Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Perfection ❯ Chapter 16 ( Chapter 16 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Todesengel_ 
"He might have saved me!"
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Horror / Psychological | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 11.21.2006 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.5K | Visits: 345 | Status: Completed
"He might have saved me!"
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Horror / Psychological | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 11.21.2006 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.5K | Visits: 345 | Status: Completed
"Interesting change in hair color." Dr. Briefs grinned, oblivious to both my identity and to my newly acquired murderous nature. The other scientists in the room gawked at me, probably feeling the rage just SEEPING from me, however much the doctor seemed to be ignoring it. They all stepped back as I came up to him, eyes burning.I grabbed the collar of his shirt, hoisting him into the air and slamming his back against metal cupboards. A slight hitch in breath sounded and he stared into my eyes with the same fear every human held when grasping the fact that I was no more human than a great cat pacing behind metal bars. The very real instinctual fear that they were now dealing with the ultimate unpredictable.
"I'm not him," I said simply, not liking the fact that I so often had to go into an ordeal when stating the obvious. "But believe me when I say we're both prone towards random acts of violence. Which body member are you most attached to and how lucky are you feeling at the moment?"His eyebrows raised and he managed to choke out a very cliche "who are you" before I dropped him into a heap on the ground.
"That doesn't matter," I said point blank. "and let me say only that any deviance on your account will not go unnoticed. You've seen the Kakarot of this world enact the worst of crimes. I may not be him but I'm feeling extremely versatile at the moment. I'll be asking the questions. You'll be answering."
He hesitated for only a second, nodding finally and then ushering me to follow him.
"Please," He reasoned as I walked quickly behind him. "I'll do whatever you ask, threats or no threats. I'd heard rumors of a strange arrival and I'll tell you whatever you need to know. Only, let's not talk here."
I nodded though he couldn't see, following him into an elevator and watching as he inserted a card from his left sleeve, turning a key and winking towards me as we began to fall. The pace with which the elevator descended was alarming and I grabbed the bar next to me, wishing for it to be over. He seemed less than worried, apparently having done this repeatedly throughout time and I could only conclude that we were going to his secret lab, the basis for all of the horrors he had created.
"There's just so much I'm not understanding," I sighed aloud as we finally reached the bottom, watching as he flicked on lights. The room was huge, a mess of broken glass and machines. The floor was littered with a thousand papers, some waded into balls, botched experiments that didn't compute, others held by bent paper clips. Large fluorescent lights illuminated yellow liquid held in enormous containers that resembled rejuvenation tanks, ugly greenish bubbles floating to the top.
"Yes," He said in a numb voice, catching where my eyes connected. "The same liquid that keeps her mobile. A mass of proteins once used to heal the body's outer wounds and now......"
"To heal a walking wound." I finished for him, giving him a cold gaze.
He swallowed hard, turning from me and placing on his glasses. I took in his small frame, hating myself for feeling the need to be so rough with him. He was human. He was a small man in comparison to most. Yet I saw him as something greater, something to be harsh with. He was a father. He was supposed to be above pettiness and selfishness with regards his family. Yet he'd used her. He'd used his only daughter as justification for something that his scientist's heart had wanted all along. He'd played God with his own flesh and blood and that made me hate him.
I tossed the tape recorder on the ground, the clash of plastic breaking over cement making him jump. He looked down at it, recognition slowly dawning.
"Oh." he said simply.
"I want to know why." I demanded. "I know the how. I want to know the why."
"You mean," He walked boldly towards me. "Why? Why would someone do something like that to his only daughter? Create a monster out of her remains?""You mean to tell me that you loved her," I crossed my arms, not asking: telling. "You mean to tell me that desperation for her loss pushed you towards insanity that broke only when you saw what you had done. But please believe I'm not so ignorant as to buy that. You loved her. I know that. You hated that she died. I know that. But I also recognize the human obsession with more. I understand the human fascination with being MORE than human. Why humans write books and create movies and dream within themselves of being greater than everyone else. The human inability to accept basic limitations.
"You saw a means to work as a God and you didn't have her beside you to tell you it was wrong. She told you, didn't she? Isn't that why you hid this monstrous concoction from her? She told you time and time again what an abomination you would create if you used that shit. Yet you would use it on HER? The one being that saw it as blasphemous, you would choose to use it on HER?!"
