Bra had lived a happy, semi-normal life for the most part. She lived in warm, loving home with her family as any normal earth-child would have been expected. Her mother was a brilliant scientist, who owned a huge international company. She was hugely successful, and through her success, allowed her family to live in supreme luxury. She was beautiful despite her age. Her short, shoulder length hair, was a radiant cerulean. Her eyes were a soft blue, yet had the glint of mischief.

She was a beautiful woman, something that wasn't lost on her daughter. Bra inherited her mother's radiance. Her hair, though flowing far down her back, was the same perfect cerulean shade. She had her same inviting, deep blue eyes, yet they were stronger, and held a devastating gaze. That she inherited from her father.

Her father was an extremely strong man. A Saiyan Prince in his past life, and he would let no one forget that. He was a cold man, distant, perhaps due to the cruel life he had endured. His pride was the most important thing to him. Without his dignity and pride, he was nothing. He kept his feelings to himself, as he believed them to only be a weakness.

He was a reasonably attractive man. He had thick dark hair, ever defiant to gravity, standing like a royal crown and never changing. His skin was tanned, perhaps another Saiyan trait. His eyes were cold, cruel, with a distinctive hint of cockiness. Bra had his eyes. His body was chiseled to near perfection due to years of training. His appearance was that of a young man. The Saiyan blood flowing through his veins kept his body young.

Bra had noticed watching both her father and his constant rival Kakkorot that they never really aged. At least they didn't age at the same rate as humans. She knew this had deeply troubled her mother, as she herself was aging at what seemed like an accelerated rate compared with the rest of her own household.

Her father was someone in which she held in the highest regard. It wasn't that she favored one parent over the other; it was just that she was more like her father. Not in appearance of course, but in every other aspect of her life. Her strength, her pride, her arrogance and her determination, she inherited all from him. He was her inspiration, her role model for life.

As she was her father's daughter, Trunks, her older brother, was his mother's son. He headed the all important sales department of the Capsule Corporations operations. He had a brilliant mind like his mother. He had her soft composure, although he was a strong warrior like his father. He trained very rarely now, to his fathers disappointment. He used to train Bra occasionally in the past, but no longer. He was always too busy with his work. When the inevitable day arrived that his mother could no longer handle her position, he would take over the business.

This perfect life of wealth, family and happiness was but a distant memory now. It was destroyed in horrific accident several years prior. Bra had been training with her father, and they were having a ferocious fight. For hours they had been battling. They suddenly met in a fierce deadlock, and as the two huge powers collided head on, the sheer force of their enormous energies consumed and demolished the western wing of their home. Bulma had been inside at the time. She wasn't even aware that her daughter and husband were training outside. It was little consolation to both warriors, but she had in fact died instantly. She was spared the agony.

Bra is haunted by the vision permanently etched in her mind. It took her father and her several minutes before they found her bloodied and broken body amongst the rumble. She looked so delicate, so calm. She has never forgiven herself for what she did. She has to live with the fact that she had a part in her own mother's death.

What hurt more was the reality that her mother could not be wished back. She could not be revived. The dragon balls had been without their power for many years. They never appeared again after Kakkorot disappeared with them. The dragon balls became evil, and the seven dragons within wrecked havoc on the earth, before her father and Kakkorot had destroyed them. To stop the seven evil dragons coming forth again, everyone decided to never create dragon balls again. So now her mother couldn't be wished back, and all natural events on earth remained that way from then on with no disruptions; natural and untouched by the powerful magic of the balls.

Life returned back to something that resembled normal, yet it was always going to be a place without her mother. Bra refused to train, much to her father's dismay. She always blamed herself for her mother's death, and decided that if she never trained again, then she couldn't hurt anyone. Bra now spent most of her time at home. She had become a recluse. Her once strong and bubbly personality had been replaced with a very quiet and shy one.

Vegeta threw himself into training more than ever. Very rarely did anyone see him, unless he was going to eat in the kitchen or he was walking to or from the Gravity Machine.

Welcome to my life. Welcome to the hell that is my life. Imagine living life not knowing that the next time you see your brother, he may be dead. Imagine again, seeing your father, who was one of the strongest men on the planet, being unable to not only fight, but unable to walk or stand. Imagine burying all of the people you love, friends or family, because of a deadly illness to which there is no cure. Imagine that, but imagine yourself being the only person the illness hasn't touched. Living in guilt that you are the only person who seems immune. This is my life.

My brother, Trunks lost consciousness a few days ago. My father also lies in his bed, yet he is still awake but in serious pain. He cannot speak, as the virus has taken over his vocal chords, as it has done with my brother. I have wrecked my brains for a cure, but I have been unsuccessful. Even with my mother's genius cursing through my veins, I cannot think of a thing. I know that I will lose them both if I do not come up with something soon. I could not lose them as well. I could not stand to be alone.

I wish I could make my mother proud, but what can I do? I've tried every single medicine possible to cure the sick. Not even sensu beans work. But there's not a lot I can do; I'm only eighteen.

This virus is horrible. It originated somewhere in space, by a scientist who was trying to stop the warriors of his planet from becoming too strong. This planet had trouble with their warriors when they surpassed a certain power level; they lost control and would kill thousands of the population. The virus attacks the strongest warriors and eventually kills them as precaution. It is tremendously cruel when you hear the story, but I have to live through this everyday. A meteor from the same planet hit our planet a few months ago and since then, this hell has consumed my life.

The weakest die first. I myself have witnessed far too many funerals over the last few weeks. Each funeral has been attended by less and less people. Yamcha was the first. I never liked him though. My father told me at a young age that he was evil. Being a young child, I believed everything my father told me. So I always believed he was.

