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DBM Universe 12-14 and "Mirai" world : Twin Pain

Written by Foenidis

Adapted by Adamantine

In this alternative world where Mirai Trunks comes from, all our heroes were killed by the cyborgs... This story tells the details of that, it tells you about a part of the common story of universes 12 and 14.

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[Chapter Cover]

They clenched their fists and gritted their teeth as they tensed their muscles, ready to jump on the damned pair, but none of them moved. They just watched them gently land in front of them.

Krilin glared at them and broke the pregnant silence of this speechless clash.

“If you want to fight us, you just have to tell us, there is no need to kill all these innocent people to summon us!”

“Fight? … Us against you?” answered the boy with a smirk. His clear and youthful laugh rang. “You're funny... really!”

A hoarse growl surprised the small man. It was Piccolo's voice, distorted by hatred.

“What do you want in the end, you fuckhead?!”

The twins turned their heads to look at one another, as if to consult each other, then the girl spoke up with calm. She even chose not to mind the insult at the end of the question.

“It's true that we've never taken the time to introduce ourselves. It'd be a pity for you to die without being able to name the ones who killed you. I'm 18, and here is my brother...”

The young man slightly bowed, his pitch black hair sweeping across his beautiful face, and finished his sister's sentence.

“... 17, at your service! Designed, born and built to anihilate Son Goku.”

The provocation irritated Krilin.

“We have already told you: Goku is dead! So stop devastating the country!”

The two young persons stood upright, looked at each other once again, as if taken aback, silent for a little while... just before bursting out laughing, a loud and resounding laugh.

18 went near the little man and leant over so that they could be face to face. Goku's old friend cringed when the young girl stopped a few inches from him. He watched with surprise in his eyes this beautiful and smiling face, those so clear and so blue eyes that suddenly are so close... How such a perfect beauty could house so many vices?

“But we do know it...” she muttered in his ear, her voice strangely soft.

“You... you knew about it? But... but...” murmured in turn the little fighter, disturbed.

17 opened his hands in front of him, as if to support his explanation.

“It's that nice Dr Gero who had told us... not long before he died.” The cyborg feigned a sad look and moved a lock of hair away, lock of hair which immediately softly fell back in its place. “The poor man wasn't sure if he wanted to destroy us or to change our program. Unfortunately for him, he had the bad idea to reactivate us for running a last series of tests.”

He then nodded, looking up at the sky, his hands joined as for an hypothetical prayer. Poor remote control... may it rest in peace!

Krilin couldn't help but react at the mention of the murder of the two robots' creator.

“But... he was the one who had made you! He was like a father for you! How could you...”

17 curtly interrupted him, his face distorted by an unexpected rage and hatred.

“That maniac was not our father... He was just using us!”

The cyborg calmed down as quickly as he had got mad.

“But that doesn't matter anymore now... We're free, completely free to play as we want!”

“What a game it is! A game of slaughter!” growled Yamcha.

The robotic young woman took a look to the destroyed background all around them.

“Oh, you're speaking of this? I don't understand why it bothers you so, that town was so ugly!”

“We don't destroy city, and we certainly do no kill the inhabitants, because we find it ugly!” Tien intervened, his voice deep and calm.

“Oh, is that so? We can't do it?... Really?” 18 replied, she clearly hammed it up the naïve look on her face, then turned toward her brother. “Did you hear that, little brother?”

None could foretold what his only reply would be: he held out his right hand. In a quarter of a second, and before anyone could do anything, Tien's head exploded in ashes.

The athletic body of the beheaded warrior remained standing for some seconds, perfectly still, as if frozen in time as his three friends remained literally transfixed by dread and surprise.

Then, as a puppet with broken joints, the body that had been so lively only a moment before, softly collapsed on the ground with a dull sound.

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