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D. Scott

Well-Known Member
I'm in with a fourth project this time. Wonderful. I won't say anything on update dates, as I've learned by now I can't stick to a plan worth a crap when it comes to those. But I will say this is intended to be short: it will last five to six chapters at most.

And as you'll probably figure out, this is indeed a Dragon Ball Z fanfiction. Enjoy reading...

Chapter 1

Jordan Durham ducked down, barely avoiding the sharp edge of the blade: if he had been a few seconds slower, it would have slid clean through his neck. Instead, only a small tuft of his thick red hair was caught, and he lost that with little to no problem.

The attacker swung his sword a second time, and Jordan fell back to dodge this one. He felt his white, weighted cape dig into the muddy soil along with his hands and felt a pulsation of panic as he realized it might not serve as enough leverage for his plan to work: but it did. He held himself up for a split second in the mud, allowing his legs to thrust outward, his bare feet slamming into the attacker's stomach.

It wasn't all that effective, as Jordan had expected, but it provided the time necessary for Jordan to flip himself over and push off the ground, leaping high enough to grab onto the ledge of a nearby building's window.

The attacker looked up and saw Jordan. Even from the distance, Jordan could see the look of glaring excitement in his eyes. He imagined the attacker was enjoying this hunt. He leaped up to match Jordan's height with relative ease, his blade extended in front of him.

Jordan let go of the windowsill and felt himself begin to fall. He imagined it would hurt a bit, and as his legs sunk into the soil, he realized he was right. But he forced his legs out of the sinkholes he had created, and began to move for the south.

The rain poured down on his body, water-logging his already heavy clothing. His breath was running short, his chest burning, feeling like it was about to explode.

A bit behind him, Jordan heard the sound of his attacker plopping down to the ground. He shut his eyes for a moment, and made his decision. He came to a stop, and turned around to fight.

The attacker caught up to him, and stopped as well. For a moment, the two of them stood almost face to face, only the sounds of their heartbeats and the pouring rain. Then, the attacker stepped forth a bit.

“This is the end of you,” he said. “I have direct orders from the King.”

“You've told me before,” Jordan said. His voice was gruff, thick with emotion. “Fight it.”

“...The only thing to fight is you.”

The attacker swung his blade, and Jordan jumped back, narrowly avoiding being cut in half. The wet thud of his bare feet into the mud was a blessing to him; it cut away his choked sob. The rain hid his tears from the opponent.

“You can dodge only for so long! You're mine!”

Jordan extended an open palm, fingers spread apart. He let loose a small bit of what was left of his energy, a pathetically small ball of glowing red energy floating from the palm, towards the attacker.

The attacker merely lifted up his blade and allowed it to take the attack. It seemed to disappear into the stained silver surface.

“I have orders from the King! Direct orders. There's no use in fighting!”

The attacker ran forward and sliced the blade diagonally. Jordan slipped to the right in order to avoid it. He hit a wall. The attacker took advantage of this, and thrust his fist toward Jordan's face.

Jordan slid along the wall as swiftly as he could, despite the cry of his muscles and his mind to let it all end, to avoid the punch. The attacker then made a stab with his sword, and Jordan slid along to dodge this too. It continued on as a pattern until the two of them reached the end of the wall.

The attacker made a thrust of his blade toward Jordan's arm in order to pin him. Jordan slid further, only to realize there was no longer any wall for him to slide across. His body instinctively tried to move toward the wall again, and despite his mind's screams not to, he did move toward the wall once more.

“No use in fighting!”

He let loose a choked cry of pain as the blade slid into his shoulder. He felt a warm liquid (an odd contrast to the rain's coldness) began to flow from the wound, trickling down the right side of his body. He felt his consciousness begin to drain.

“Direct Orders from the King!” the attacker cried, and Jordan could have sworn for a moment there, it sounded like he was trying to reassure himself.

Jordan's vision was now grainy, the entire world around him a mass of gray. He heard the sound of his attacker's wet thuds as he stepped back in the mud. He recognized that he needed to move, but the link of body to brain seemed to be cut off now, perhaps pierced by the sword.

