Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Perfection ❯ Chapter 13 ( Chapter 13 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Todesengel_ 
We had sex. No. We had A LOT of sex.
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Horror / Psychological | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 06.14.2006 | Pages: 4 | Words: 3.2K | Visits: 439 | Status: Completed
We had sex. No. We had A LOT of sex.
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Horror / Psychological | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 06.14.2006 | Pages: 4 | Words: 3.2K | Visits: 439 | Status: Completed
We had sex.
No. We had a LOT of sex.
For three days total, we spent our hours drinking away the moments with each other. Showering in sweat and saliva, it seemed I spent three days entirely on fire until I virtually burned myself out. The world was our mattress and the very skies and oceans the cool silk sheets that held us. We panted our seconds away, our lips touching every inch of moist flesh beneath them. I would throw my head back in the bliss of every tick of the clock, his mouth grinding into my exposed throat.
Days passed like hours where we would neither eat or sleep, totally soaked in the essence of each other. The meaning of the phrase "two become one" became painfully clear to me and I mourned in the moments that thought would return and I would see the face over or beneath me as the last person I was thinking of. In the flurry of my emotional release I would gaze down into his eyes and fold my hands over his throat, wanting to choke the life from his body, to affirm within myself that there truly was ONLY one of us worthy of existence.
Other times I would bite him painfully, hearing him hitch his breath in surprise and perhaps even anger at my unprecedented roughness. But I hated him you see. I hated that I'd succumb to this, this selfish male with the conquest only to fulfill his own sexual experiments via 'himself' of all people. I felt like I was suddenly the man that cared and was passionate about nothing; save for the thrill of the moment. I couldn't live my life like that. Loving, feeling, thinking NOTHING but what my body told me it liked.
And between us, as I would stare into his beautiful mouth, panting over my forehead, I knew that it wasn't Vegeta's and I wanted to kill him for it.
But know that I loved it as much as I want to pretend that I didn't. I hate being so human, to acknowledge how amazing it felt, how lost I became in it. Yes, I suppose that's a perfect way to put it. I lost myself to it, the euphoria of shattering orgasms and the scent of him all over me. I liked knowing that we were both fallen angels of what we'd once been, of the man so long ago that cared for things enough to fight for them.
We looked back in our moments and thought of the days when ChiChi had been enough for us, to times with our son and to times with friend's spent in the simplest summer days. We looked back to the selfless man we'd once been who would have thrown up in seeing what we'd both become. Truly, we'd betrayed our own memory of who we'd once been. But it was ok. Because we were doing it together and because as far as I had fallen, I looked into his lustful, drug stained eyes and knew he'd crashed further than me.
The sex was terrific, obscenely so. In fact, if there is a way to say that sex is perfection, our sex was its personification. There was no awkwardness to it, nor the quizzical doubt of whether or not the other party would like what we were doing. We knew exactly where to touch, where to kiss the other and what pressure to use in exactly the right places. But in that, there was also a lot of underlining sourness. There wasn't the usual exploration of the other's body, the triumph in finding places that the other person didn't even realize was a weakness. We needed only to listen to the rapid breathing or the cuts in pants to know exactly what we'd accomplished and I found quite honestly, that without even the smallest traces of love seeding the ordeal, it was actually quite empty.
It was lust and when you'd known at one point what real love was, the passion fired up and simmered so quickly.
Apparently, Kakarot knew the same, the drugs never ceasing their adventures beneath his skin, his countenance sometimes painfully unkind.
Eventually, sex became a sadistic outlet for pent up fetishes, working out on each other the violent tendencies of our bloodlines. He would choke me as we both came; I would tear gashes in the flesh of his back. We would even cut each other with ki tipped fingertips, drinking blood like animals. And as often as I could recall losing myself in sex with Vegeta, it had never been so withdrawn as the moments when would tear our teeth into veins, gorging ourselves on lust and sadism.
By the fourth day, I woke up alone, squeaking back the facet of hot water as I took a shower. I felt shame. I really felt dirty and sick with myself, letting the water cascade over broken wounds and festering gashes, washing away the illness of what we'd done. I felt for a moment that maybe I understood what a prostitute must feel after the first time she sells herself, signing away every moral she'd been taught in life for dollar bills that could NEVER EVER pay for what she'd lost on sweat-stained bedsheets.
I sank to the bottom of the tub, my face between my knees as I swallowed. Water pooled on my forehead, dripping down around my eyes. I watched them fall to the porcelain floor, resembling teardrops I wouldn't allow myself. The hot steam rose around me, losing me in a world I didn't think I'd ever understand.
