Chapter Text
Shichi Nakamura gripped onto the video camera before him with trembling hands, watching the monster before him.
He couldn’t think of another way to describe it. It resembled a beastman maybe, at first glance, but a second look made it clear no part of it could have been brought into this world organically. It stood tall with insectoid wings folded neatly over an oversized stinger, chitinous armour over its too-pale skin that lay unnaturally smooth over its features, perfectly symmetrical in a way that made his hair stand on end.
The thing had burst through the floor as though gravity were a suggestion rather than a fact of life, had killed Shichi’s coworker with a flick of its finger that summoned a blast of fulgent energy leaving behind not even bone. The floor was scorching even now from the radiated heat of it, though it showed no sign of being affected.
It— Cell, it had called itself when it first began its announcement— smiled broadly. The roaring in his ears almost drowned out the thing’s words, but he strained to listen anyway. People worldwide would see this thing through his camera, and had Shichi been any less possessed by his terror, he would have been more aware that this was a historic moment he was at the site of. Instead, he just bit down the urge to whimper.
“It’s like the world tournament, except we fight in teams. Me, versus all of you.” Cell stared directly at his camera as it spoke, its pointed gaze exacerbating the trembling in his hands as he struggled to hold the lens of his camera up at it. The restrained glee in its voice meant nothing for Shichi’s safety, for the safety of everyone besides him. He knew, without words, without thought, that if he were to disappoint it, he would die. And he would die in pain. Because pain was what brought it that glint of humor in its eyes, because his fear was in part the reason a smirk remained glued to its face.
“As many challengers as you’d like!” It spread its arms out in invitation, lips curling as it saw the feeble humans before it shrink back in response. It liked that. “One on one, until the winner is determined.”
After that, Shichi’s ears failed to pick up on its words for a brief moment, his breathing growing laboured with fear. He could only liken its presence to a miasma, turning the air suffocatingly thick and leaving his throat closed up as his lungs screamed for oxygen. The longer he stood there, the more he feared he would never return home.
Cell heard his struggle for air, and— eyes flickering to the audio mic close to Shichi— tilted its head minutely. At no point did it stop talking, nor did its smile falter in the slightest, but its intentions were clear. The audio quality of its speech wasn’t to be degraded by something as menial as breathing, not unless Shichi planned to stop doing so permanently.
He clamped his mouth shut, feeling his heart stop as it watched him a moment more, before its eyes turned back to the unseen audience watching through his camera. A bead of sweat dripped down his cheek.
“You know the rules,” It continued, casually cruel, cruel like a child tearing apart their toys for the fun of it, “Same old story— if you forfeit a match, or a part of your body touches the outside of the ring, you lose.”
“You’ll also lose if you get killed—” Cell’s grin sharpened at the thought, gaze growing distant for a moment, allowing itself to daydream of the indiscriminate violence it would soon inflict, “—though I’ll try to go easy.”
But what did that mean, for a thing that defied all known laws of reality? For something capable of flight, of generating rays of energy that incinerated a man without a second thought? Would a lone person be able to take something like this down?
“And in the end, when I’m the—” Its voice cut off momentarily, and everyone in the room save for Shichi took another step back. Their distance meant nothing in regards to their safety, but his lizard brain wished dearly he too could be as far away from this thing as he could get.
“W-when I’m— I’m the vi— vi—” It twitched, violently and suddenly, head jerking as a distortion took over its words not unlike a broken record. The smile was gone from its face now, and it slammed a fist against the hardened material crowning its skull.
Cell stared directly at the camera for a moment, completely still.
“When I’m the victor,” It repeated, voice clear this time but completely lacking in the humor it held seconds ago, “I will lea—”
It frowned.
“I will leave—”
Cell gritted its teeth in irritation, and as Shichi flinched back again its eyes darted towards him; this time, with no sadistic pleasure. Its face went decidedly flat.
“I will kill Son Goku, and then I will leave Earth.”
Shichi blinked. His grasp on the camera grew loose, but Cell did nothing in the way of retaliating.
…Leave?
This thing— this monster— killed several people, admitted to the murder of several towns, and demanded a match to the death with the strongest people Earth could muster, and the punishment it offered if they lost its game was to kill one person and leave?
“What?”
Shichi clasped a hand over his mouth, eyes going wide. He hadn’t meant for that to be said aloud.
“No, I’m— I’m sorry, I—” He raised both hands, tears immediately welling in his eyes. He was going to die. He was going to die. He was going to—
“Yes, camera–man,” Cell interrupted his stream of apologies by pointing at him, “You did not mishear me. But then, I hear you ask, ‘Cell, if you’re going to leave anyway, what’s my motivation to fight you?’”
It laughed, quiet at first, then louder, almost hysterical compared to the demeaning snicker of its previous ones.
“I don’t know!” It beamed, a maniacal glint in its eye. It waved its arm erratically, still laughing to itself. “Maybe I’ll just—”
A beam of pure energy blasted from its hand and through the wall beside it. The blast melted through the infrastructure within an instant, demolishing the once whole buildings in its path in a rolling line of destruction that echoed out with a booming shockwave and sending everyone save it falling back.
The tears stopped as, body torn between entering shock and a state of hysteria, Shichi stared blankly at the desolate trail of wreckage left behind.
Cell lowered its hand.
“Uh. That. That, I guess.”
It glanced back at the camera, gave it a curt nod, and stepped off the edge, walking away in the air as though it were just as solid as the tiles Shichi lay on.
A series of alarms began to go off, somewhere in the building, and the camera finally shut off.
Someone screamed. Shichi very much wanted to join them.