The sword. It hit him. He recognized that no pressure was on the handle anymore. The attacker had let go of it. Jordan lifted his hand up and grabbed the blade, putting pressure on it and pulling it forward. He cried out in pain as it slid out, but he let it fall to the ground. Blood began to flow faster. Jordan didn't care.

He opened his mouth to try and speak.

“...You know it... it isn't necessary... fight... f-...fight it... please...”

Jordan's mental senses were going wild. Energy was gathering in a place in front of him, these senses told him. He could hear the whir of it over the rain.

“Direct Orders from the King!” the attacker repeated.

Jordan's consciousness was about to die away. He watched as gray darkened to black, and all sounds except for the whir of energy and the dull rainfall disappeared. Even the pain he felt, the exhaustion coupled with it, had faded away.

He felt his face hit mud. Breath escaped him. Then it came back. He felt something shoved into his mouth, and his jaws forced to open and close. He instinctively swallowed.

The world began to return.

He felt his wounds begin to mend, skin sizzling as holes in it that were not supposed to be there were sealed. He felt his energy begin to renew itself. The world around him grew to grayness, and then to a picture of perfect clarity.

He saw black hair clinging to a familiar face, and smiled sadly.

“...You saved my *** again, Catherine,” Jordan whispered.

Catherine smiled in return, and Jordan felt her trying to help him sit up. He did it himself instead of making her help, and then got up to his feet. He let his dirtied cape slide off, shrugging a bit to try and get some feeling back into them.

He turned to see the dead body of his attacker. “...I wish we didn't have to do that.”

“...Me too, Jordan,” Catherine said. “Me too.”

The two of them hugged each other and wept silently. They were not prepared for what they were to do now. But it was now or never; they both knew it. They would either go in at their peak, or suffer for the rest of their lives.

With each others hands in their grasp, tightly squeezing, brother and sister began to walk toward their destination, only their bond and their prayers keeping them standing.

D. Scott

Well-Known Member
Author's Note: The song in the first Durham scene is the following: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nx2iLOvP0rM – Credit to Roxette for it! Amazing band, by the way.


Chapter 2


The boy looked up at the sign in front of him, regarding it with an odd sense of pleasure. It was as if this place was his destiny. He could feel it in his blood. He felt as if he were meant to stand here in front of this colossal giant, standing on these silvery metal legs, words printed in forceful bold.

Welcome to tiny Summersville!

Where you won't find bright and sunshiny anything but the weather!

“I'm tired of your ********, Bea,” his mother chastised.

The boy - “Bea” - glanced around him, only seeing the green hills and trees dotting the landscape, along with the brown of the dirt road he stood on. He reached up and wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, pushing away strands of jet black hair in the process.

Bea looked up at the sign for a bit longer. He liked the look of it. The large, bold text made him feel powerful for looking at it, while the italicized line below it was amusing and also fmade him feel gentle. He liked gentle. It was such a peculiar but also familiar feeling.

He gave the sign a nod, before sliding his hands into the pockets of the jeans he wore. He shuddered at the feeling of the foreign fabric. His tail uncurled from his waist and cracked outward, stretching itself. He walked down the road, curious to see if the sign was accurate: would it really lead him to Summersville?


How do you do? (Do you do?)
The things that you do!
No one I know could ever keep up with you!

Catherine Durham was writhing. She danced around virtually on one leg in the confined space of her room, music so loud that her ears were ringing. But she didn't care. She switched between imitating a drummer and playing air guitar. Both of which she was an amateur at, but once again, she could have given less of a damn. She belted out the music as it came.

How do you do?
Did it ever make sense to you?
To say bye-

Catherine stopped herself in the middle, pinned both her legs together, tilted her head to the side and waved good-bye to a nonexistent figure excitedly.

Or, what she thought to be a nonexistent figure. But she saw a slim woman in the doorway, her hands pressing the fabric of her purple dress against her hips. The woman wore a grin that looked like it was about to break her lips.