God, how much I missed Vegeta.
I buried my face between my palms, covering my eyes as I let myself see him again. He sat, as always, amongst the most beautiful of memories, sinking beneath the heat of natural hot springs. His black eyes were dashed by shadows, appearing mysterious and even a bit wicked as he smirked, like he knew so many things I never would. Like behind beauty there rested everything about myself I'd never known.
I looked up, bringing my hands slowly down my throat, marred by painfully deep teeth marks. I just stared up at the ceiling, feeling so nauseous suddenly.
I thought for an instant that maybe if I'd just taken a few more minutes before diving into this new world, I might have instead, wished for Vegeta to love me, truly love me. But then I also knew that such a wish would have become jaded, just as this one had. Wishes made through selfishness would never be what they were intended for. And as I saw it, I'd gotten precisely what I'd asked for.
I would never, ever see him again.
As I walked from the shower, a towel wrapped around my waist, a young, green haired boy sat on my bed, playing with an action figure. I glanced around, wondering if there was anyone else in the room or if he'd somehow lost his way.
"Umm...." I started, getting his attention. "Hey kiddo. Can I help you?"
His eyes darted up to mine, a very brilliant turquoise color.
"Mr. Kakarot said you would read this to me." He held out a book with fairytale looking cartoon drawings on the front. His voice was very childlike, almost feminine, and he was probably less than 5 years of age. "He's too busy today."
I squinted, looking at the book and wondering just what would keep Kakarot so occupied. And more so, what the purpose of this child was, in a world where there wasn't a meaningless job to be found.
"What's your name?" I asked, pulling on a black robe and sitting next to him on the bed.
"Roman," He answered, looking up at my features and pausing for a second. I closed my eyes, allowing him the moment it usually took for humans to grasp all of my unnatural features. From the flawless, smooth skin to the brilliant, inhuman radiance of my eye color, it often took people by surprise, being in such closeness to me. Roman though, got over it quickly, confusion masking his face.
"Are you really old?" He asked me, looking suddenly so adorable I felt the oddest urge to hug him.
"Why?" I laughed, rolling my eyes.
"Because your hair!" He giggled, brave enough to touch the ends on one side. "It's so white!"
I smiled, always forgetting the entire loss of pigment that the transformation caused. My hair was so silvery white and my eyes so furiously pale blue, it was a constant blessing to rarely be confused with Kakarot. I instantly liked little Roman, gesturing for him to hand me the book.
"You know Kakarot huh?" I said mildly, looking through pages of the fairytale story book. "What do you think of him?"
"Mr. Kakarot?" He made a silly face. "He's a hero. He saved me."
"How do you mean?" I asked, honestly confused.
"My mom," He said quietly. "got hit by a car when I was still in her belly. Back when cars were on the streets hurting people. Mr. Kakarot found her and saved me. She died but I'm ok and Mr. Kakarot lets me stay here."
It dawned on me suddenly, the whys of a thousand things. Why did he kill older people off when they seemingly had so much purpose left in the world? I knew suddenly.
To destroy their memory. To destroy the human's history. A generation born to slavery would hear tales only of a life before where children were raped and killed just from walking outside. They would hear radical stories of the worst crimes against humanity and be lead to believe that they were common place in those times. Like little Roman, cars and trucks and automobiles of all sorts would be seen as technological monsters, the number of souls lost to their tyranny no doubt exaggerated with time. Would they even realize that they were slaves? Would 14 hours a day become leisurely and the human ability to adapt be stretched until nothing was seemingly out of the ordinary?
He was a genius. He destroyed their past and showed them only glimpses of a paradise that he'd created with their help.
I shook my head, amazed that I would even let myself marvel at what he'd done, what he was still doing. No wonder the bastard flooded his system with drugs; to numb the necessary evils.
"We're here," Little Roman told me, pointing to a page about half way through the book. A picture of a cartoon woman, carrying a tiara on her brow and sporting a very frilly, pink dress shown, locked high in a tower and shackled to a wall. How morbid children's books could be, I had to humor myself, shuffling through a few pages. "The beautiful princess has just been kidnapped by the evil dragon and he's stolen her voice."
"Why did he steal her voice?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Because in all the kingdom, the princess has the most beautiful voice of anybody." He told me as if I were completely stupid. "And her voice is so pretty that when she sings, the villagers are at peace. But without her song, they're afraid."