Next were Tien and Chaotsu. Both died within a few hours of each other. Since they cared for each other, the other caught it from the first. Now many more are dead. Piccolo, Krillin, Eighteen and the saddest funeral of all was that of Pan. My very best friend in the world. She died two days ago. Even with her strong Saiyan blood, she died. She fought it for along time, but she just wasn't strong enough. Why haven't I caught it? Is it fair for me to witness my friends and family's pain, but be healthy at the same time? Mocking them with my strength, my immunity?

There is no cure, of that I am certain. So why am I immune? There must be some sort of scientific reason. It can't be my DNA, because I have my father's DNA. I am so ashamed of my health. I have had no symptoms, no nothing. I should be grateful and glad, but to bury all of my friends, to witness the slow decay of my loved ones, it pains me. I feel that they do not want to look upon my face and see the health spread across my features. I feel I should hide myself from them and to a certain degree, that's what I do. The strong relationship that I once had with my father and brother has deteriorated and I hate myself for it.

I suddenly realize that the tea I was making for Trunks is getting cold. I yawn and quickly walk up the stairs to his room. As I place the cup by the bed I glance at his once happy looking face and see a shrunken face. I hold his hand tightly and start to whisper in his ear. "I bought you a cup of tea." I bring him up a hot cup of tea every few hours. I don't even know why I continue to do it. He has been in a deep coma for a few days now. I guess I try to keep to a routine now. I just pray for the day when he opens his blue eyes so that I may look to them for hope. Hope is a rare commodity these days. Everyone has lost any glimmer of hope.

"I will fix this, I promise. I will not let anyone else die. Please try to wake up. I need you to wake up. I need strength from you. I love you Trunks," I felt myself begin to well up with tears, and I had no time for crying now. I stood up and brushed some of the lavender streaks of hair out of his face. I stroked his cheek. "Please be here in the morning," I finished as I left the room.

I walked very slowly down the rest of the hall to my father's room for fear of what I may see. He could be dead in his bed and I wasn't there for his last moments. I entered the room and sat on the bed next to him. His chest was slowly rising up and down as he breathed. His eyes started to flutter and he opened them ever so slowly before locking them with my own. They were full of pain and fear. Something I have never seen his eyes before. His eyes always told the story of strength and of fighting spirit. This unnerved me. However, he was awake, and that was enough. If I lost him to the coma now, then I would be alone. No one to even look back at me, or acknowledge me.

"Father, I will not let you die. I will find a way to cure you, I promise," I spoke quietly as I looked into his eyes again. "I hope I haven't disappointed you. If I have I am deeply sorry. I have spent my life fighting for your approval, to make you proud of me as you are with Trunks. I will make you proud though, Father, you just wait. I promise," I whispered in his ear.

I wiped at my tears frustrated that I had shown him weakness. I looked away to hide my face. I felt his body move beside me as I turned to look at him again. His eyes were strung with tears as he looked at me proudly. I had never seen him so emotional. I knew that he would never show this kind of weakness. I remembered suddenly being told by Krillin a long time ago, that he had seen my father cry. He wept just before his death. He had given up, he knew he was defeated. He smiled lovingly at me now and took my hand. I squeezed it tightly.
Had he given up now? Did he realize that he was defeated? Had the illness finally beaten him?

I got up slowly and turned to walk away to my own bedroom. It was late and I was tired. I had to sleep. I was at his door looking back at him, when I realized I didn't want to leave him. I turned around, slowly got on the bed and stretched my body out on the bed beside him. I pulled a spare blanket over myself and fell asleep rather quickly.

I had been dreaming. I had a strange dream. In the dream I was my father. I was seeing things that he had explained to me. In the dream, I was him. First I saw a man that must have been Nappa. The dream jumped and I was looking at Goku, and he was ready to fight me. I saw Frieza and the Ginyu force.

Next I saw a creature that could only be Cell. He stood before me and he was speaking to me. Next I saw him regenerate himself. "I have Piccolo's cells in me too, fool! I will regenerate every time you hit me!" he laughed at me. Next came an ugly pink creature and then an extremely bright light, followed by pain. I sat up panicked on the bed.

I let my breathing ease as I looked at my father sleeping beside me. His chest was rising and falling slowly as he wheezed out his breathing. I thought back to the dream. The only opponent that spoke in the dream was Cell. Not even I spoke. "I can regenerate, fool!" Cell laughed at me.

That's it! My father told me that he could regenerate because he was made up of Piccolo's cells. Not only Piccolo, but of Goku, Gohan, Frieza and my father. He was partly made of my father and Trunks! Regenerative Saiyan cells!

I rocked my father gently. He did not wake so I rocked him desperately until his eyes opened. "Daddy, I have a plan," I started immediately. He blinked at me uninterested, but I decided to continue. "I was just dreaming about your past and what you have told me in all of your stories. I have an idea of how I can save you and Trunks and Goku and everyone else who is still with us," I started excitedly. My father only blinked.

"You once told me that Cell, had all of your cells in him, and that he can regenerate. If I could get his cells, his blood, I could inject it into you and the regenerative cells will regenerate your own cells and will make you healthy again. I will go back to the past and I will somehow bring Cell back to our time," I finished excitedly and out of breath.

My father's face was moving as he tried frantically to form words. He must have lost his voice in the night. The fear in his eyes was unbearable. He was in fear for me. He thought I would be killed. He shook his head furiously, though it pained him.

"I have to do this, it is the only way," I reassured him, as I tried to settle his body as it quaked. He was trying desperately to form words as I began to cry. I sniffed and wiped my tears away and nodded proudly. "I will make you proud, father, just as I said I would," I whispered before getting up and walking out of the room.