"I wanted her to understand!" He cut me off, turning away in his shame. "She was the only one that could ever grasp the thin line between life and death. That religious acceptance of a soul's basic plot in the scheme of things was ridiculous. We aren't just a soul with a fleshy shield around us. The body is not so simple as to need a God to fuel it. A body is a complexity not you not anyone else could understand. I had to show her that. I had to make her see what we could do, what we could accomplish!"
"By raising up her dead body!?" I nearly screamed. "By making her into a..... a fucking THING?!"
"It didn't turn out the way I had planned," He turned towards me, despair in his face. "I've read Frankenstein, I've read the evils of cloning, of creating life from nothingness. But I believed myself to be beyond that. Truly, Victor was not formally in love with his creation. He made a mass of body parts but held no attachment to the being that had once thrived beneath the flesh. I loved my daughter. I thought...." He lowered his gaze. "I thought that would suffice."
"You thought a lot of things," I said in a cool tone. "but you thought nothing through."
"Perhaps," He said simply, nodding his head. "I saw in my mind's eye her getting up from that table, the crushed side of her face healed instantaneously by the miracle that flowed through the tubing in her veins. I saw the improbable beauty that she'd always resonated with, in full bloom. My mind's vision was clouded by guilt of what I was doing and false hope that it would all turn out right. That she would hop from that table, throw her arms around me and tell me that it was a miracle. That she couldn't believe she had stood so long in the way of progress.
"But it wasn't that way. The moment her body had died the healing process was forever gone, her limbs animated by random thoughts that graze from her memory. If she does remember things, they are almost always forgotten and hushed by the constant state of agony she endures.""Agony?""Her body is made up of nerve systems and censors. That's how she registers anything at all. Her body tells her mind when to move only based on how much pain she is enduring. The valves in her heart that cause it to contort and constrict, releasing the blood and fluid throughout her body, must feel like knives twisting constantly about. Every touch, every movement of the air hurts her. She's in a constant state of pain.
"Perhaps Bulma was right all along, and her soul was released long ago and exists now in a plain far away from here. But whether or not that is true, her body suffers here and will for eternity. She cannot die. Her mind cannot stop and she needs no rest. If her memory is intact and her mind able to process real coherent thought, it must be progressed into a state of absolute madness that neither of us could ever really understand. The torture she feels would have blocked any real thought process from ever really forming and if she can think, she thinks only of the pain that exists every second of every single day."
"So why did you create her? Why did you keep her alive?" I insisted.
His eyes became misty and he sat over a counter, hands riling around each other in his lap.
"I was so in love with my creation," He said in a soft voice. "I looked in fascination as her fingers began to move; as she sat up, her mouth opening as though she was trying to speak. I thought again of how clever I had been, how truly weak minded Victor Frankenstein must have been to gaze on and not be obsessed with what his hands had created. I thought again of how truly I had power that Kakarot could never understand. I thought of how many generations had tried to make this very thing and that in all the history of man, I was the first one to make and to witness the power over that which God only can wield.
"And then I realized, she wasn't trying to speak." He looked into my eyes. "She was trying to scream."
I gasped slightly, horrified by what he was telling me.
"I saw her skin," He shook his head, staring off in terror himself as he recalled the memory. "Fake chemicals pumping like yellow acid beneath rotted, bluish flesh. I saw the bloatedness of her cheeks trembling as the awful greenish proteins flushed into them, her one good eye bleeding puke colors like tears. Her vocal cords had been damaged when he crushed her skull, blood trickling from her mouth as she tried to scream. I had thought so stupidly that the proteins and healing enhancers could have fixed every amount of damage his blow had inflicted, sickened when the chemicals merely made the wounds alive. Blood and fluid pumped from the gashes in her skull, draining like mucus down her face.
"Her eye," He gagged. "it became a pale color, like the eyes of someone dead as the pigmentation drained out. Her arms began to flail about in a shockingly unnatural way, as you must have seen yourself."I nodded numbly, swallowing.
"The bones pushed unnaturally beneath paper thin skin, festering with pussing sores as the chemicals reacted with infection. I just panicked," he said in a crushed voice. "I looked on and I couldn't believe what I'd created. This horror. This monster. This walking nightmare, a zombie from scary movies manifested in the body of my once beautiful daughter.