I sighed, wondering at how simplistic children's books were. Were adults so afraid of lost innocence that they wrote books to hold on to whatever last scraps of ignorance they could?
About a half hour later, we lifted the last page of the book, the picture somewhat grotesque. The green scaled dragon had sunk to the ground, blood spilling from its sharp fangs, a sword in its back from a great knight that had finished it off.
"The Princess sang," I read the caption. "and her voice was so beautiful that the dragon's evil powers were cut off and he fell to the ground dead. For nothing so evil could withstand the goodness of her voice."
I closed the book, smiling down at my little companion. In a lot of ways, he reminded me of my own son, perhaps the reason Kakarot had obviously found him appealing enough to keep him in the castle. There was a lot of innocence in the boy, a very real idolism he looked up at people with. And trust. Trust was something even Gohan had little of, even from a young age, demonstrated so hurtfully on the day I'd told him the truth of Vegeta and me.
Yet, I would never see that same look in the eyes of Roman. I knew that and I knew very instantaneously that I adored him. In all his admiration, I wanted to see myself through his eyes. Something flawless, something kind and something heroic.
"Oh!" The young boy squirmed suddenly, brilliant eyes shinning. "I have to go outside! My baseball lesson is almost started! Thank you mister!"
"Goku," I told him with a lopsided grin, sad to see his company go. "My name is Goku."
"Hm," He said, tiny features moving with wonderment. "Mr. Kakarot said that was his name, a long long time ago."
He shrugged just as quickly as the revelation hit him, waving as he scampered out the door, the light clacking of his shoes on the marble quickly dissipating.
Yes, I nodded for no one to see. A VERY long long time ago.
I dressed myself with numbness, with none of the fascination I'd temporarily let myself have for this world. I felt like I'd sunk into quick sand and very slowly was being devoured by it. Everytime I breathed, it was like every bit of it was just in vain and wasted on preserving a pointless life. Everything that had been painted so long ago was ugly gray again, even brown at the edges and I sighed for the millionth time, seeing no beauty in this world or even in the one that had been mine so long ago.
The contorting of air molecules silenced my depressing thoughts, the very slight swoosh of material sounding throughout the air, so light that even with hypersensitive hearing, I had to wince to catch it. Slow, almost inhumanely slow, something moved outside the door. As if someone had turned everything into slow motion, I could pick up the traces of air moving along the jagged edges of cotton pants, the thighs of whoever it was, very gradually brushing the material against itself. Yet I heard no breath, no beating where a heart should have pulsated.
Only the strangest sound came, like water moving in a vacuum hose or something. A very thick draining sound came, with an odd slapping of wetness against marble and I strained as the screeching of uneven fingernails seemed to scratch along the door frame.
I caught my breath to hear better, a strange wheezing coming from underneath the crack of the door, not breathing, but a very hissing sound as though someone where trying to speak but could not.
I stood, sensing that the presence had ceased all movement, both of us agonizing over what to do next. I moved forward, sensing the thing move backwards. With great speed, I went towards the door, viciously yanking at the knob and nearly tearing it from its hinges.
Nothing met my endeavors except the speedy clapping of rapid footsteps over smooth concrete, far away. I raced after them, my curiosity growing along with an unreasonable dread. Something didn't feel right, in this masquerade of a world, and my heart was pounding against the inside of my ribcage, beating much faster than my running demanded. Everything just felt wrong and I wrapped myself around corners, gaining on the thing.
The running footsteps were coming closer and as I wound into a new hallway, I felt myself go entirely numb, nearly falling as I caught sight of something I'd never anticipated seeing.
Pale, blue hair.
"B...." I stumbled, coming to a halt. "Bulma?"
The intruder stopped, turning the right side of its face towards me.
It was her.
The saddest eye I'd ever seen met my gaze and I was so lost in this predicament that I didn't even stop her when she turned another corner, glancing back once more with the side of her face, staring at me hard with the most sorrowful look I'd ever seen.
I didn't bother to follow, having the sense only to flee the mansion, to try to clear my chaotic thoughts as I sped through the sky. As much as nothing had really made sense, whatever marginally had, was now completely fucked up. Bulma was supposed to be dead, yet I'd seen her, hadn't I?
I swooped down to a familiar spot, clutching muddy, old papers in my hand, a diary of a man once named Goku. I knew, without needing any real proof of such, that my answer lay within him and the only truth I'd ever found, despite my time with Kakarot, lay within the papers I held in my palm.
