jm3

“Can We Start Over?”

By Jennifer L. Mondazzi

Part 3

Will you hold my heart?
Namida uketomete... (Catch my tears...)
Mou kowaresou na all my heart... (All my heart is ready to break...)

March 25th, in the year 765

It had been only a mere a week since she had first been admitted to the intensive care unit at the hospital, but thanks to the miracles of modern medicine, Bulma had recovered well, and was on now her way home finally. No more bad food, no more crabby nurses, no more tubes or needles or bandages, no more complaining neighbors who banged against her wall at the insane hours of the night, and no more bed pans. No more overwhelming smell of Ammonia or Lysol, no more boring television commercials playing 24-hours a day, no more leaching blood from her every few hours, and no more ugly green robes.
Probably the best thing, though, was that she could finally take a long, hot shower in her own bathroom, all on her own - without the help of a pushy aide. She was free!
Although she was supposedly confined to bed rest for another two weeks, she was overjoyed that she was home finally.
Most of all though, she was excited to see the faces of her friends and family once more. Before the ‘incident’ in her room, she had believed herself to be totally alone, but now, she knew better. Everyday, her friends and family would come to visit her, encouraging her recovery, and everyday, she had found another reason to go on living. The bleakness that she had believed to have been surrounded by had simply vanished, replaced by a comforting warmth, and a feeling of being loved.
For once, Bulma felt good.

“Honey, is there anything else you need?” her mother asked her, bending down to retrieve the dinner tray from her lap. “Perhaps another helping of rice, or how about dessert? I made some cherry-topped cheesecake - your favorite.”
Bulma shook her head and smiled.
“I’m fine, mama, really. I’m totally stuffed. Thanks though.”
“Alright then, dear,” her mother said in a sing-songy tone. “If you need anything, just...”
“...push the button,” Bulma interrupted with a grin. “I know, I know. If I need anything, I will. Right now though, I’m a little tired.” She suppressed a yawn behind her hand and blinked, leaning back against her pillows. “If you could shut off the lights when you leave, that would be great.”
Her mother nodded, then turned, with tray in hand, and headed for the door. It swung open just as she had been reaching for the handle, and she jumped back, surprised. Instantly, Bulma was awake, her eyes wide with suppressed fear.
Ever since the night of her attack, her mind had been overactive, causing her to be jumpy. Every little abnormal sound brought her senses into keen focus, and started her blood pumping in fear. Images would flash before her eyes at the most inopportune moments: the particular color of her blood as it had soaked into the white carpeting at her feet, the touch of the boy’s lips against her own - soft and gentle, or the utter lack of expression on his face as he had killed her without remorse.
He had, too. Killed her, that is. She’d had to be resuscitated by the ER staff in the emergency room, but for a full minute and twenty-three seconds, Bulma’s heart had stopped beating. She could remember none of it, though, only blackness swirling around her, comforting and warm. Still, she had been dead. It was no wonder she had become almost paranoid.
So, when her had mother gasped, Bulma felt the familiar surge of adrenaline and panic grip her heart, and she sat bolt upright, expecting the worst.

A familiar figure appeared in her doorframe, arms by his sides, face and demeanor as arrogant as usual.
“Oh, Prince Vegeta, it’s good to see you again,” her mother said in a relieved tone, smiling brightly to the little alien who currently shared their residence. “It’s been a week since your last visit inside. We were worried that something may have happened to you. You do train an awful lot, you know.”
Vegeta merely grunted in reply, and rudely walked past the older woman to Bulma’s bedside, striding confidently into the small room as if he owned it. It was only then that Bulma noted that he carried something in one hand. She didn’t catch a good look at it though, before her mother’s voice drew her attention once more.
“I’ll just leave you two alone to talk,” Mrs. Briefs said, giving Bulma a knowing wink and smile, and quietly closing the door behind her.

