Future, alternate timeline 2, year 795, december 3rd
Satan City
 

"Two thousand zeni?!? Are you shitting me?" the boy exclaimed between clenched teeth.

With a frustrated sigh, Sora clicked the mouse back and forth on the screen, pulled all the scrolls up and down in search of something he might have overlooked. But two thousand zeni was all that wanted to appear at the end of the total column.

Sora dropped back on the heavy leather chair, thoroughly annoyed at himself. This was Parsimon's account at the prestigious Satan City Funds Trust he had just hacked in, and the senator was supposed to be the wealthiest man in town. He was also the most eminent figure, the most revered, the most pious-but who cared about his dubious moral qualities? The man was  loaded with enough deadly sins for his soul to sink right down to the lowest pit in Hell. Then again, he probably wouldn't even be admitted into Hell...

A soft laughter dragged Sora out of his thoughts.

A slender woman sat down next to him on one arm of the chair. She playfully pinched his cheek, and tousled his unruly mane of jet-black hair.

"Nice try, kiddo."

Sora shot her a dark look. "You knew it. You knew I'd find shit and you didn't tell me."

"First, get off the line," the woman commanded, "or they'll trace you back here. You've got about ten seconds."

The boy gasped and complied hurriedly.

"Now," the woman continued, "we all know that one can only hope to master the art of virtual trespassing by way of practice..."

A crackled laughter rose from the back of the room.

"Zusa, you stop fucking around with the little freak's mind," said a raspy male voice.

"Settle down!" the woman named Zusa hollered back. "He's learning faster than I ever thought he would. At this rate he'll be better than you pretty soon..."

The man grunted.

"He knows too much. He could turn on us."

"And why is that?" Zusa inquired, piqued.

"I don't trust no little monkey-tailed freak," the man drawled.

"Hey, don't you be so prejudiced! He can't help having a tail. Besides... I think it's cute and fluffy..."

The man snorted again. "Sick bitch..."

Ignoring her companion's last comment, Zusa turned to face the boy.

"You know, " she said on a conspiratorial tone, "you really ought to blast him with that Kamehameha thingie of yours some time. I bet he'd like it too, wouldn't you now, Chikouri dear?"

Sora chuckled and looked back at the computer screen.

"So where's Parsimon hiding his money anyway?"

"He ain't got none," Chikouri replied. "Your mother probably makes more money than he does, no offense to her profession or anything..."

The man paused. He stepped hesitantly out of the shadows and joined his two companions in front of the computer. For a brief instant, Zusa looked up at his heavily scarred face, and Sora thought he saw a hint of tenderness and longing flash by in her eyes. Chikouri glanced down at her, but immediately looked away when he met Sora's inquisitive gaze.

Chikouri loudly cleared his throat. "They gave him everything," he said hoarsely." His title, his limousines, his fucking hôtel particulier..."

"They...?" Sora began.

"The top floor people," Chikouri said, as if it were an obvious answer.

Zusa rolled her eyes. "Sora, don't listen to him, he's raving again. The only people who live up there are the other more 'fortunate' Humans who happen to have all the wealth and privileges in the world but no intention of sharing it with us. They find a way to make energy fields no one, not even you, can break through. They take all the money they stole from us, they build this humongous palace above their residential area and then they want us to believe some aliens or gods or whatever the hell they are took over our planet and are controlling us for our own good. Believe me, there are no aliens here, there never were. As for our infamous senator, there're several theories about where his money might __"

"Shut up!" Chikouri snapped irritatedly. " I know what I'm talkin' about. I saw 'em. Five years ago, I saw 'em. And lemme tell ya, they're no Humans. They're fucking monsters with angel faces. Their leader's an insane bastard. He killed everybody."

"Chikouri, you didn't see anything, you were completely wasted then..."

The man shook his head stubbornly. "I know what I saw. I wasn't always like this, in case ya don't remember. I was your fucking chief engineer at Capsule Corp. I had a future, ya know. Shit happens, that's all. And kid..." he said, gesturing at the boy.

"Yeah?" Sora replied.

"It's a good thing your pretty blue eyes got pupils. You'd look an awful lot like them otherwise... I'm probably being paranoid, but you make me mighty nervous...Again, no offense to you or anything..."

"None taken," Sora said a moment later, in a low voice.

"Eighteen, honey, where is she?"