So I took them and I flew with the insane thoughts coursing like raging rapids through my brain. And for no apparent reason, I found a cave and I stashed them within, laying against the cool, hard rock and gazing up at nothing in particular at all, but a thousand more questions than I'd had the day before.
All of them centered around the blue hair and the man that had called himself Goku, a long, long time ago.
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No. We had a LOT of sex.
For three days total, we spent our hours drinking away the moments with each other. Showering in sweat and saliva, it seemed I spent three days entirely on fire until I virtually burned myself out. The world was our mattress and the very skies and oceans the cool silk sheets that held us. We panted our seconds away, our lips touching every inch of moist flesh beneath them. I would throw my head back in the bliss of every tick of the clock, his mouth grinding into my exposed throat.
Days passed like hours where we would neither eat or sleep, totally soaked in the essence of each other. The meaning of the phrase "two become one" became painfully clear to me and I mourned in the moments that thought would return and I would see the face over or beneath me as the last person I was thinking of. In the flurry of my emotional release I would gaze down into his eyes and fold my hands over his throat, wanting to choke the life from his body, to affirm within myself that there truly was ONLY one of us worthy of existence.
Other times I would bite him painfully, hearing him hitch his breath in surprise and perhaps even anger at my unprecedented roughness. But I hated him you see. I hated that I'd succumb to this, this selfish male with the conquest only to fulfill his own sexual experiments via 'himself' of all people. I felt like I was suddenly the man that cared and was passionate about nothing; save for the thrill of the moment. I couldn't live my life like that. Loving, feeling, thinking NOTHING but what my body told me it liked.
And between us, as I would stare into his beautiful mouth, panting over my forehead, I knew that it wasn't Vegeta's and I wanted to kill him for it.
But know that I loved it as much as I want to pretend that I didn't. I hate being so human, to acknowledge how amazing it felt, how lost I became in it. Yes, I suppose that's a perfect way to put it. I lost myself to it, the euphoria of shattering orgasms and the scent of him all over me. I liked knowing that we were both fallen angels of what we'd once been, of the man so long ago that cared for things enough to fight for them.
We looked back in our moments and thought of the days when ChiChi had been enough for us, to times with our son and to times with friend's spent in the simplest summer days. We looked back to the selfless man we'd once been who would have thrown up in seeing what we'd both become. Truly, we'd betrayed our own memory of who we'd once been. But it was ok. Because we were doing it together and because as far as I had fallen, I looked into his lustful, drug stained eyes and knew he'd crashed further than me.
The sex was terrific, obscenely so. In fact, if there is a way to say that sex is perfection, our sex was its personification. There was no awkwardness to it, nor the quizzical doubt of whether or not the other party would like what we were doing. We knew exactly where to touch, where to kiss the other and what pressure to use in exactly the right places. But in that, there was also a lot of underlining sourness. There wasn't the usual exploration of the other's body, the triumph in finding places that the other person didn't even realize was a weakness. We needed only to listen to the rapid breathing or the cuts in pants to know exactly what we'd accomplished and I found quite honestly, that without even the smallest traces of love seeding the ordeal, it was actually quite empty.
It was lust and when you'd known at one point what real love was, the passion fired up and simmered so quickly.
Apparently, Kakarot knew the same, the drugs never ceasing their adventures beneath his skin, his countenance sometimes painfully unkind.
Eventually, sex became a sadistic outlet for pent up fetishes, working out on each other the violent tendencies of our bloodlines. He would choke me as we both came; I would tear gashes in the flesh of his back. We would even cut each other with ki tipped fingertips, drinking blood like animals. And as often as I could recall losing myself in sex with Vegeta, it had never been so withdrawn as the moments when would tear our teeth into veins, gorging ourselves on lust and sadism.
By the fourth day, I woke up alone, squeaking back the facet of hot water as I took a shower. I felt shame. I really felt dirty and sick with myself, letting the water cascade over broken wounds and festering gashes, washing away the illness of what we'd done. I felt for a moment that maybe I understood what a prostitute must feel after the first time she sells herself, signing away every moral she'd been taught in life for dollar bills that could NEVER EVER pay for what she'd lost on sweat-stained bedsheets.
I sank to the bottom of the tub, my face between my knees as I swallowed. Water pooled on my forehead, dripping down around my eyes. I watched them fall to the porcelain floor, resembling teardrops I wouldn't allow myself. The hot steam rose around me, losing me in a world I didn't think I'd ever understand.
God, how much I missed Vegeta.