It figured. Her mother seemed to adore the irritating, contemptuous little bastard whom had moved into their lives without so much as a ‘how do you do?’, and Bulma knew - just knew - that somewhere inside that presumably empty-head of hers, the older woman was secretly conspiring to hook the two of them up. Leaving them alone while Bulma was so vulnerable was all a part of the plan it seemed; it forced the two of them to interact with each other at a time when she was too weak to give a fight her 100% best effort. She knew that the bet was on the Prince of the now almost-extinct Saiyan race taking pity on her for this, and going easy, showing a more gentler side to his personality, which Bulma would inevitably find irresistible.

She mentally sniggered. Not bloody likely.

With a sigh, Bulma reflected on the fact that her mother was probably the most devious person she’d ever come across. Seemingly guileless outwardly, disarming and charming in her simplistic ways, while inwardly, she was planning your entire future out in minutia details without your consent.

She curled the blankets more tightly about her body, and turned a sour look upon her intruder.
“Say your peace, Vegeta, and go,” she said wearily, leaning back into the pillows, and turning her attention towards the closed window just a few feet from her bed. “I’m tired and don’t have the energy to verbally spar with you today.”
Vegeta snorted, and held up what it was he had been carrying. It was made of cloth and colored red, stained by a deeper crimson in splotches.
Immediately, Bulma recognized the scarf belonging to her attacker.
Feeling her face lose its color, she sat up once more and shakily reached for the fabric, her fingers trembling as she did so. Just before she could take it from him, however, Vegeta closed his own fingers tightly around it, capturing her hand in his own. Bulma looked up at him, confused.
“Where did you find this?” she demanded, trying to tug away. It was no use, of course - Vegeta retained a firm grasp on her, and he wasn’t letting go. When she looked up into his eyes, suddenly, she became aware of how intensely awkward this intimate contact with him was. Was this the first time that he had touched her voluntarily? She felt the color return to her cheeks instantly, and dropped her gaze, embarrassed. Again, Vegeta snorted, as if reading her ridiculous thoughts for what they were, and she was so terribly humiliated by the entire situation.
Damn you mom!
“It was lying on the ground outside your old bedroom window,” he replied finally, his tone actually half-civil.
“What were you doing there?” she asked, annoyed with herself and Vegeta. When did he plan on letting go of her? Anytime now would be nice...
“Looking for clues,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “In case he comes back.” He grin grew positively feral, as if welcomed a challenge such as that. Bulma shuddered.
“He will, I know it. He’ll be back to finish it,” she said, ominously, forgetting her hand for an instant, and shutting her eyes to the terrible memories which surfaced.

“I found you at last...You’ll pay for what he did to her.”

“Good,” Vegeta said viciously, an unfulfilled challenge in his voice. “I won’t miss meeting him this time.”
At that, Bulma looked up quickly, clearly astonished.
“What do you mean?” she asked urgently, a strange nagging sensation tugging at her mind. “Haven’t you already fought him once?”
Vegeta glanced at her in a combination of disbelief and incredulity. “Stupid woman, don’t you pay attention to anything? I’ve been out training since the afternoon of your ‘picnic’. I just got back last night.”
Bulma began trembling.
“Then...then, it wasn’t you who drove him off, and then took me to the hospital?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. By the suspicious drop of Vegeta’s dark brows low over his narrowed eyes, she assumed that he knew nothing about it. “I had assumed... When I asked who he was, he said he was you.”
“What did this ‘other me’ say?” he asked after several seconds of silence between them. Bulma was intensely aware that he still had not let go of her hand, but stood as stoic as some sort of unmovable golem, towering over her smaller form. She let go of the blankets, and reached up with her free hand to touch the side of her head, which suddenly ached, unaware that her flimsy nightgown had slipped off of one shoulder, baring the flesh there, and giving Vegeta a good view of the side of her long, attractive neck.

Of course, he noticed, but said nothing.

“It’s too fuzzy to remember everything,” she said, trying to recall exact details, but I remember asking if it was you, and he said something to the effect of, ‘I’m here for you.’” She daintily shrugged, which caused her unbound breasts to bounce slightly.