“...Oh. Hi, mom.”

Catherine quickly moved over to her stereo and hit the pause button.

Catherine's mother nodded slowly. “Hello, deary. Keep the music down, will you? Miss Agnew was already over here complaining, and we've yet to leave for tonight.”

Catherine's face was as red as a cherry. She nodded in response. “Yes ma'am! Tell Miss Agnew I'm sorry...”

“Will do. You guys be good, okay? Don't bug your poor brother.”

Catherine decided to go ahead and flip off the music for the night. “Okay.”

Her mother shut the door, and Catherine flopped down to the bed, her mind thinking of how amazing it would be to live in the shoes of Marie Fredrikkson one day – so she could be near the amazing Per Gessle.

Meanwhile, downstairs...

Jordan Durham flopped down onto the couch, rejoicing in the coldness of it. He had slept all he could for the day, and he refused to just lay there doing nothing, so he had come downstairs to watch television in his misery.

He lay his head down onto one of the pillows, and stared at the ceiling for a few moments, before reaching out to grab the remote. He heard the sound of footsteps, and sighed – even in his sickness he dreaded the worrying mother.

She reached out to lay a hand on his forehead. Her skin was freezing; Jordan shivered the moment she touched him.

“Feeling awfully warm...” she mused. “Are you sure you don't want me staying home tonight, Jordan?”

Jordan took his glance off the television for a moment, satisfied, as he had found his favorite channel. “No, mom... I feel like ****, but I'll be fine.”

His mother let a grin tug at her lips. She reached down and gave him a quick peck on the top of the head. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Jordan returned the kiss, giving her one on the check. “You're damn right I do. Love you, mom.”

“Love you too, Jordan. Try to maybe get some more sleep on the couch. When you're sick, the best thing to do is...”

“...sleep it off,” Jordan finished for her.

“Yep. Let me know if your sister gets to harassing you too much,” she said.

“I don't think she will. Even little sisters have hearts.”

His mother let herself giggle. “Even when he's sick as a dog, little Jordan still gets out a good one. I'll see you later.”

“Right. Tell Dad I wish me and Catherine could be there,” Jordan murmured.

“I will. Be good,” his mother said, before heading toward the door. Jordan heard it slip shut, and he let his eyes do the same. He thought it would be impossible to sleep again for the night, since he had been dead the entire day, but soon his consciousness also slipped away from him, and he lay there in a restless sleep.


His eyes were not his own: they were of someone different, but familiar.

He heard screams all around him. They were the screams of those who knew nothing but the red fields: both fields of poppies and fields of blood. They were the screams of those who were frightened, because they knew they were going to die.

He felt the rifle in his hand, and raised it. Enemy lines were in front of him, and he pulled the trigger without aiming, only hoping to hit.

He heard a specific scream, and he knew he did.

He ran over to check out what he had done. His eyes widened in horror as the gaze of his dead best friend was focused on him. The gaze had locked onto him in his best friend's last moments of life, when the trigger had been pulled

He let loose a howl of sorrow, and placed his head against the blood soaked chest of his best friend, beginning to cry.

Jordan awoke with a start, hearing the voice of his sister but not really caring: the only things on his mind being the horrified screams and the wide eyes of... who? Who had he shot again? Why had he shot someone?

“Jordan, are you okay? You were screamin' pretty loud... I could hear you from my room...”

“I-... I'm fine,” Jordan stammered. “Just a bad dream. Don't worry 'bout it sis.”

Catherine looked worried, but seemed to dismiss the incident. Jordan nodded toward her.

“What time is it?”

Catherine got up and looked toward the kitchen, where their clock hung. “Seven thirty on the dot.”

A sigh escaped Jordan's lips. He had only been asleep for about fifteen minutes, and the rest hadn't done much other than upset his already nauseous stomach.

He heard the ring of the phone, and lay his head down on the pillow again. His only consolation was that his favorite television show was now on.