"I picked up the largest chunk of broken glass I could find, my fingers chipping off pieces as I trembled so violently. I held it to her throat, gazing at the awful liquid that churned beneath plastic and fueled this animated imitation of life. I just kept telling her I was sorry. She was right, all along so right. I shouldn't have played God. I should have let her rest. I should put her back to sleep, my beautiful baby girl. But then she looked into me, with that nightmare that one could only loosely refer to as an eye, and my God," He raised his fingers to his lips, gaze full of terror as he shook. "She recognized me."
My fingers felt lifeless and a cold chill ran up the hairs on my neck.
"It was in that instant that I hesitated," He told me. "I saw her as my daughter. I saw her as the one I loved rather than a hunk of moving flesh, incapable of knowing life. And in that hesitation, he found us."
.........................
I had flown towards my cave, my one place of solitude in this madness considered a world. I would find Kakarot, I would demand he free Bulma-- to whatever evil fate she would be left with and then.... then I just didn't know.
Only, nothing really turned out that way at all.
I walked in, seeing him standing there, his face contorted by emotions I'd so seldom faced that I was unable to recognize them. There was pain, I knew that. The eyebrows turned downwards, the eyes tinted with sadness and his mouth slanted with loss.
He held the papers in his hand, the ones that I had written, a diary to myself, the only person I thought could ever grasp the meaning of them.
Shit.
"How?"... he asked me, holding them within his fingers.
"Why are you reading my things?" I demanding, stepping forwards.
A new stack of papers left his other hand, burned and chipped at the corners. The diariy he had kept as Gohan and ChiChi died.
"Why would all that matter?" He said coldly. "You've already read mine."
I saw the betrayal in his features, his face completely void of the usual stoic nature it held. His pupils flickered and he glanced away, for once, afraid to meet my gaze.
"How could you do this?" he whispered. I strained to hear it. "He... He was meant to be here."
I almost gasped aloud, realizing the apocalypse that was this revelation. He knew what had been missing. The once fictional creation of his own mind was now realized by the being that had wished it away. I'd taken the one person in his life that had made such an impact that the loss of that person had created an entire alternate dimension. And now? He realized it. Every wish, every feeling, every promise within himself was actualized by the truth: that someone HAD, indeed, been missing.
"How could you?" He whispered once more, finally gazing into my eyes. His lips quivered, his eyes brimming with tears I had never believed could form there. "How could you have wished him away.. don't you see?!"He turned away, voice cracking as his chin wrinkled.
"Don't you see?" he cried out. "He might have saved me!"
"I'm not him," I said simply, not liking the fact that I so often had to go into an ordeal when stating the obvious. "But believe me when I say we're both prone towards random acts of violence. Which body member are you most attached to and how lucky are you feeling at the moment?"His eyebrows raised and he managed to choke out a very cliche "who are you" before I dropped him into a heap on the ground.
"That doesn't matter," I said point blank. "and let me say only that any deviance on your account will not go unnoticed. You've seen the Kakarot of this world enact the worst of crimes. I may not be him but I'm feeling extremely versatile at the moment. I'll be asking the questions. You'll be answering."
He hesitated for only a second, nodding finally and then ushering me to follow him.
"Please," He reasoned as I walked quickly behind him. "I'll do whatever you ask, threats or no threats. I'd heard rumors of a strange arrival and I'll tell you whatever you need to know. Only, let's not talk here."
I nodded though he couldn't see, following him into an elevator and watching as he inserted a card from his left sleeve, turning a key and winking towards me as we began to fall. The pace with which the elevator descended was alarming and I grabbed the bar next to me, wishing for it to be over. He seemed less than worried, apparently having done this repeatedly throughout time and I could only conclude that we were going to his secret lab, the basis for all of the horrors he had created.
"There's just so much I'm not understanding," I sighed aloud as we finally reached the bottom, watching as he flicked on lights. The room was huge, a mess of broken glass and machines. The floor was littered with a thousand papers, some waded into balls, botched experiments that didn't compute, others held by bent paper clips. Large fluorescent lights illuminated yellow liquid held in enormous containers that resembled rejuvenation tanks, ugly greenish bubbles floating to the top.