Vegeta noticed this too.

“I guess I should have known better to think it would have been you,” she said finally with a sigh. Vegeta was silent for a moment, considering something. Finally, he spoke his thoughts.
“Why is that?”
Bulma looked up, amazed by the softness of the tone. Had that been the first time he’d ever spoken really civilly to her? What game was he playing now? “Because,” she explained, fatigued already by speaking so much, “you’re not the ‘hero’ type, Vegeta.”
Again, there was a strange pause, and while he thought, his fingers absently stoke hers, his eyes focused on them. Clearly, it was an absent gesture, but Bulma refused to say a word, not wanting to break the strange mood , and curious as to what he was up to. When he spoke again, it was once more in that hushed tone. “And who is a hero, Bulma?”
He seemed so sincere, and yet everything within her told her not to give him an inch. Somehow, he had to be mocking her. Despite this, she decided to answer sincerely.
“Well, I guess Goku qualifies.”
Even as the words left her mouth, she noted the way Vegeta’s black eyes grew impossibly darker, filling with scorn and... something else that she couldn’t identify. Unexpectedly, the warrior dropped her hand, allowing her to keep the scarf, and he turned away, heading back for the door without another word. Bulma’s shock lasted only a mere fraction of a second before she regained her wits. “Wait! Where are you going?” she demanded, irritated by Vegeta’s sudden change in mood. The prideful Prince of the Saiyans never looked back as he left the room, and didn’t bother to shut the door behind him.

Bulma sighed aloud in frustration, and lay back in the bed, clutching the scarf against her heart. Even now, all this time later, the stale scent of her dried vital fluid, which soiled the boy’s forgotten garment, wafted up to her nostrils, bringing with it unwanted memories.
She pushed past the discomfort, wanting to know who her mysterious knight-in-shining-armor had been, fought against the tide of fear and anxiety to try to recall any important detail. Nothing came immediately to mind.
Finally, she let it go, relaxing as best as she could, releasing the past and drifting back to reality. Reaching over, she pushed the button next to her bed, and a small robotic servo-droid appeared from an opening in the wall. It’s only function was a simple one, and within seconds, the lights in the room shut off, submerging her into the nighttime. Only the fraction of moonlight, coming in from the window, kept the darkness at bay, and she was thankful for that small reprieve. The whine of the droid’s gears as it retreated back into its hole faded away finally, until there was only silence surrounding her once more.
Shutting her eyes, her last thoughts before sleep came were of the mysterious man’s voice echoing in her ears...

“Just stay with me this time, Bulma, and I’ll never leave you again. I promise.”

From his vantage point outside Bulma’s window, Mirai Son Gohan floated silently, dimming his chi as much as possible; an old trick he had learned during the years he had spent hiding from the Cyborgs among the ruins of towns. There was no need to alert Vegeta to his presence.
When the lights had gone out, he snuck a closer peek into the young woman’s room, and finally caught sight of her small, fragile figure huddled under her covers, fast asleep. Even from here, he could hear her small snoring and smiled to himself.

So alike...

Content that, for now, she was safe, he turned away and headed back down into, what had been called in his time, Old Capsule City - back to the small, abandoned warehouse that he had taken up residence in for the last ten days. Flying in through the broken window, he headed down into the concrete labyrinth, stretching his senses out before him, searching for danger. He perceived nothing living, except the rats and other small vermin that occupied this area normally.