“What?!” He heard Catherine's voice scream this, and he sat up rigid, turning to face her. He saw her face go pale, and he felt his heart begin to thump fearfully in his chest. “How?!... O... okay... yes, we'll be ready in five... see you then.”

She set down the phone, not even hitting the receiver, and moved toward the couch. “Jordan, we need to get ready to go.”

Jordan stared at her for a moment, silent.

She continued on. “A bomb went off at the ballroom.”

Jordan's eyes widened to the point of where he thought they would pop out of their sockets. His mother and father had gone to this ballroom for the military ball that was being held there. “...Right-...d...do they know what happened to... you know...”

“...They know the b-...b.... – -it- went off near Dad... and the... chances... oh, Jordan, they -know- he's dead!”

Jordan felt his muscles tense. He bent his head forward, unable to stop the expulsion of vomit before he could get to the restroom: the floor and coffee table in front of him were splattered with a liquid mixture of his stomach acids and this evening's lunch.

It happened twice more before he could even get up.

“...Mom is alright, though. The bomb went off a couple of minutes ago, and they have the building evacuated... mom's got Miss Agnew picking us up and taking us to the scene...”

Jordan looked at the vomit splattered in front of him, then to Catherine. He stood up and began to move toward his room, so he could get his shoes, in complete and utter silence. He heard the sound of her gentle weeping.

He wanted to do the same himself, but he had to be strong. This is what he told himself: he could cry when Catherine wasn't around, because if he did while she was, it would do nothing more than make her more frightened. It was his duty as big brother. He wished it wasn't. He wanted to cry, to scream, to punch things.

He swooped into the bathroom, fell to his knees in front of the toilet and vomited once more.


Bea looked at the man in front of him with indifference.

“Why are you so jumpy?” he asked.

The man looked at him like he was growing lobsters out of his ears, however. “...Child, where are you parents? They weren't... were they?”

“My parents are on Vegeta.”

The man looked a slight bit concern. He extended a hand toward Bea, nodding to him. “Come on, child, let's get you to a police officer so we can find your parents... I'm sure they must be worried sick.”

“My parents don't care. Why is your hand out? Why are you so jumpy?”

“I'm sure they do – take it, child, I'll lead you.”

“...Take your hand?” Bea asked slowly.

“Yes, child, take my hand,” the man said.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course! Take it!”

Bea grabbed the man's hand, squeezed it firmly, and began to pull. The man's shoulder joint was disconnected from its socket with an audible pop, and the man began to scream.

Bea let the man's hand go and grabbed his temples, digging his fingernails into his skin. The world around him grew wavy, and everything moved in slow motion.

Except for her voice.

I'm tired of your ********, Bea! What the hell do you think you're doing?!

“I'm sorry!” Bea screamed. His eyes were wide and bloodshot.

Sorry's not good enough!” the man shrieked. “Ah, my ****ing arm!”

The world around him was full of screams. Distorted voices, all of them filled with fear. Of him? No, of his parents. That was the only explanation. He wouldn't hurt a fly – why would they be scared of him?

“STOP SCREAMING!” Bea bellowed.

He thrust his arms out to the side, and felt energy pulsate from his hands. The air around him distorted now, growing hotter. He heard things crack – both the sickening crack of bone and the splintering crack of trees. The screams around him were of fear.

STOP YOUR ****ING SCREAMING, BOY!!!” The voice was not his own: it was his father's.

Bea felt a hand on his shoulder, and instantly, he relaxed. He fell to his knees, and began to sob.

“...The boy did good,” the voice behind him said. “Wasn't supposed to make the destruction so widespread, but hey – it ****in' works, eh, Basi?”

“Right, Tommy. Amazing job. So much power, and so ****in' easy to control... If he don't wander off on ya anyway.”

“...I did good...” Bea whispered. He saw through a gray, primal vision, smoke rising from the ground.

He stood up and smiled. “I did good.”


Jordan slipped into the car, scooting to the other side where the door was shut – Catherine slipped in next to him. He slid an arm around her shoulder, and drew her in close, gently stroking her hair.