I buried my face between my palms, covering my eyes as I let myself see him again. He sat, as always, amongst the most beautiful of memories, sinking beneath the heat of natural hot springs. His black eyes were dashed by shadows, appearing mysterious and even a bit wicked as he smirked, like he knew so many things I never would. Like behind beauty there rested everything about myself I'd never known.
I looked up, bringing my hands slowly down my throat, marred by painfully deep teeth marks. I just stared up at the ceiling, feeling so nauseous suddenly.
I thought for an instant that maybe if I'd just taken a few more minutes before diving into this new world, I might have instead, wished for Vegeta to love me, truly love me. But then I also knew that such a wish would have become jaded, just as this one had. Wishes made through selfishness would never be what they were intended for. And as I saw it, I'd gotten precisely what I'd asked for.
I would never, ever see him again.
As I walked from the shower, a towel wrapped around my waist, a young, green haired boy sat on my bed, playing with an action figure. I glanced around, wondering if there was anyone else in the room or if he'd somehow lost his way.
"Umm...." I started, getting his attention. "Hey kiddo. Can I help you?"
His eyes darted up to mine, a very brilliant turquoise color.
"Mr. Kakarot said you would read this to me." He held out a book with fairytale looking cartoon drawings on the front. His voice was very childlike, almost feminine, and he was probably less than 5 years of age. "He's too busy today."
I squinted, looking at the book and wondering just what would keep Kakarot so occupied. And more so, what the purpose of this child was, in a world where there wasn't a meaningless job to be found.
"What's your name?" I asked, pulling on a black robe and sitting next to him on the bed.
"Roman," He answered, looking up at my features and pausing for a second. I closed my eyes, allowing him the moment it usually took for humans to grasp all of my unnatural features. From the flawless, smooth skin to the brilliant, inhuman radiance of my eye color, it often took people by surprise, being in such closeness to me. Roman though, got over it quickly, confusion masking his face.
"Are you really old?" He asked me, looking suddenly so adorable I felt the oddest urge to hug him.
"Why?" I laughed, rolling my eyes.
"Because your hair!" He giggled, brave enough to touch the ends on one side. "It's so white!"
I smiled, always forgetting the entire loss of pigment that the transformation caused. My hair was so silvery white and my eyes so furiously pale blue, it was a constant blessing to rarely be confused with Kakarot. I instantly liked little Roman, gesturing for him to hand me the book.
"You know Kakarot huh?" I said mildly, looking through pages of the fairytale story book. "What do you think of him?"
"Mr. Kakarot?" He made a silly face. "He's a hero. He saved me."
"How do you mean?" I asked, honestly confused.
"My mom," He said quietly. "got hit by a car when I was still in her belly. Back when cars were on the streets hurting people. Mr. Kakarot found her and saved me. She died but I'm ok and Mr. Kakarot lets me stay here."
It dawned on me suddenly, the whys of a thousand things. Why did he kill older people off when they seemingly had so much purpose left in the world? I knew suddenly.
To destroy their memory. To destroy the human's history. A generation born to slavery would hear tales only of a life before where children were raped and killed just from walking outside. They would hear radical stories of the worst crimes against humanity and be lead to believe that they were common place in those times. Like little Roman, cars and trucks and automobiles of all sorts would be seen as technological monsters, the number of souls lost to their tyranny no doubt exaggerated with time. Would they even realize that they were slaves? Would 14 hours a day become leisurely and the human ability to adapt be stretched until nothing was seemingly out of the ordinary?
He was a genius. He destroyed their past and showed them only glimpses of a paradise that he'd created with their help.
I shook my head, amazed that I would even let myself marvel at what he'd done, what he was still doing. No wonder the bastard flooded his system with drugs; to numb the necessary evils.
"We're here," Little Roman told me, pointing to a page about half way through the book. A picture of a cartoon woman, carrying a tiara on her brow and sporting a very frilly, pink dress shown, locked high in a tower and shackled to a wall. How morbid children's books could be, I had to humor myself, shuffling through a few pages. "The beautiful princess has just been kidnapped by the evil dragon and he's stolen her voice."
"Why did he steal her voice?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Because in all the kingdom, the princess has the most beautiful voice of anybody." He told me as if I were completely stupid. "And her voice is so pretty that when she sings, the villagers are at peace. But without her song, they're afraid."
I sighed, wondering at how simplistic children's books were. Were adults so afraid of lost innocence that they wrote books to hold on to whatever last scraps of ignorance they could?
About a half hour later, we lifted the last page of the book, the picture somewhat grotesque. The green scaled dragon had sunk to the ground, blood spilling from its sharp fangs, a sword in its back from a great knight that had finished it off.