Although the Jinzouningen gave off no ki of their own, being a living organism afforded them a heartbeat, albeit an irregular one. It was this anomalous pattern that Gohan had accidentally discovered when he had gotten too close to the female, Eighteen, as a young child, and he had learned to search for it over the years since, able to pinpoint the location of the Cyborgs from it.
As far as he could tell, there was nothing like it anywhere nearby, so it was with great relief that he mentally assured that his demesne was ‘safe’ for yet another day.
He chose to walk the three flights of metal stairs to the small room that he housed himself in currently. “Every little bit of a work-out helps you to get stronger,” his Master, Tenshinhan, had once told him. As a result, at every opportunity, Gohan did things the ‘normal’ way, forcing his muscles to stay relaxed and stretched.
He pushed aside the small make-shift hanging he had put up, and entered the small, dark space that was his new home. He had found both the hole-filled shower curtain and the raggedy, foul-smelling blanket he lay on at night in an old dumpster out behind the warehouse on the first night he had arrived. Neither seemed too bad to make do with, and besides, he’d used worse in his own time, so he had officially ‘adopted’ them to help keep the evening chill at bay. Despite his slightly-higher elevated temperature, thanks to his half-Saiyan heritage, he didn’t need much to keep warm, but every little bit counted.
Sitting down, cross-legged, on his ‘bed’, which sat against one wall, he relaxed, leaning his head back, beginning his evening meditations.

Tenshinhan had taught him many things in the short time that he had lived, one of which was to allow rest to come during quiet moments such as this one. Not only did it help to refresh the mind, but it also allowed one to cut down on the amount of sleep you needed. However, it didn’t take the place of deep R.E.M. sleep, and soon, Gohan knew he’d need to rest a full eight hours to regain his full potential. As it was, he was functioning on very little rest - barely ten hours in three days.
However, there was still the need to find Gero’s hidden lab. He’d been searching for it for days, and still no luck. The location it had originally been at had changed. It seemed that going back in time already had altered some events.
He wondered, briefly, if Seventeen had gone to see his creator yet. If so, he didn’t envy the older man. Gohan knew all too-well of the ‘affection’ that the Cyborg had for its ‘parent’.

After about an hour of quiet reflection, Gohan left. His first priority was to find something to eat, then he’d fly over to the Son house to start his daily surveillance rounds, and from there, he’d go to try to locate Gero’s lab once more.
This was going to be a long night, after all.

“Promise me...Gohan...”

“Did you bring it?” Number 17 asked, his voice carrying a dangerous threat to it. The android facing him, Number 10, nodded once, lifting a small beaker. Inside, a small glob of orange material resided. The thick, viscous stuff glittered like the stars, and gave off a strange warmth which could be felt even through the specially treated glass. The Cyborg carefully took the container from the inept creature and held it up to the dim light above, watching as it passed through the substance magically.
“Excellent,” Seventeen breathed, excitement coursing through his veins. After a brief inspection, however, he lost his triumphant smile, and grew disappointed. Looking out of the corner of his eye, he addressed Number 12 savagely. “Bring Gero to me now!”
The short, bald, female android turned and hurried out, executing its superior’s commands.

Since he had arrived at Gero’s compound six days ago, things had been moving along according to plan nicely. Seventeen had subjugated his ‘father’ and brought the others into line easily; they now followed his every command - as was to be expected. Of course, he’d had to make examples out of Numbers 06 and 07 - a rebellious pair of aliens whom had been captured by Gero, altered with cybernetic limbs, and implanted with a special device that forced them to obey commands from the main terminal. They were simply no match for the full-fledged human Cyborg, however, and still sat as a pile of dust in the center of the control room to serve as an example.
The morning after he had taken charge, Number 17 had painfully described in detail his expectations, and locked Gero away in his small laboratory - under surveillance, of course - to get to work, while the rest of them moved the hidden lab to a new, safer spot. Except for the break of four hours that it had taken to move Gero’s own small lab over in the end, the Doctor had been working almost around the clock, limited only by his human need for sustenance and sleep, and yet, still, he had not completed the first stage of the project.
Number 17 continued inspecting the small container in his hands, ignoring the others in the room, amusing himself with thoughts of what he’d like to do to his creator. Finally, the double doors opened inwardly, and Doctor Gero was brought before him.
The aged man, with limbs shriveled and organs already rotting away within his body, stooped over a well-weathered wooden cane, his once great height reduced to a mere five feet, six inches by years of abuse. His left arm was bandaged and tied close to his body in a mock-cast, hanging uselessly, but there were no other visible injuries to his person that time had not brought on itself.
Purposefully, Seventeen made him wait, until, at last, he put the beaker on a small table and crossed the small dais in the center of the room, to take a seat in a tall-backed chair.
“Your progress is excellent, ‘father’,” he said mockingly, a sneer on his face. “But it’s still not enough. There are obvious flaws with this first Partial, and it will not mature. It must be destroyed.”
Dr. Gero looked up, adjusting his glasses across the bridge of his nose in a habitually nervous gesture, and cleared his throat.
“Yes, well, there have been problems with the conversion,” he explained in a calm, respectful voice. “The original sample that you provided to me from your own timeline was already dead, and I was forced to reconstruct its cell composition in order to extract the correct DNA sampling rate.” The old man cleared his throat again, hacking on his own spittle as he did so.
“However,” he continued after a short coughing spasm, “Partials Two and Three are coming along splendidly. Another one-hundred and sixty hours in the rejuv fluid and they should be ready.”