“Miss Agnew, thank you so much... do you... know anything else on what's going on?” Jordan asked. With his free hand, he rolled down the window next to him so that he could get his head out in case he needed to vomit.

“It's horrible, I can imagine... you poor children... your mother sounded so upset. I'm sure having you guys around will make things a bit better – as for any new information? No. But I've got my cell phone with me so your mother can reach me if necessary.”

The car began to move. They were silent for a long time – Catherine's occasional moans being the only exception.

And of course, their collective gasps as, when they neared the area where the ballroom once stood, they saw the crater.

Miss Agnew stopped the car and got out. Jordan and Catherine watched in the back, feeling the sweltering heat in the area. They watched, horrified, as she explored the area for a few moments.

She came back, and sat down in the front seat, turning her head around. “...Something much more major must have happened. There's... nothing here... no bodies... no grass, no trees... it's just... gone... we need to get out of here.”

“As if,” a gruff voice interfered.


Author's Note(End):
Well, here we are. The end of chapter 2. I've decided that, for right now, all other projects are on a -short- hiatus in exchange for this one. I love Dragon Ball Z, and I love to write: I love Pokemon to, but I am completely and totally short on ideas for any of my other stories right now.
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D. Scott

Well-Known Member
WARNING: This chapter contains mentions of, and one attempt, of rape, as well as mild nudity. This is a one-time thing, worry not.


Chapter 3

"As if," the man repeated.

The three in that car knew at that moment with all of their hearts two things: First off, this man was the cause of this crater, and second, that he planned on killing them.

"I'm not going to even let you leave this...shelter, whatever it may be. Here's the plan. First of all..."

A second man walked up to the car, and placed his hand on top. "You, the man of the group, is going to die."

Jordan flinched, and Catherine nuzzled in closer to him, hiding her face in his chest.

Miss Agnew pressed her foot on the gas. The car's tires screeched against the dirt, but the vehicle refused to move.

"Next," the man on the left side of the car - the original - said. "I and Basi are going to share the ***** in the back. He can have the ***** in the front if he wants-"

"Nah," Basi interrupted. "We'll just kill her. She ain't that good lookin'."

"...Right. Then when we're finished with the last, she's dead too. Sounds like fun, don't it?"

Jordan stroked Catherine's hair, and planted a kiss on her head. Then, with adrenaline pumping, he prepared to get out the car and make his final stand: as a sick teenage boy, he was going to die by two superhumans. He noticed, oddly, they had tails - so he supposed that a better term would be supermonkeys.

"...Beat 'em up, Jordan," Catherine whispered.

Jordan opened the car door and leaped out. He slammed the door shut behind him, and used it as a support, his hand on the metal as he performed a swift kick toward this Basi guy's chest. It connected, but Basi did not seem to be effected by this. Jordan scowled, and let his leg fall down to the ground. He swung a punch toward Basi's face - Jordan grimaced as his fist connected with what felt more like a brick wall than skin.

"Feisty, aren't we?" Basi asked. "Hey Tommy - can I take care'a this one?"

"Sure," Tommy said, folding his arms over his chest. "Just hurry it up."

Basi lifted his knee up, slamming it into Jordan's torso. Jordan instantly fell into the black depths of unconsciousness.


"Righty'o, Timmy. Thank ya."

The woman leaped into the air, and dashed off toward the scene, her body surrounded by a light pink aura. She felt the presence in the area, but she had ignored it - the evil that these powers exerted was all too uncommon on Earth. But from what Timmy had told her, these were definitely not normal people.

Within a few moments, she was at the scene. She looked down upon it. There was a car, a bright blue, slick machine. There were four people outside it: two big men wearing peculiar-looking armor, one boy dressed in casual clothing, and another boy - smaller than any other person there - watching from a distance.

She landed on the ground with a soft thud, walking up to the man who stood above the crippled, unconscious form of the larger boy. She extended her right hand to him, and offered a simple smile. A gust of wind blew through the area, sending her pink hair flying back a bit.