"The Princess sang," I read the caption. "and her voice was so beautiful that the dragon's evil powers were cut off and he fell to the ground dead. For nothing so evil could withstand the goodness of her voice."
I closed the book, smiling down at my little companion. In a lot of ways, he reminded me of my own son, perhaps the reason Kakarot had obviously found him appealing enough to keep him in the castle. There was a lot of innocence in the boy, a very real idolism he looked up at people with. And trust. Trust was something even Gohan had little of, even from a young age, demonstrated so hurtfully on the day I'd told him the truth of Vegeta and me.
Yet, I would never see that same look in the eyes of Roman. I knew that and I knew very instantaneously that I adored him. In all his admiration, I wanted to see myself through his eyes. Something flawless, something kind and something heroic.
"Oh!" The young boy squirmed suddenly, brilliant eyes shinning. "I have to go outside! My baseball lesson is almost started! Thank you mister!"
"Goku," I told him with a lopsided grin, sad to see his company go. "My name is Goku."
"Hm," He said, tiny features moving with wonderment. "Mr. Kakarot said that was his name, a long long time ago."
He shrugged just as quickly as the revelation hit him, waving as he scampered out the door, the light clacking of his shoes on the marble quickly dissipating.
Yes, I nodded for no one to see. A VERY long long time ago.
I dressed myself with numbness, with none of the fascination I'd temporarily let myself have for this world. I felt like I'd sunk into quick sand and very slowly was being devoured by it. Everytime I breathed, it was like every bit of it was just in vain and wasted on preserving a pointless life. Everything that had been painted so long ago was ugly gray again, even brown at the edges and I sighed for the millionth time, seeing no beauty in this world or even in the one that had been mine so long ago.
The contorting of air molecules silenced my depressing thoughts, the very slight swoosh of material sounding throughout the air, so light that even with hypersensitive hearing, I had to wince to catch it. Slow, almost inhumanely slow, something moved outside the door. As if someone had turned everything into slow motion, I could pick up the traces of air moving along the jagged edges of cotton pants, the thighs of whoever it was, very gradually brushing the material against itself. Yet I heard no breath, no beating where a heart should have pulsated.
Only the strangest sound came, like water moving in a vacuum hose or something. A very thick draining sound came, with an odd slapping of wetness against marble and I strained as the screeching of uneven fingernails seemed to scratch along the door frame.
I caught my breath to hear better, a strange wheezing coming from underneath the crack of the door, not breathing, but a very hissing sound as though someone where trying to speak but could not.
I stood, sensing that the presence had ceased all movement, both of us agonizing over what to do next. I moved forward, sensing the thing move backwards. With great speed, I went towards the door, viciously yanking at the knob and nearly tearing it from its hinges.
Nothing met my endeavors except the speedy clapping of rapid footsteps over smooth concrete, far away. I raced after them, my curiosity growing along with an unreasonable dread. Something didn't feel right, in this masquerade of a world, and my heart was pounding against the inside of my ribcage, beating much faster than my running demanded. Everything just felt wrong and I wrapped myself around corners, gaining on the thing.
The running footsteps were coming closer and as I wound into a new hallway, I felt myself go entirely numb, nearly falling as I caught sight of something I'd never anticipated seeing.
Pale, blue hair.
"B...." I stumbled, coming to a halt. "Bulma?"
The intruder stopped, turning the right side of its face towards me.
It was her.
The saddest eye I'd ever seen met my gaze and I was so lost in this predicament that I didn't even stop her when she turned another corner, glancing back once more with the side of her face, staring at me hard with the most sorrowful look I'd ever seen.
I didn't bother to follow, having the sense only to flee the mansion, to try to clear my chaotic thoughts as I sped through the sky. As much as nothing had really made sense, whatever marginally had, was now completely fucked up. Bulma was supposed to be dead, yet I'd seen her, hadn't I?
I swooped down to a familiar spot, clutching muddy, old papers in my hand, a diary of a man once named Goku. I knew, without needing any real proof of such, that my answer lay within him and the only truth I'd ever found, despite my time with Kakarot, lay within the papers I held in my palm.
So I took them and I flew with the insane thoughts coursing like raging rapids through my brain. And for no apparent reason, I found a cave and I stashed them within, laying against the cool, hard rock and gazing up at nothing in particular at all, but a thousand more questions than I'd had the day before.
All of them centered around the blue hair and the man that had called himself Goku, a long, long time ago.
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