"Yes," He said in a numb voice, catching where my eyes connected. "The same liquid that keeps her mobile. A mass of proteins once used to heal the body's outer wounds and now......"
"To heal a walking wound." I finished for him, giving him a cold gaze.
He swallowed hard, turning from me and placing on his glasses. I took in his small frame, hating myself for feeling the need to be so rough with him. He was human. He was a small man in comparison to most. Yet I saw him as something greater, something to be harsh with. He was a father. He was supposed to be above pettiness and selfishness with regards his family. Yet he'd used her. He'd used his only daughter as justification for something that his scientist's heart had wanted all along. He'd played God with his own flesh and blood and that made me hate him.
I tossed the tape recorder on the ground, the clash of plastic breaking over cement making him jump. He looked down at it, recognition slowly dawning.
"Oh." he said simply.
"I want to know why." I demanded. "I know the how. I want to know the why."
"You mean," He walked boldly towards me. "Why? Why would someone do something like that to his only daughter? Create a monster out of her remains?""You mean to tell me that you loved her," I crossed my arms, not asking: telling. "You mean to tell me that desperation for her loss pushed you towards insanity that broke only when you saw what you had done. But please believe I'm not so ignorant as to buy that. You loved her. I know that. You hated that she died. I know that. But I also recognize the human obsession with more. I understand the human fascination with being MORE than human. Why humans write books and create movies and dream within themselves of being greater than everyone else. The human inability to accept basic limitations.
"You saw a means to work as a God and you didn't have her beside you to tell you it was wrong. She told you, didn't she? Isn't that why you hid this monstrous concoction from her? She told you time and time again what an abomination you would create if you used that shit. Yet you would use it on HER? The one being that saw it as blasphemous, you would choose to use it on HER?!"
"I wanted her to understand!" He cut me off, turning away in his shame. "She was the only one that could ever grasp the thin line between life and death. That religious acceptance of a soul's basic plot in the scheme of things was ridiculous. We aren't just a soul with a fleshy shield around us. The body is not so simple as to need a God to fuel it. A body is a complexity not you not anyone else could understand. I had to show her that. I had to make her see what we could do, what we could accomplish!"
"By raising up her dead body!?" I nearly screamed. "By making her into a..... a fucking THING?!"
"It didn't turn out the way I had planned," He turned towards me, despair in his face. "I've read Frankenstein, I've read the evils of cloning, of creating life from nothingness. But I believed myself to be beyond that. Truly, Victor was not formally in love with his creation. He made a mass of body parts but held no attachment to the being that had once thrived beneath the flesh. I loved my daughter. I thought...." He lowered his gaze. "I thought that would suffice."
"You thought a lot of things," I said in a cool tone. "but you thought nothing through."
"Perhaps," He said simply, nodding his head. "I saw in my mind's eye her getting up from that table, the crushed side of her face healed instantaneously by the miracle that flowed through the tubing in her veins. I saw the improbable beauty that she'd always resonated with, in full bloom. My mind's vision was clouded by guilt of what I was doing and false hope that it would all turn out right. That she would hop from that table, throw her arms around me and tell me that it was a miracle. That she couldn't believe she had stood so long in the way of progress.
"But it wasn't that way. The moment her body had died the healing process was forever gone, her limbs animated by random thoughts that graze from her memory. If she does remember things, they are almost always forgotten and hushed by the constant state of agony she endures.""Agony?""Her body is made up of nerve systems and censors. That's how she registers anything at all. Her body tells her mind when to move only based on how much pain she is enduring. The valves in her heart that cause it to contort and constrict, releasing the blood and fluid throughout her body, must feel like knives twisting constantly about. Every touch, every movement of the air hurts her. She's in a constant state of pain.
"Perhaps Bulma was right all along, and her soul was released long ago and exists now in a plain far away from here. But whether or not that is true, her body suffers here and will for eternity. She cannot die. Her mind cannot stop and she needs no rest. If her memory is intact and her mind able to process real coherent thought, it must be progressed into a state of absolute madness that neither of us could ever really understand. The torture she feels would have blocked any real thought process from ever really forming and if she can think, she thinks only of the pain that exists every second of every single day."
"So why did you create her? Why did you keep her alive?" I insisted.
His eyes became misty and he sat over a counter, hands riling around each other in his lap.