The blonde woman gave her husband a quizzical look.

"Krilin, it's not even five thirty yet. Marron won't be back for another hour."

"I never should have let her work there in the first place." Krilin mumbled.

Eighteen shrugged."You can't just lock her up in this apartment for the rest of her life just because you think it's too dangerous for her out in the world. Besides, it's a restaurant, not a bar. It's a perfectly respectable establishment."

The door bell shrilled loudly, interrupting their conversation. Krilin walked over to the apartment's front door and peered through the spyphole.A figure cloaked in a black robe stood waiting on the porch. Krilin quickly dialed the code that would disarm the security system and turned the doorknob, allowing the man in the black robe to step inside. He and Krilin stared at each other in solemn silence for what seemed to be a very long second, until both of them broke into laughter.

"Well, if it isn't Reverend Yamucha in person, o hisashiburi!" Krilin said, still laughing as he warmly shook his friend's hand.

"Please, drop the title, it makes me feel old!" Yamucha gave him a half reproachful look.

Krilin lead the way into the small living room, forced his wife to sit down, and went to prepare the coffee himself.

"So Yamucha, what are you becoming these days?" he asked from the kitchen.

"Aside from paranoid? Insane. Completely insane. The place is driving me nuts. I'll blow it up one day. It'd make great headlines:'Priest turned into Heretic trashes SC Cathedral'. Oh, and I'll also think of a great way to endanger Parsimon's life. It could go something like 'Satan City mourns the death of her greatest contributor, killed by the hand of demented extremist.' "

Eighteen grinned.

"Any plans for a career change?" she asked sarcastically.

"As a matter of fact, I did have some plans."

"Whaddya mean 'did'?" Krilin inquired, as he came back with a trail and three coffe cups.

For an instant Yamucha looked down, unable to behold the stare of his two friends. He passed a hand through his thinning grey hair, and finally lifted his face up, his eyes unnaturally wide and bright.

"He came to see me," he said simply, a hesitant smile lingering on his lips.

Krilin started. "Who..?"

"Who do you think?" Eighteen put her cup down and straightened up on her seat."Well... he did tell Kara he'd come to warn one of us. Besides, their son is turning five in less than a month. It's right about time."

Krilin's face gradually drained of color.

"My God, my God..." he said weakly.

"Ah, but God is dead." Yamucha put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "This is our only hope."

"Are we all going to die?" Eighteen asked calmly.

Yamucha shuddered. That woman's sang-froid under any circumstances would always be a source of amazement for him.

"I suppose so," he finally answered.

Eighteen raised her eyebrows. "Let's just hope nothing awfully wrong happens this time. By the way, does anyone have any idea where our little savior is?"

Dusk settled quickly over Satan City at this time of the year. With the glaring light of day fading away and the bright neons filling the congested atmosphere, Down Town took on quite another visage. But the huddle of tall skyscrapers and the countless bridges and archways kept the same-if not enhanced-phantomlike and unearthly quality. People often wondered what sort of a mad architect could have ever designed such a horrific urban maze, with its multi-level avenues, its forbidding back alleys and its gigantic buildings soaring high up through legions of  thick clouds.

Legend had it that Satan City used to be a much smaller, yet light and spacious town.That was a long time ago.

Sitting far on the edge of the roof, Sora tried to make something out of the dark masses moving below, but even his sharp eyesight couldn't get past the dense layers of smog and mist. One could only imagine that these masses were in fact the swarming aircrafts that constituted the traffic of Satan City's main artery.

Sora squinted again, to no avail. The level of smog had substantially increased lately and the heat had bordered on the unbearable on more than one occasion. Spells of acid rain were becoming quite frequent now, often taking the unprepared pedestrian by surprise. Was this the end of the world that all the phony preachers were raving about, as they walked the streets at night, stirring awake the good people of Satan City with nefarious omens and promises of doom and damnation ?

With a frown, Sora backed away from the edge.

The general state of malaise that pervaded Satan City and its inhabitants was not something he could relate to, because he simply didn't share it. However he did understand its causes:it was all a bad case of pollution and overpopulation.

If only someone could find a way to break the energy field that held the city captive...if only he could find the way, then he'd take his mother and Chichi to a nice, quiet place in the country he'd once read about. Sora had often dreamt of such a place, nestled in a green valley, with trees, a little river flowing nearby, smells that had nothing to do with kerosene, and no people.

