Author's Notes: I can hear you all already, "What? Another fic, before she's even finished It's a Start or Parable of the Eagle?" Yes, another fic before any of that. It's a Start is almost over, I'll let you know that much, and once I'm done with that, I'm gonna need something else to occupy my time—I can't just do one-shots! So this idea came to me a little while back—with a little help from Psycho Ann's one-shot Close Your Eyes—and I just had to get it started. I hope this lives up to whatever standards I've set for myself. Without further ado, on with the first chapter!
Staring out into the darkening sky washed over with violet, he began to think from his post, perched precariously atop one of the tallest buildings left among the ruins of what had once been a great metropolis.
How long…how long has it been? He couldn't remember anymore—had forgotten long ago. For sure more than a year, more than two he would say. Three? Three…yes, three sounded like a nice round number. Three. Three long years, alone, on the run, not daring to go back, not daring to move on. Home was far away, so far away it was another lifetime.
But oh, how he missed it. How he missed the times of peace, when he, his father, and mother would all gather around the dining room table at night and dive into one of Chichi's magnificent feasts. They would talk, laugh, enjoy life to the fullest, basking in the warmth of each other's love. But those times, he was forced to admit, were few and far between, even when Goku was still alive. It seemed there was always some new enemy the Saiyan had to train to defeat, which left little time for frivolities like family.
Yes, that image he kept ingrained in his mind was nothing more than a dream—a vision of what would have been the ideal atmosphere at the Son home. A lie.
Daddy died…Daddy died three years ago…
But it wasn't just his father. No, his father had only been the beginning of all the death, of all the horrible destruction and chaos soon to follow his passing. He would dare say his father's demise was the cause of all the horror to come. For if Goku…if Goku hadn't died, he could have protected them all, protected them all from them.
The androids.
If only they could have seen it coming, if only there had been some warning, if only they had been able to prepare, if only…if only a lot of things.
He absently flicked a chunk of pebble-sized concrete from the building ledge, watching lazily as it streaked into the distance. He half-heartedly pushed his senses out into the rubble of what was left of the downtown district, scanning for some—any sign of life, though fully expecting to find none. He knew first-hand how thorough the androids were when they ravaged a city, leaving no stone unturned, no building standing, and no life anywhere. It was all just a big game to them, and you got points deducted by not finishing the job.
He still fought sometimes, you know, still helped out when he could—but it was quickly becoming too much for one lone demi-Saiyan to bear. He was alone, all alone now…Piccolo, Yamcha, Tien, Krillin…even Vegeta was gone. The Prince of Saiyans, taken out in a single blow by the female, Number 18.
It had actually been grimly funny to watch him die. All his life he'd been trapped in "Kakarrot's" shadow, forever following behind with respect to power, and he'd finally achieved that which he most desired: Super Saiyan status. Ironically it was his anger and fury at Goku's demise that pushed him over the edge. Feeling more alone than ever, without even so much as his rival to banter with, it all exploded one summer's night in a canyon a few hundred miles from Orange Star City. He'd done it, finally reached that hidden plateau denied him for so long. But what was even worse was how little difference it made.
Gohan now saw the mistake the elder Saiyan made—one that seemed ingrained in the prince's system—he was too cocky, too self-assured. No sooner had he gained this newfound power than he was off to fight 17 and 18. It was sad, really. For the first time in his life he was actually fighting for something other than himself: he was fighting for the Earth, for all the innocent lives these monsters had taken.
But it mattered not one bit. All his power: useless against them. And it was while watching him die, being pounded into a bloody unrecognizable pulp that Gohan promised himself that would never happen to him. He absolutely would not be a useless sacrifice. He would fight the androids, yes, but he would not die like Vegeta: he would not die for his pride.
He would always make sure he came out of the "spars" alive. For that was what he considered his bouts with the androids: spars, mock battles. Though they might not have realized it, he was always fighting with the knowledge he couldn't win. Winning, however, was never his ultimate purpose—at least, not yet. They were the tools of their own undoing. Never get killed, he ordered himself, always get out.
His mother cried the night he left: this much he remembered. He could still see her in his dreams, clinging desperately to his gi, soaking it with her tears. He could still hear her sobbing his name, begging him with all her heart not to leave her: she'd already lost Goku, how could he abandon her too? It seemed logic didn't work with her, and no matter how vehemently he assured her he'd survive and visit often, it failed to comfort her. Eventually he could reason no more, and he just left, blasted out the door bound for the last city the androids had been sighted at. Her voice stayed with him for miles, carried on the air to his ears, before eventually fading away.
