06-22-2018, 09:10 AM
In his dreams, he was the man he had always wanted to be.
His twins were giggling and laughing, their hands clenched as they ran through ankle-high grass that Seventeen was certain he had mowed just a few days prior. Why did grass have to grow so fast? Was there something in its genetic material that just programmed it to never stop? The backyard of the mansion was bathed in sunlight, and it frequently rained in this region of the continent. It wasn’t like the damn field of green was starving for its requisite resources.
Glancing away from the children, the cyborg smiled as his wife strode out from the back door of the house. As always, Paige looked great—her red hair was styled in that lovely, old-school way that made it bounce as she descended the steps. Even after half a dozen deaths and a handful of violent, near-death experiences, she still had that glitter in her green eyes. After half a decade traipsing around the galaxy, they’d finally laid down their swords and settled down with the children, who were just a few years shy of qualifying as preteens.
“Everything going well out here?” She asked as she set a pitcher of water down on the small patio table.
“Of course,” Seventeen replied as he poured himself some water, chucked a lime slice into the glass, and took a long drag. Before turning back to his children, his glance went toward the back of the house, where the setting of the sun had bathed the small courtyard in gradually shrinking light. While most of the marble statues had grown weathered from a decade or so of use, there were three of them with half the shelf life.
My daughter, the general.
Seventeen turned back toward his twin son and daughter. The little red-haired girl playing with her brother would never deal with the calamity that the statue’s foundation had. That version of Piper had become a woman in a world of hurt and misery, only to fall back in time and have a chance to set things right.
She’d succeeded.
“It’s a shame none of this is real,” Paige’s voice tugged Seventeen’s focus back to the woman at his left. The redhead smiled as she took a sip of chilled water. “Such a shame you couldn’t stop throwing yourself on the sword.”
“I had to,” Seventeen muttered.
“Yes, you just had to sacrifice yourself for a planet that wound up in danger of being destroyed half a dozen more times over the next 3 years. You just had to do it.”
“You vanished too, ya know.” Seventeen muttered. “Who knows, there’s a possibility that me dying was some cosmic inevitability or something. Perhaps if I hadn’t died, Kirano would have never wound up falling in love with that Saiyan princess that went out with me.”
“So strange how she came back to life, isn’t it?” Paige sneered. This was the part where the world started to go sour. The part where the cyborg’s insecurities about his past life choices tainted what was supposed to be an idyllic jaunt through his subconscious, turning it into a self-loathing nightmare. “Hadn’t she died like, a dozen times before that?”
Seventeen shrugged. “Maybe? They wouldn’t let me back.”
“You didn’t want to come back.”
“Not true,” the cyborg replied. Truthfully, he didn’t know how true or false the statement had been. The couple had drifted from each other near the end. Something in Paige’s eyes had changed, and it wasn’t related to hormones or new mom psychosis. There was a way she had looked at him that had taken a shift in the wrong direction. He hadn’t been able to figure it out, but then again, it was a lie to say he had dedicated the time to do so. He had run away instead, participating in a tournament, one of the Syntech shows, and ultimately blowing himself up to save the Earth. He’d run away.
It was something he knew he had always been good at.
The edges of the dreamscape started to unravel—colors and shapes blending into one another before it all collapsed into a great, black nothing.
With a sigh, the cyborg opened his eyes to the virtually grayscale realm of the Sulaco. The grounded vessel had once felt like something close to home, but after reliving the halls of his old house, the steel sheets and track lighting felt more like a prison. Rolling onto his side, Seventeen saw that it was still early in the morning by the standards of the medical staff. Most of them didn’t start their rounds for another hour and a half.
Sliding off of his gurney, the raven-haired man reached over and pulled the drawstring for the lamp. The bulb flickered before casting its dull yellow glow across his ward. Despite his protestations, they’d placed him into this private little cubbyhole while he underwent the PT for his injury. Apparently, the fact that his tissues had magically healed wasn’t good enough for the medical staff, who wanted to make sure he didn’t suffer any adverse effects.
‘Prime healing can be an unstable process.’
‘We need you to stay calm and relaxed.’
‘Peaceful environments are a must.’
Despite his best efforts at shrugging his shoulders and rolling his eyes, they had succeeded with the support of the colonel. Even so, the cyborg had retained the ability to mostly come and go as he could within the larger medical ward of the Sulaco.
With the halls mostly empty, he allowed himself to wander just a little bit. The cloth hospital booties he had worn for the last few days made his footfalls silent as he purposefully headed toward a room near the end of the corridor. The latch was unlocked, as were all of the wards—they were cautious in the Sulaco but not the point of rampant paranoia.
“How you doing?” Seventeen whispered once he had shut the door.
The room was dark, but a nearby switch turned on a red-light lamp next to the bed. On the bed, el Capitan was lying heavily sedated. In the corner of the room, Aisha had fallen asleep in an armchair. Either that, or she had additional skillsets that the cyborg wasn’t aware of.
Fired! Seventeen mused as he turned his attention from the bruised young woman to the unconscious redhead on the bed. There had been some type of incident just after their arrival back at the Sulcao, where the woman’s tank had registered several abnormal spikes in her heartrate. No one, even Specialist Knudal, had been able to trace the root of the issue. The cyborg scowled. Even in her sleep, Trixie didn’t look like she was at peace—her facial muscles were tense and her fingers were clenched into tight fists. A look at the medical equipment showed that her vitals were still within the normal ranges. What type of demons haunt your sleep, Trix?
Glancing over his shoulder at the sleeping Specialist, Seventeen slid over to the light switch and turned it off. Rather than take the door again, he closed his eyes and waited for the warm swirl of white and blue orbs to usher him out of the room and back to his chambers.