Only their friends.

Chichi could regain her strength there. His mother could use some of the same treatment too, although she showed no exterior sign of sickness. Maybe it was because she was Saiyajin, and that Saiyajins had a greater resistance level. But he couldn't be sure of anything, since he had no proper knowledge of Saiyajin physiology. What he was aware of, however, was that her energy was diminishing just the same. It would only take more time for her, and then she'd go through what everybody else was going through.

It was frightening, being able to see fragile lives slowly pulse away, eaten up by this unexplainable disease. But the most unsettling thing was that he, Sora, seemed to be totally immune to whatever was killing people around him. He'd first thought that it was because he'd been born to such an environment, and therefore had adapted himself to the noxious fumes, lack of proper sunlight and whatnots. Then one day he'd realized that children younger than he was were succumbing even faster than adults.

It made absolutely no sense, because he was actually getting stronger by the day. By the minute. He could feel raw power surging all through him, growing, stubbornly alive. Not too long ago, he'd nearly given Chichi a heart attack when his hair had suddenly turned golden. He knew he could have gone much further that day, but he'd stopped at a her demand.

He was very much like his mother on that point. Chichi's was the only authority he deliberately never questioned.
 
Sora stood up and lazily stretched his lithe yet powerful limbs. He allowed a tingle of pleasure run up his spine as his tail slowly uncurled and fluffed up several times.

*Saiyajin*, he kept thinking, and smiled. At long last he was beginning to understand that one half of himself. The other half was still too much of a mystery, sometimes thrilling, sometimes frightening. Of course, he enjoyed being able to think the way he did, to see what other people-including his own mother- couldn't even begin to fathom. Even growing faster than everybody else had its fun. He'd have to thank his father-whoever he was- if they ever came to meet.

If the bastard was still alive...

But for now, Down Town was his playground and in his mind, there was no doubt that the world beyond would soon follow. His existence spread before him with its infinite possibilities, and he felt a rush of anticipation as he thought about his birthday. For some reason he just couldn't wait. Christmas...and a birthday at the same time!

With a light flex of the knees, Sora leapt off the roof and flew back to the lower areas of Satan City.

Second street was fairly busy, with people going to and fro, but that didn't alleviate her feeling of uneasiness. Lots of people did not equal safety. Chances were, she could get mugged on the spot, and no one'd lift a finger to help her. They'd all be too busy running for cover or worse, pretending not to see.

She walked faster, hoping she was just being paranoid, and that the three sinister looking individuals trailing behind weren't really following her.

"Hey, legs," one of them called.

Stupid.

She should have said yes to Jerome when he'd offered her a ride back home. Needless to say that it would have lead to all sorts of complications, namely a severe case of fatherly suspicion and at least an hour of trying to explain that the young man was just another waiter at the restaurant and that they were just co-workers. Which was true.

"Bitch, I'm talking to you!" the same voice hollered.

Stupid.Stupid.Stupid.

Once again Marron picked up her pace. She hurried along the way, until she found herself running. Looking back, she realized that they were running too, and would soon be closing in on her. Her race abruptly came to an end as she slammed into someone and felt incredibly strong hands gripping her shoulders.

She nearly screamed but as she looked up at her captor, her eyes widened in recognition, and something close to utter amazement.

"Sora-chan???"

Terror filled screams could be heard from the back alley, but they were all muffled by the buzz of traffic and the clamors of the surrounding crowd.

Marron waited nervously for Sora to come back.

Heaven helped anyone who ever made disparaging remarks about the boy's mother. These three guys had apparently met Sora somewhere, but they had obviously never learned this golden rule of survival.

Little shithead. Kuso gaki.

Asshole. Bakatare.

Faggot. Okamayaroo.

Sora didn't mind insults at all;for some strange reason, he seemed to be out looking for them. But that was a whole different story when the most important person in his life was the object of disrespect.

"I saw your mother's ass the other day," one of the three hoodlums had said.

And that had been it.

In an instant, the boy's youthful and joyous expression was gone, wiped off his face, leaving his features blank and lifeless, except for his eyes, that glowed with murderous rage. There was no telling what was going through his mind during those times, and Marron didn't particularly care to know. It was scary enough to see him almost become a different person.

"Yoo."