He would track them across continents, from city to city, remote village to urban metropolis he would follow them. Sometimes he would try and stop them, placing himself between a deadly blast and a group of people, urging them to flee, but it never paid off. He would always have to retreat in the end—for his promise to himself—and they'd simply round up the few that had managed to escape and use them for target practice, laughing in their cold monotone voices at the pathetic humans.
Forever training himself and pushing his limits, he was pleased to announce he'd finally broken the barrier dividing normal Saiyan from Super Saiyan many months ago. Where had it been…where…oh yes, now he remembered. For that was the image which haunted his nightmares…
East City was under attack then—now it was just a big black crater—and he'd followed the screams and military arsenal to the city's main entrance, watching from a building ledge as the pair simply strolled through the gate, greeted with missiles and machine gun fire. Naturally none of this had any effect whatsoever on the duo, who responded to the welcome with strategic ki blasts, bringing the building Gohan had been seated on down upon the tanks and soldiers. He'd cursed himself for hesitating the few moments it took him to spring into action—perhaps he was getting tired of always failing at the task it had been entrusted to him to carry out—it was all mere routine. He was the only one left to save them all, everyone else was gone.
The last of the Son men, it was logical he'd step up and take his father's place. Yet he failed miserably time and time again. He just wasn't strong enough yet, he'd argue with himself. Why waste time fighting when you know you can't win?! What use is it?
Daddy would've fought… Daddy would've fought no matter what…
Well, Daddy wasn't around anymore. It was up to him to see that it all worked out, that everything returned to the way it was supposed to be. The way it was before it all went so wrong.
The androids had moved into the middle of the city now, and he found himself floating in the air above a raging inferno. Entire city blocks were ablaze, and the tortured cries of thousands of souls trapped in high-rises reached his ears only to be muffled by yet another blast and more screams. The streets below were a raging flood of human bodies—some moving, some not—and at the center of all the chaos were those responsible for it.
They smiled at their handiwork, turning this way and that to blast a random passerby or another building, cold eyes reflecting the red light of the fires which raged around them. Dumbstruck, he just floated for what seemed an eternity, the carnage unfolding before his eyes.
Something caught 17's eye suddenly, and he lowered his finger, a smirk edging its way onto his face. Stepping gracefully forward, he maneuvered his way around a blazing heap of metal—once a car—and into an alley. There, behind a dumpster, cowered a little girl clutching a doll to her chest, her parents a few feet away lying motionless in a pool of blood. Sensing someone coming up behind her, she whipped her head around, her green eyes widening at the sight of the black-haired youth. Gripping the back of her neck he snatched her up with lightning celerity and sauntered back over to his sister.
"A young one," Gohan remembered him sneering, the child twitching under his grasp. "What should we do with it?" His tone made it evident he knew perfectly well what to do with it.
18 stared straight into the little girl's eyes and smirked just as her brother had done. "Toss it."
Hardly needing any further orders, 17 flung the child, still gripping her doll fiercely, into the air, nearly colliding with Gohan, while 18 raised a disinterested hand and vaporized the girl right in front of his eyes. The high-pitched screams stayed in his mind long after her tiny form had disintegrated, and he couldn't help but remember how they had executed Krillin in much the same way.
Krillin…that poor human had been the last of his species on their team to die. He'd had to watch as Yamcha and Tien went before him, practically waiting his turn in line to be killed. It made no difference that the three had attacked all at the same time; the androids took their time in dispatching the human Z-fighters. One right after another they fell, and when they reached Krillin, they'd tossed him—just like that little girl.
Gohan wasn't sure the man's survival was a blessing though…He'd rocketed back to the ground missing half his limbs, lacking even the strength to stare death in the face. The last thing he'd seen was the blinding light of two ki blasts aimed at his heart.
And then Piccolo…his teacher, his mentor, his friend… He'd jumped in to help—his fusion with the Earth's guardian Kami had made him arguably the most powerful fighter on their team then. But just like Vegeta, it made no difference; maybe if he could've taken them one at a time—maybe he could've done it. But those monsters ganged up on him, and with two on one it didn't take long for him to crumble as well. Gohan didn't remember how Mr. Piccolo died—he'd turned his head so he didn't have to watch—but the screams that assaulted his ears assured him it was a painful way to go.