"I was so in love with my creation," He said in a soft voice. "I looked in fascination as her fingers began to move; as she sat up, her mouth opening as though she was trying to speak. I thought again of how clever I had been, how truly weak minded Victor Frankenstein must have been to gaze on and not be obsessed with what his hands had created. I thought again of how truly I had power that Kakarot could never understand. I thought of how many generations had tried to make this very thing and that in all the history of man, I was the first one to make and to witness the power over that which God only can wield.
"And then I realized, she wasn't trying to speak." He looked into my eyes. "She was trying to scream."
I gasped slightly, horrified by what he was telling me.
"I saw her skin," He shook his head, staring off in terror himself as he recalled the memory. "Fake chemicals pumping like yellow acid beneath rotted, bluish flesh. I saw the bloatedness of her cheeks trembling as the awful greenish proteins flushed into them, her one good eye bleeding puke colors like tears. Her vocal cords had been damaged when he crushed her skull, blood trickling from her mouth as she tried to scream. I had thought so stupidly that the proteins and healing enhancers could have fixed every amount of damage his blow had inflicted, sickened when the chemicals merely made the wounds alive. Blood and fluid pumped from the gashes in her skull, draining like mucus down her face.
"Her eye," He gagged. "it became a pale color, like the eyes of someone dead as the pigmentation drained out. Her arms began to flail about in a shockingly unnatural way, as you must have seen yourself."I nodded numbly, swallowing.
"The bones pushed unnaturally beneath paper thin skin, festering with pussing sores as the chemicals reacted with infection. I just panicked," he said in a crushed voice. "I looked on and I couldn't believe what I'd created. This horror. This monster. This walking nightmare, a zombie from scary movies manifested in the body of my once beautiful daughter.
"I picked up the largest chunk of broken glass I could find, my fingers chipping off pieces as I trembled so violently. I held it to her throat, gazing at the awful liquid that churned beneath plastic and fueled this animated imitation of life. I just kept telling her I was sorry. She was right, all along so right. I shouldn't have played God. I should have let her rest. I should put her back to sleep, my beautiful baby girl. But then she looked into me, with that nightmare that one could only loosely refer to as an eye, and my God," He raised his fingers to his lips, gaze full of terror as he shook. "She recognized me."
My fingers felt lifeless and a cold chill ran up the hairs on my neck.
"It was in that instant that I hesitated," He told me. "I saw her as my daughter. I saw her as the one I loved rather than a hunk of moving flesh, incapable of knowing life. And in that hesitation, he found us."
.........................
I had flown towards my cave, my one place of solitude in this madness considered a world. I would find Kakarot, I would demand he free Bulma-- to whatever evil fate she would be left with and then.... then I just didn't know.
Only, nothing really turned out that way at all.
I walked in, seeing him standing there, his face contorted by emotions I'd so seldom faced that I was unable to recognize them. There was pain, I knew that. The eyebrows turned downwards, the eyes tinted with sadness and his mouth slanted with loss.
He held the papers in his hand, the ones that I had written, a diary to myself, the only person I thought could ever grasp the meaning of them.
Shit.
"How?"... he asked me, holding them within his fingers.
"Why are you reading my things?" I demanding, stepping forwards.
A new stack of papers left his other hand, burned and chipped at the corners. The diariy he had kept as Gohan and ChiChi died.
"Why would all that matter?" He said coldly. "You've already read mine."
I saw the betrayal in his features, his face completely void of the usual stoic nature it held. His pupils flickered and he glanced away, for once, afraid to meet my gaze.
"How could you do this?" he whispered. I strained to hear it. "He... He was meant to be here."
I almost gasped aloud, realizing the apocalypse that was this revelation. He knew what had been missing. The once fictional creation of his own mind was now realized by the being that had wished it away. I'd taken the one person in his life that had made such an impact that the loss of that person had created an entire alternate dimension. And now? He realized it. Every wish, every feeling, every promise within himself was actualized by the truth: that someone HAD, indeed, been missing.
"How could you?" He whispered once more, finally gazing into my eyes. His lips quivered, his eyes brimming with tears I had never believed could form there. "How could you have wished him away.. don't you see?!"He turned away, voice cracking as his chin wrinkled.
"Don't you see?" he cried out. "He might have saved me!"