Marron gasped, startled. Sora was standing next to her again, a goofy grin spead all over his face.

"Oh my God, you killed them, didn't you?"

"I didn't kill no one!" Sora protested, laughing. "I just stuffed them in the garbage dump an' left 'em there. They're probably gone now."

But Marron still looked fairly unconvinced.

"What, you don't believe me?You really think I'd just go and take someone out like that?"

"Well, you could..."

"But I won't," the boy said with firm conviction.

Sora then gently took her hand and led the way through the crowd.

"Let's get you home, neechan."

Neechan.

How funny it was to have someone who looked almost older than you did call you neechan. Marron glanced at Sora's tall, graceful figure walking in front of her, his tail for once neatly wrapped around his waist.

She was so used to seeing him as a cute little boy who could have been her brother, that it now felt strange to notice how incredibly handsome he'd become. He'd grown so fast it was hard getting used to all his physical changes. In less then a year his body had gone from that of a twelve year old to that of a fifteen year old.

A very big fifteen year old, who was an odd mixture of extremes, both child and... and something else, innocent, sensual, affectionate and ruthless all at once.

Marron found herself laughing at her own confusion. Sora turned back to look at her, cocking his head on one side.

"What is it Neechan?" he asked candidly.

"I was just wondering. What do you want for your fifth birthday?"

"Go...I mean Sora, how nice to see you!" Yamucha greeted the boy and gave him a hug.

Sora smiled. "It's the second time you call me that."

"Call you what?"

"Goku."

Sora's smile widened as he saw the priest's discomfited expression. "It's ok, Yamucha-san," he added reassuringly.

"Sorry...See, I never thought it'd happen, but I think I'm becoming a senile old man... Anyway, how  are you? What great things have you learned lately?" Yamucha asked, as if he were talking to a schoolboy.

"Five thousand eight hundred and seventy two zeni," Sora answered proudly.

Yamucha stared at him incredulously. "What?"

"It's how much you got on your bank account."

Krilin cut in the conversation. "Sora, you'd better stop this now. It's not right."

"Why?" Sora asked, not understanding.

Yamucha and Krilin looked at each other in silence.

"It's unethical..." Yamucha tried to explain.

"Unethical? The bank is unethical. They lowered your interest rate by two percent." There was a mischievious look on the boy's face as he continued."You didn't know that, did you? Well, don't worry, I fixed it."

"You... fixed...it?"Yamucha said very slowly, as if he were trying to take in the meaning of every word.

Sora was still beaming. "Yep. Raised it three percent."

A hundred different sermons were jostling inside Yamucha's head. He closed his eyes once, took a deep breath, and finally decided not to pursue the matter. That would have been a pure waste of breath. The boy was a hopeless case when it came to certain things. It was quite remarkable to see how his genius could remain impermeable to the most basic concepts of righteousness.

Also remarkable was his ability to extricate himself-consciously or not- from delicate or simply boring situations, Yamucha noticed, as he saw the boy's gaze wander over the clock on the wall.

"Ah...Gotta go, or I'll be late. See ya later!"
 
And with those last words, Sora slipped out of the living room-and out of their patornizing reach.. Yamucha and Krilin heard Marron's high pitched voice and the boy's low soprano fuss in a quick, murmured conversation, joined at times by Eighteen.

The two men then watched, speechless, as a blonde girl dressed in a very short mini and high-heeled boots rushed by them. She was closely followed by a tall, wild looking youth clad in extremely tight black leather pants and a tank top that looked like it'd been run over by several cars. It took Krilin a certain amount of time to realize that the blonde temptress was indeed his daughter.

Yamucha looked on at the scene with a resigned, almost impassive air. "Where are you guys off to?" he asked calmly.

"To see my mom. She's on at seven." Sora said as he quickly turned around to glance back at the priest.

The front door slammed, and then they were gone.

"Yamucha, " Krilin said after a short silence, "was that black lipstick I just saw?"

"On Marron?"

"No, Sora."

"It's called 'Purple Acid', not 'black'. Latest trend in the underground scene," Yamucha said on a very matter-of-fact tone.

"Ah," Krilin replied absentmindedly. "Do you realize where he's taking her?"

"The Lounge? It's not the first time..."

"And when were you exactly planning to tell me that my daughter's a regular guest at an exotic dancing club?!?"