Everyone…forgive me please—forgive me forgive me…I let you down and I'm sorry—I let you all down…Daddy…
As he hovered there, images and memories of his friends' deaths flashing through his mind at light speed, something inside cracked. All this time he'd hidden, all this time he'd cowered in fear, run away. He didn't help Krillin and Piccolo and the others; he sat back and watched them all die die die. They'd called out to him, called for help, they couldn't die—but they had died, he'd seen it with his own eyes. He was useless, weak, a milk-sop unworthy of the Saiyan blood in his veins, and surely this wasn't the son of Goku, surely not…
His eyes flashed in fury, oscillating between black and a cold empty blue—the blue of a Super Saiyan. Wind whipped around him, ruffling his hair and fueling the flames below which reached up higher and higher, licking his tiny form with scalding tongues. He paid them no attention—all he could focus on was the scream still rattling inside his head. It got louder and louder the longer he stood there, not even caring that its sheer volume was actually painful. Only when it shot up another octave did he realize that it was actually he who was yelling. The girl was gone, everything was red, and all he heard was his own cry.
They were looking straight at him now, the noise alerting them to his presence, watching him more in curiosity than fear or worry—it was amusing. Another Saiyan—they hadn't killed them all already? My my, this certainly made things more interesting…
No time, no time! He had to make it as quick as possible. Finally comprehending the transformation occurring, he cupped his hands behind him as he'd seen his father and the others do. It'd been so long since he used this attack, so very very long…
"Ka…"
They smiled at him, perhaps feeling a twinge of pity for him. The poor little fool—he wasn't seriously going to try that attack was he?
"Me…"
Well, they would give this planet one thing: its inhabitants certainly tried hard to defend it. Casting a quick glance at one another, the brother and sister mirrored Gohan's move and cupped their own hands behind their back, chanting along with him.
"Ha…" A trio of voices uttered the third syllable, and the energy strained at three pairs of palms, yearning to break free of the tethers of will holding it in place.
"Me…" Gohan's hair flashed in the fading light, lit up in a more brilliant gold color than that of the female android below him. Great shadows lengthened along the streets, engulfing dead bodies and piles of rubble as the three energy balls grew brighter and larger.
"HAA!" came three fury-laden yells as two beams rocketed upwards to meet the third, exploding in a blinding flash of light and smoke. The shockwaves sent Gohan and the androids in separate directions, making for an easy escape, though his blast served no greater purpose than that. East City was a smoking crater now, with the only evidence it even existed being a small sign along the highway: "East City, Five Miles."
Following the East City battle he'd trained non-stop in an effort to ascend once more, harnessing the anger and rage he felt at watching his friends die needlessly and channeling it to shoot him through the barrier, releasing his Super Saiyan powers. After months of training it began to take less and less concentration to transform, and by now he was able to lock onto the memory at will, exploding in a blast of light and energy, just like his dad.
He flicked another piece of concrete off the roof into the rubble of the city below, still straining to sense any kis. Nothing. All dead. But it wasn't that big of a disappointment really—he hadn't expected any different. Death was an all too common occurrence these days, almost mundane, banal. For three years it had been this way.
Three years…it's been too long. He heaved his thirteen-year-old body upright, standing and regarding the destruction below for a moment. Another city reduced to a ghost town, just like so many others before, just like so many more in the future. Turning his head to the horizon in the west, he saw a curl of smoke inching its way above the mountains, barely visible against the lavender evening sky. They were at it again—didn't they sleep?
Slowly he lifted into the air, hovering barely a foot above the ledge, eyes still focused on the tendril of smoke in the distance.
Time for another spar.
Post-Chapter Notes: If you haven't noticed yet, this will be set in the Mirai timeline. It'll be a low start, but eventually will be Mirai Gohan/Mirai Videl (duh, Gh/Vi is pretty much all I write). I might bend a couple of happenings to suit my angst-fancy, but on the whole this will follow Trunks' future line as best I can manage it. Hopefully I won't screw it up too badly, and if I do, feel free to yell at me about it—in review form of course ^_^. I should really be getting back to my other stories (I still owe everyone a review special for IAS!), but I'm actually having a lot of fun with this line, so I may as well milk it for all it's worth. Alright, enough rambling—sage