"Hiya. Name's May. Technically Maylene Gideon Summers, but I prefer just, 'May'. What's yours?"

"Seems we have a nice little lady gifting herself to us, Tommy!" the man exclaimed. "Care if I take her?"

May noticed a small bulge visible underneath the armor of this man, and had to choke back laughter.

"Eh. Sure. Go ahead, but this means I get the ***** in the back to myself," Tommy replied.

The man grabbed her hand and flipped her around, drawing her in close to himself. He wrapped his arms around her, pinning her to him, and then grabbed at her waist, thrusting down her pants and panties in one foul swoop. He rubbed up against her for a moment, his hand up her shirt and squeezing her breasts, then she felt his bare skin pop out from beneath whatever clothing he wore beneath the armor. He entered her.

May scowled, and drove her elbow back into his stomach. His grip was released in an instant, and she felt his expulsion of breath against her neck. It smelled rotten. She turned around and caught him by the hand, then slammed her foot into his stomach and allowed him to go flying. He went past the boy, who Maylene saw regarding him with indifference.

"...You *****..." Tommy muttered. He saw his eyes regarding her half naked figure, particularly paying attention to her backside.

"You like Earth women, huh?" May asked. "Fine. I'll suck you off if you can manage to lay a hand on me. If you can't, then I get to ground you into hamburger than throw your *** to the mother****in' hammerheads. Deal, ol' buddy, ol' pal?"

"You *****!" Tommy screamed, and rushed toward her. May extended a hand, fingers spread apart, and sent forth a small beam of energy from her palm. It connected to Tommy's stomach, and sent him flying backward. May grinned: she hadn't put enough energy into that to kill him, but just enough to make it hurt. Badly. She saw in his face that it did. He landed on the ground with a thud.

May approached her discarded clothing, and slipped back into it. Then she began to walk for the child, the other one in the area - she heard the gentle sobs of a girl, but she would deal with that later. She approached the child, who was also dressed in a set of that odd armor.

"Hey, kid," she said.

"..." The kid looked at her with indifference.

"Kid? Hello?"

"Why did you hurt Tommy and Basi?" the boy asked. His voice was low, but with a peculiar sweetness.

"Because they were trying to hurt people."

"Hurting people is our goal. We're here. It's an order from the King."

"The King?" May asked.

"The King," the boy mimicked. "I'm going to have to hurt you now."

The boy thrust his palm forward and shot forth a wide beam of energy. May was forced to leap up and dodge, then scowl as her senses felt a human energy cease to exist. The beam had probably destroyed the car. She landed once the beam had faded, and aimed a kick toward the boy's face.

"YOU TRYIN' TO FIGHT YOUR OLD MAN?! PATHETIC!" the boy screamed, suddenly. She cringed as her kick connected to a rock hard shoulder. This boy was powerful, she realized. She leaped into the air again, and landed behind him.

"Are you three the only ones?" she asked.

"We're not alone! We're so much more! I'M TIRED OF YOUR ********, BEA! No, mommy, I'm sorry, please-" The boy fell to his knees, clutching at his forehead. His fingernails dug into his skin, and she saw blood begin to trickle.

This was her chance to get away.

She rushed back toward the area where the car was. She saw roughly half of it had been blown away: the front half. The back was safe, but she saw nobody in its lopsided remains. She sensed two faint powers to the east. She rushed toward that area, and found two bloodied, battered and faint, but living human beings.

She recognized one to be the boy in front of Basi, when she had found this place. The other wasn't a familiar face. But she grabbed both of them, threw them over her shoulders, and bolted away.

As she flew, she felt the pulsation of extreme power. Her head ached miserably. Wind from the explosion in the area pushed her forehead, and she struggled to hold these two children against herself.

She realized then that this was going to be no simple task.
Author's Notes: Well then. Chapter 3 of "Summersville" is up! Enjoy.
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D. Scott

Well-Known Member

Chapter 4

Maylene hit the ground in front of the coastline with a soft thud, letting the two battered children on her shoulders fall to the sand.