Seventeen considered his schedule versus the time it would take for the experiment to conclude. Given that it would take Partial One a full week in the revitalizing fluid to mature, another four days after that to successfully combine the three Partials together into the one substance known as Materia, and then another three and a half weeks to incubate, he was looking at a minimum completion date of five weeks - once the problem with Partial One was corrected, that was.
Given that he was never a very patient creature, the amount of time necessary to complete everything would be like murder on him. He sighed a little too loudly.
“I give you six days to make the first Partial ready for the rejuvenation fluid,” the Jinzouningen offered, waving his hand dispassionately in dismissal. He turned back to the beaker then, opened the lid, waited a few seconds, and stuck one digit into the mixture.
“Wait!” Gero cried out just as his ‘son’ submerged his entire index finger into the strange substance. He cringed, waiting to hear the audible sizzle, to see the visible bubbling, and to be exposed to the acrid smell of chem-charred flesh, but strangely, there was none of that. Seventeen did not remove his hand, either, but swirled it, mixing the gelatinous stuff around and around, all the while staring dully into the jar, uncaring.
After a minute or so, the Cyborg removed his hand and Gero was amazed to see that the flesh had not been eaten away, nor that anything adverse had happened to it.
“You see?” Seventeen explained, growing angry. “This sample will not develop. It is useless to me like this!” He hurled the jar against the wall with a tremendous force. The plasi-glass vessel cracked, yet held its shape, as it had been designed to do, but the material inside landed onto the dirty floor, contaminated further. Furious eyes turned on him then, and Gero took an involuntary step backwards before the blazing fire he saw held within the gaze before him.
“I want it done, ‘father’,” the boy commanded, his voice amazingly soft for one so full of rage. “Fail me again and I will make you wish I’d only shattered your one wrist.”
With that, the Jinzouningen turned his back on the old man, and he knew he had been dismissed. He exited the room quietly, escorted by Twelve, and headed back for his laboratory to do what must be done.

Number 17 dismissed all of the others, and left the main control room himself, heading down the corridor towards the Stasis Room, his fury dissipating as he walked, replaced with a nervous excitement.
Reaching the end of the hall, he punched in the newly-changed password and the door slid open. Bluish-white mist slipped out as the cold air escaped, touching the warmer environment outside. He passed through another small entryway to a second door, punched in a second password, and the door slid upwards with a hiss as the pressure-seals released.
He bent over, and went under the thick, steel gantry before it completed its unlocking, entering the frigid room, but then stopped, apprehensive to go further. After his first visit to this exact room, he’d tried to avoid it, but the dreams returned every night, haunting and inviting...

“Did you miss me?” she asks, landing onto the top of the table across the room from me, smiling mischievously.

“Of course.”

I have never seen that dress before. The hem shows her pretty legs off, and the synched waist outlines her attractive shape. She looks beautiful in red.

