wanted to say "Yes.", straight into the boy's face. What had kept him from doing that? "But... but... if I hadn't run after the ball, the car would have never come close to me and mom would have never pushed me aside and she wouldn't have d..." Trunks stopped and looked down. He feels just like you did, when your home was blown to bits, a tiny voice whispered in his head. Vegeta pondered that statement. "No, you aren't," he heard himself say. He hadn't wanted to say that, either- weird, very weird. He shook his head. "Brat- I can't explain it to you, but you are no more responsible for this then your grandmother is for snow, got that? And I don't want you to feel guilty. I want you to feel proud. Be proud of your mother, understood, Trunks?" he said and Trunks slowly nodded. Vegeta knew and felt that, for a real father-son-moment, something was missing. "Your mother and I love you," he said very slowly and for lack of inspiration (he truly didn't know what one could say in such a situation). Trunks nodded again. "Do you love mom as well?" he asked innocently. Vegeta battled a soft "Yes," out of himself and this time, his son smiled at him. Only a little, and only very short, but a smile nevertheless. It was just what Vegeta needed to assure himself, he hadn't lowered his pride or gone weak. It was all in that smile of trust, adoration and love, because the feeling it caused in him felt so right, that it was impossible for it to be wrong. No, he decided, he hadn't shown weakness. He had shown strength.

In the after life, however, things were different. Bulma was still on Enma Daiouh's desk, sitting on the sello tape now, and watching the underworld king judging souls by the dozen. His mood had taken a turn to the worse when all the souls, Vegeta had killed, arrived. It took a while for the first of those souls to appear in front of them and Bulma had a feeling, as if some of them were giving her nasty looks. As if it were HER fault, they had been killed. Also, some of them seemed to be extremely satisfied to see her dead, as well, and the way they said the name of their murderer, Bulma knew, that they were looking forward to see him suffer. She understood the hate. She remembered clearly to have felt it once herself, some time ago, when Vegeta had come to Earth for the first time. She had hated that Vegeta and she was grateful, that this warrior was now nothing but a ghost of the past, even if it still came to haunt Vegeta. Little did she know, that she was wrong.