"Oh joy," she muttered. "Timmy's gonna be fun to see again."

She placed her hands in front of her: her left hand was opened to the palm, fingers spread apart, while her right was behind it, holding it steady. It was rather difficult, and her wrist began to hurt from the sheer force she put on it. She watched as a light pink energy coursed in between her fingers and sent itself to a focal point on the center of her palm. It burned immensely, as the orb it was gathering into ground against her skin. She allowed herself to bare it with teeth clenched. She used her stabilizing hand to lift her energy-gathering hand upward.

The energy shot forward with a loud bang, and the seawater separated. The sound of the water parting was even less bearable than the sound of the energy: it was a deafening roar, as the salty liquid continued to move to the sides, allowing room for the massive thing she knew to come. And seconds later, here it was.

Out of the abyss she had created came a massive brown thing. Soon, eyes came up as well, followed by fin-like extensions, and finally the bottom of its rough shell. It was a humongous turtle. May allowed her hand to fall to her side, wincing. She would deal with its injury later, along with the injury in her foot.

"'lo there, Timmy," she said.

"Again, Maylene?" Timmy asked. His mouth did not move: she heard this in her head. "We just got finished talking. A turtle like myself goes through some very important business, and I can't afford to be called upon so often."

"Do you not see these two kids, bloody and unconscious, on the sand, Timmy? I hate to call on ya. I really do. But I need to ****in' move, and I need to move now."

Timmy let loose a sigh that nearly blew May away. "Fine. Grab on. Remember though, salt water in wounds hurts."

May grinned. "I'm sure these kiddos can handle it."

With one hand, she grabbed both of the children by their shirts, using her other to grab onto Timmy's oddly flexible shell. She shut her eyes and prepared for what she knew would come: and here it was. They were rushing downward, the pressure of the sea increasing as more and more water piled on top of them. Her palm ached miserably, and the weight of the children on her arm wasn't helping the situation. Her breath was beginning to fade, too. She was going to die if Timmy didn't hurry.

But he did, and moments later they resurfaced in a massive plume of water. May let go of Timmy's shell, feeling herself falling to the sandy beach of the one other place she knew was safe and could also help them heal.

The Planet Namek.


The consistency of Jordan's consciousness was dreamlike: one second, he found himself in a blurry world, surrounded by odd figures with an odd heaviness to his limbs. The next, his world was black. During the blurry seconds, his breath induced sharp pains. During the black seconds, he felt safe and perfectly normal, except for a nagging fatigue. But he wanted to stay in the black seconds for forever, now. They were the best ones.

But they were getting less and less frequent, forcing him to realize his predicament. The blurriness of the other moments was alleviating, and the pain around him was intense. His limbs felt heavy, some muscles probably damaged. He had a few ribs broken; his stomach hurt him every time he drew in breath, so it was pretty obvious. His head hurt from this stone pad he was laying on. The lights in this room were a bright, glaring shade of green.

He sat up, despite his body's protests. He was in an empty room, except for one stone slab next to him, which he vaguely recognized as Catherine's huddled form. He saw her clothing was a bit torn up, revealing marks of bloody red dotting her body. He probably had the same bloody work of art on his body, too, but he didn't want to look down and see. He knew he couldn't stand, so he didn't bother trying.

He opened his mouth to try and say something, call for someone's attention, but he couldn't make a sound. His throat hurt.

But just his luck, a section of the wall - which was, apparently, a door and he hadn't realized it - opened, and a small figure stepped in. He was roughly a foot tall, dressed in a white robe with a red scarf around his neck. His skin was green, and his head was totally bald, featureless except for the antenna coming from them.

He had been abducted by little green men.

"...Oh, my," the small person said. "You're awake! Ms. Summers, Ms. Summers!"

The person turned outside and ran. A couple of minutes later, he came back in with a taller woman. She wore an orange gi and pants and a blue undershirt, her arms pressed against her hips. Her face was decorative: she wore a wide, toothy grin, and reached up, tucking a couple strands of her short, light pink hair behind her ear. She wore an odd pair of glasses down around her nose, eyes peering up over them.