She blinks, confused by my bluntness. “That’s all you have to say?”

“Yes.”

She smiles, and jumps down effortlessly, to stand on the ground once more. “You’re not very eloquent.”

“I don’t need to be. Not with you.”

She considers that. “No, I suppose not.”

She walks towards me, her hips swaying slightly. She does not realize how desirable she is.

“ So, what do you want to do today?” she asks, stepping up next to me, looking over my shoulder at the book I am reading. I close it, glancing up at her.

“I want to kiss you.”

It just comes out, but I do not regret saying it. It is the truth. I have wanted to try this since I first witnessed humans doing it in a small, run-down shack in the forest a few weeks earlier. Of course, I killed them, but not before watching them mate. Their primal ways were exciting.

She shrugs and smiles, leaning over, turning the side of her face to me. “Ok, go ahead.”

“No, not on the cheek.”

She blinks and draws back, partially surprised. Understanding dawns then, and there is no need to explain. We are twins. “Ah. Well, are you sure that it’s alright?”

“Of course.”

It has to be. I want it too much.

She looks at me, and I can not turn away. I feel trapped by her pretty blue eyes. My heart rate increases suddenly. Is this normal?

“Alright then,” she says, and I see a similar curiosity in her gaze. “I want to try too.”

I reach for her, pull her down into my lap, and hold her close. Her heart beats quickly as well. Perhaps this feeling is normal.
I run my fingers through her golden hair, and it is as soft as her skin is against mine. She leans down and our lips touch. My heart speeds up again, as does hers. The kiss lengthens, and I wrap my arms about her, drawing her closer to me until I can sense only her.
My loneliness aches.
Nothing else in the whole world matters except this.

The Jinzouningen shook away the memories. He could deny it no longer. He needed to be here, to see her.
His gaze swept past the five other chambers, and narrowed in on the one in the furthest right hand corner, labeled simply with “18” in bright red letters. Walking towards it, he stepped up the short, three stairs to see into the frost-covered window. Rubbing aside the precipitation, he glanced upon her lovely features once more.
The loneliness pierced into his heart anew.
Unconsciously, his fingers reached out and stroked the glass, as if wishing to penetrate it to get to the real thing, and he felt his chest squeeze painfully as he beheld the woman he had thought to have lost forever all those weeks ago.
“I have...missed you,” he whispered brokenly to the sleeping face, feeling a hot tear trickle down his cheek for only the second time in his life. The first time had been for her as well. All of his firsts had been hers.

“What do we do now?” she asks, and I feel her quivering body in my arms, trembling with mine. We are both a little frightened, but I know what I want enough to answer her.

“We kiss some more.”

“And then?” she asks, curious.

I know what she is hedging at.

“We’ll do whatever you want to do and nothing more.”

She seems startled that I would offer her this chance to ‘escape’. For an instant, she forgets who I am.

“Will you stop if I ask you to?”

I smile, relieved that she wants this too.

“Of course.”

She smiles back shyly.
I have never seen this reaction from her before, and I know she has never shown it to another. I want to see more new things with her.

“Then will you kiss me again?” she whispers the question, leaning towards me, placing her lips close to mine.

There is no other answer to give.

“Yes.”

Pulling back, Seventeen hastily wiped at his eyes, composing himself once more, and checked the read-out grid on the side of his sister’s tube, making sure all of her vital signs were registering as normal. They were.
With a last glance through the window, he finally turned his back and made his way out of the room. Both doors sealed shut behind him with a hiss, and he headed back down the corridor towards the main computer room. There was still so much to do, so many calculations which had to be in place at the right time. He didn’t have time to be fantasizing about the past, and should concentrate only on the future. Their future.

Everything would come together at the correct time. It had to.