His twins were giggling and laughing, their hands clenched as they ran through ankle-high grass that Seventeen was certain he had mowed just a few days prior. Why did grass have to grow so fast? Was there something in its genetic material that just programmed it to never stop? The backyard of the mansion was bathed in sunlight, and it frequently rained in this region of the continent. It wasn’t like the damn field of green was starving for its requisite resources.
Glancing away from the children, the cyborg smiled as his wife strode out from the back door of the house. As always, Paige looked great—her red hair was styled in that lovely, old-school way that made it bounce as she descended the steps. Even after half a dozen deaths and a handful of violent, near-death experiences, she still had that glitter in her green eyes. After half a decade traipsing around the galaxy, they’d finally laid down their swords and settled down with the children, who were just a few years shy of qualifying as preteens.
“Everything going well out here?” She asked as she set a pitcher of water down on the small patio table.
“Of course,” Seventeen replied as he poured himself some water, chucked a lime slice into the glass, and took a long drag. Before turning back to his children, his glance went toward the back of the house, where the setting of the sun had bathed the small courtyard in gradually shrinking light. While most of the marble statues had grown weathered from a decade or so of use, there were three of them with half the shelf life.
My daughter, the general.
Seventeen turned back toward his twin son and daughter. The little red-haired girl playing with her brother would never deal with the calamity that the statue’s foundation had. That version of Piper had become a woman in a world of hurt and misery, only to fall back in time and have a chance to set things right.
She’d succeeded.
“It’s a shame none of this is real,” Paige’s voice tugged Seventeen’s focus back to the woman at his left. The redhead smiled as she took a sip of chilled water. “Such a shame you couldn’t stop throwing yourself on the sword.”
“I had to,” Seventeen muttered.
“Yes, you just had to sacrifice yourself for a planet that wound up in danger of being destroyed half a dozen more times over the next 3 years. You just had to do it.”
“You vanished too, ya know.” Seventeen muttered. “Who knows, there’s a possibility that me dying was some cosmic inevitability or something. Perhaps if I hadn’t died, Kirano would have never wound up falling in love with that Saiyan princess that went out with me.”
“So strange how she came back to life, isn’t it?” Paige sneered. This was the part where the world started to go sour. The part where the cyborg’s insecurities about his past life choices tainted what was supposed to be an idyllic jaunt through his subconscious, turning it into a self-loathing nightmare. “Hadn’t she died like, a dozen times before that?”
Seventeen shrugged. “Maybe? They wouldn’t let me back.”
“You didn’t want to come back.”
“Not true,” the cyborg replied. Truthfully, he didn’t know how true or false the statement had been. The couple had drifted from each other near the end. Something in Paige’s eyes had changed, and it wasn’t related to hormones or new mom psychosis. There was a way she had looked at him that had taken a shift in the wrong direction. He hadn’t been able to figure it out, but then again, it was a lie to say he had dedicated the time to do so. He had run away instead, participating in a tournament, one of the Syntech shows, and ultimately blowing himself up to save the Earth. He’d run away.
It was something he knew he had always been good at.
The edges of the dreamscape started to unravel—colors and shapes blending into one another before it all collapsed into a great, black nothing.
With a sigh, the cyborg opened his eyes to the virtually grayscale realm of the Sulaco. The grounded vessel had once felt like something close to home, but after reliving the halls of his old house, the steel sheets and track lighting felt more like a prison. Rolling onto his side, Seventeen saw that it was still early in the morning by the standards of the medical staff. Most of them didn’t start their rounds for another hour and a half.
Sliding off of his gurney, the raven-haired man reached over and pulled the drawstring for the lamp. The bulb flickered before casting its dull yellow glow across his ward. Despite his protestations, they’d placed him into this private little cubbyhole while he underwent the PT for his injury. Apparently, the fact that his tissues had magically healed wasn’t good enough for the medical staff, who wanted to make sure he didn’t suffer any adverse effects.
‘Prime healing can be an unstable process.’
‘We need you to stay calm and relaxed.’
‘Peaceful environments are a must.’
Despite his best efforts at shrugging his shoulders and rolling his eyes, they had succeeded with the support of the colonel. Even so, the cyborg had retained the ability to mostly come and go as he could within the larger medical ward of the Sulaco.
With the halls mostly empty, he allowed himself to wander just a little bit. The cloth hospital booties he had worn for the last few days made his footfalls silent as he purposefully headed toward a room near the end of the corridor. The latch was unlocked, as were all of the wards—they were cautious in the Sulaco but not the point of rampant paranoia.
“How you doing?” Seventeen whispered once he had shut the door.
The room was dark, but a nearby switch turned on a red-light lamp next to the bed. On the bed, el Capitan was lying heavily sedated. In the corner of the room, Aisha had fallen asleep in an armchair. Either that, or she had additional skillsets that the cyborg wasn’t aware of.
Fired! Seventeen mused as he turned his attention from the bruised young woman to the unconscious redhead on the bed. There had been some type of incident just after their arrival back at the Sulcao, where the woman’s tank had registered several abnormal spikes in her heartrate. No one, even Specialist Knudal, had been able to trace the root of the issue. The cyborg scowled. Even in her sleep, Trixie didn’t look like she was at peace—her facial muscles were tense and her fingers were clenched into tight fists. A look at the medical equipment showed that her vitals were still within the normal ranges. What type of demons haunt your sleep, Trix?
Glancing over his shoulder at the sleeping Specialist, Seventeen slid over to the light switch and turned it off. Rather than take the door again, he closed his eyes and waited for the warm swirl of white and blue orbs to usher him out of the room and back to his chambers.
![[Image: 17.jpg]](http://omniverse-rpg.com/images/17.jpg)