NINE DAYS UNTIL THE CELL GAMES
“So,” Cell said to himself, holding his fingers to his chin. It was an odd experience, that; his face was encased in a chitinous helmet that still had sensation, and touching it was kinda freaking him out. That, and the fact he was sitting in a fighting ring he’d only encountered before in a shounen. THE shounen, it could be argued. “I’m a bug-man now.”
He stared at the stone beneath him, considering the various decisions he’d made in life that led to this moment. He couldn’t really think of any at the moment, considering his memories were concerningly hazy regarding the time between a normal morning and waking up in the body of Perfect fucking Cell, but he was sure it went wrong at some point.
When he'd died, probably, or when he'd gone to sleep. That was typically how these things went, even if he didn't exactly remember doing either of those things.
“Good look for me, that I woke up mid-speech. ‘Least I didn’t wake up at the fight with Gohan.” And, while it certainly was a shitty time to wake up at, he really couldn’t think of any better ones. Cell was… quite the character, even if he’d glazed the guy in his old life to the grave(?). At least he was in the form that looked somewhat human, rather than the… the…
Cell shuddered. He didn’t even want to entertain the thought.
Though he supposed it didn’t really matter. He was going to die in ten days, because the programming of some dead creep meant he couldn’t even think about leaving the planet without killing Goku. The original Cell had probably bypassed it via the loophole of wanting to kill everyone on Earth before leaving, but he was nowhere near as genocidal. His choices were between setting up the scene to make sure the Z-fighters were prepped for the Buu arc or priming a seven year timer for the death of everything on Earth.
Or he could try to become a ‘redeemed’ ally, buff them that way. That was an option. Bulma had messed with Sixteen’s body, hadn’t she? Was actively doing it at this very moment? She could do the same for him, find a way to remove the 'kill Son Goku'isms if he proved he wasn’t evil.
Cell looked down at himself. At the body that had killed a version of Trunks, that had eaten countless people for power and had personally tormented numerous members of the Z-fighter gang, a highlight of such being beating Vegeta to a pulp in front of his future kid, AKA Bulma’s future kid.
Yeah, he was cooked.
He sighed. Not that he needed to. He was pretty sure this body didn’t need to breathe.
So, then, he was probably gonna die. Wasn’t that big of a deal, really, since it might not be his first time. Memories still weren’t clear on that bit. On the off chance he did win, given he was technically stronger than all of them, he could just spare everyone and explore the universe, fun time for all. Considering he was an antagonist, though… His chances weren’t the greatest.
He'd be fine.
What was he even meant to do now? He could try endear himself to the Z-fighters? If he stuck around with them long enough, he could pretend he'd become fond of some of them. Really appeal to the shounen nature of this world.
Cell floated off the edge of his arena, lifting a hand to his chin as he thought. Was that feasible? This was a real world now, not just a fightslop manga he could watch for fun.
“Goku might forgive me,” He mused aloud, lounging in the air, “But thinking about him pisses me off, no thanks to that cuck Gero. I’d just end up punching him. Vegeta wants me dead for sure, and most of the others soften up after the Cell arc, not before. I could try Bulma? No, that’s stupid, I killed her future son. She’d find a way to make an Anti-Cell device that slimes me instantly.”
Hmm….
Hmmm……
He had nothing.
Much like this arena, actually. Cell tilted his head back to glance at the floor beneath, noting the lack of signature spikes at the corners. The original Cell had made them around this time, hadn’t he? Because the minute he’d finished, Goku had—
Pop!
—A face stared up at him from what was once thin air.
Cell stared back.
Son Goku looked at him with the most terrifying expression he had ever seen on a person, golden hair waving gently in the breeze as his horrifically blue eyes drilled into Cell’s being, and he very nearly screamed like a little bitch.
Thankfully, whatever little of his brain left with rational thought managed to take over, and he did not in fact embarrass himself in front of Son Goku The Strongest Guy Ever.
“I want to kill you,” Cell said, and immediately decided that part of his brain had not been rational, what the fuck was that. “Because you're Goku. You are Goku, right?”
“That’s me.”
Goku continued to observe Cell as he flipped to properly face the saiyan, the set of the other’s jaw telling him that his prior hopes of friendship-maxxing his way though to survival were not as feasible as he’d hoped they were. He felt rather like a bug under a microscope. Fitting, considering.
“You’re a few days early for the fight— the arena’s not finished.” This was one of Cell’s special moves, where he spewed bullshit until something worked out. “Haven’t really decided how I want to spruce it up yet. Any suggestions?”
The Super saiyan before him blinked a few times, brows loosening from their steep furrow. He’d clearly been expecting something a bit more outwardly malicious than that, but Cell was going to turn this evil train onto the railway of Goodness station. He was taking that conductor's hat and flipping it around, and Goku&Co. were going to watch him turn this train a rapid and believable one-eighty and become a— he was taking this metaphor too far.
“I’m not really much of a decor guy. Stuff like that would be pretty cheesy for a fight as big as this one.” Goku shut down his offer, glancing around the arena. Rude, much? He’d been trying to make conversation here. Cell fought the urge to make a face and failed, looking away.
“But you really did it, huh,” Goku continued as he completely ignored the other’s offence, staring as Cell continued to float in circles around him. “This is your ‘complete’ form.”
“Yup. My perfect form.” Cell wracked his brain. How had the original talked to this guy, again? Oh yeah, he hadn’t.
“I’ll fight you at your tournament if you don’t kill anyone until then, got it?”
The words had been said without humor, but Cell couldn’t help but snort. He certainly wouldn’t be doing any killing, but the original had. What happened to that promise, huh?
“Sure. Why not.”
The Super saiyan fell silent. Cell admired the clouds above him— hey, that one looked kind of like a fish— and waited to hear the pop! of Goku’s instant transmission before inspecting the hills around him.
Now, how to survive this whole ordeal?