He put his trust in the mainframe to work through the mathematical equations which would be necessary to coordinate precise events, and in Gero’s fear to keep the man in line and working on his experiment. The only unknown that remained was that bastard half-Saiyan.
He still had not located his own timeline’s Son Gohan, but he assumed that the man would be somewhere near Capsule Corp., keeping a sharp eye out on his ‘beloved’ Bulma, or hiding in the mountains watching out for his own ‘family’ closely. The fool may have even contacted the ‘Zed Warriors’, and told them the truth of his arrival, preparing them for the worst. Attacking either group again anytime soon wouldn’t be possible because of it.
So, despite how it irked him beyond belief, Number 17 knew that precaution might be really the best course of action for him to pursue - especially at this time.

However, there were alternatives to brute, up-front force...

Entering the mainframe room, he went over to a comm-link, and summoned Number 09 to him, then turned his attention to the computer’s work, adjusting correlations where necessary, passing the time. Within minutes, the young, cybernetically-enhanced alien, designation Number 09, appeared, dressed in its customary gray, zip-up jumper, its hands shoved into the pockets by its sides.
Glancing over, Seventeen gave his instructions in short order.
“Go to Son Goku’s home, and find a way to befriend his son, the child named Son Gohan. I want him to trust you, so that you can easily follow him around and gather data for me.”
Bold defiance appeared within Nine’s strikingly verdant-colored eyes, yet it said nothing, keeping itself in check. Seventeen simply raised his eyebrow, daring the insubordination, but the alien only nodded once in acquiescence of the task. He smirked, and turned back to the screen, calling up a set of data files.
“How do I explain my appearance?” it asked, its voice deceptively composed.

The Jinzouningen stopped what he was doing.
An interesting point.

Yes, Nine would be considered strange due to the light purple tinge to its skin and the way its ears pointed at the tips. He shrugged. “Say you’re a foreigner. The Son family is just stupid enough to probably believe you.” He turned back towards the computer, reading the screen faster than any normal human possibly could. “I don’t care what you tell them, really,” he continued as an afterthought. “Just get the kid to think you’re his best friend in the whole wide world, and report back to me daily on what those stupid Saiyans and their friends are doing.”
For a few minutes, there was silence - nothing moved nor stirred. Number 17 turned back to the small creature, curious as to why it was still there, and noted that Number 09 wore a huge frown, obviously hating the duty it had been commanded to perform.
“You may go now,” he instructed in a neutral tone.
Again, the flash of disobedience, quickly quelled, appeared in the emerald-colored eyes, then Nine nodded, turned and left the human-Cyborg to its work.

When the door closed again, Seventeen called up the schematics that he had swiped before jumping back in time. He went over every inch of the blueprints, looking for flaws, but after a while, he had to admit it - Bulma Briefs was certainly a gifted scientist and inventor - her Time Portal design was practically flawless, with failure-probability factors computed and added right in as contingency plans.
However, some modifications were definitely in order if he expected to get this thing up and running on schedule...

Go read part 3a (Lemon warning, you can fully understand the story without reading part 3a)

Go read part 4

Back the #17's Fanfiction

Back to Juunanagou's Temple

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
AUTHOR’S NOTES:

“Mirai” means “Future” in Japanese.

If you caught the “Final Fantasy VII” reference in the story, give yourself one point in ‘COOL’. If not, it’s still ok. “Materia” is a magical substance made up of the souls of living things. In the game, you can use it to cast spells. In this fanfic, it’s use is completely different, so don’t expect a repeat of FFVII spells to happen in the story. I only picked the name ‘Materia’ because it sounded neat-o, and because I’m currently spending vast quantities of time trying to beat this stupid game! Ok, well, I’m not going to spoil anymore for you, so you’ll just have to read the rest of the installments to find out what this ‘Materia’ stuff is in *my* world and how it’s used.

“Forever Love” was written and sung by X-Japan, copyright, Dahlia/East-West Japan AMCM-4271, 1996.

“Final Fantasy VII” is the copyright of Square Co, Ltd., 1997, and Sony Computer Entertainment Inc.