"Seems we're awake, and obviously a lil' confused," the woman mused. "I'm surprised you're awake first. You got the beating. Your friend, she just-"

"...Sister," Jordan managed to choke out.

"Brother and sister, huh? Okay, then. Your sister, she just got the psychological trauma of it. I mean, that's bad, but she wasn't injured badly. Just a lot of cuts and bruises. You, however, have your top three pairs of true ribs bruised, some intercostal muscle strain, a broken leg and quite a few cuts and bruises. Those brutes beat you up pretty bad, and the car's explosion didn't quite help either. But, fear not, we'll have you both healthy by the end of the day."

"...What...in...the world..."

"Is going on?" the woman asked. "I can explain that to you later. Lay here and rest. The light in this room is bright and really ****in' blindin', but it's got some special ki seeping into it. Isn't that right, Fyfe?"

Fyfe, the little green man at her side, nodded. "It's my specialty: medicine. I'll have you both fixed up by the end of the day!" With that, Fyfe scurried out, and the door shut. The woman sat down on the ground, using the wall as a rest.

"Name's Maylene Gideon Summers. May for short. You, kid? And your sister's, while we're at it."

"Jordan..." Jordan gasped. His breathing was admittedly growing less painful, but it still stabbed at him. "...and Catherine."

"Last names?"


May seemed to get some sort of visceral reaction to this, coughing and sitting up straighter. However, she shook her head, then strangely enough nodded after that. "Alright. Pleasure to meet you two. Get some rest, Jordan."

Jordan laid his head back down onto the stone slab, and let himself fall off into a restless, painful and dreamless sleep.

"Calm down, kid, calm down!"

Jordan was awoken by the sound of his sister's agonized screams. Forgetting the fact that it would be useless, he swung his legs off the stone slab and hit the floor, moving over to her "bed". He sat down next to her, picked her up and held her against his chest, all within a few blurry seconds. He gently rocked from side to side, stroking her hair, whispering comforting words.

"...So someone's feeling better," May said. She looked at him like she was impressed. "I'll leave you two alone, alright? C'mon out when you're ready."

She left, and brother and sister sat there alone for what felt like hours. Jordan felt no pain, but mentally, he was exhausted and in agony. He knew his father was dead. His mother probably was, too. But he wouldn't sneak his suspicions into Catherine, for risk of setting off another crying spell.

Finally, he set Catherine aside and stood up. "I'm going outside, Catherine. I need to find out what's going on. It's up to you whether or not to come along."

Catherine stood up, grabbing hold of Jordan's hand. She nodded dutifully. The two of them walked outside, through the area where Jordan had, by now, recognized as the door.

The world around them was perhaps one of the most odd things Jordan Durham had ever seen in his life. It did not surprise him; no, nothing could surprise him now. But the grass in this place was a light shade of blue, while the sky and the seas surrounding their small island were both a glittering green. Trees with thin trunks and puffy blue balls resting atop them dotted the landscape. It was an awesome sight to see for the two, average human beings.

"I thought it weird too," May spoke up, stepping beside them and placing a hand on Jordan's shoulder, "when I first got here. I got kidnapped by a perverted old man, teleported here and thrown into a field that crushed me close to death about four times. You kids got the easy treatment." She grinned.

"...We're no longer on our home planet, we're surrounded by people we don't know, we just heard of our father getting killed and our mother is probably dead too, WE nearly died by some lummoxes and all of a sudden we get easy? No. **** you. Tell me what in the hell is going on here, May," Jordan said. He felt tears rising up in his eyes, but he refused to cry in front of Catherine.

"You're on the Planet Namek. You were taken here by a friend of mine. Earth, or at least Summersville, is in danger. A severe, extraterrestrial danger that the world hasn't faced since the likes of the Cell Games. But I fear this may be WORSE than the Cell Games... we may be facing the most powerful race in the universe."

"What the hell are the Cell Games? Extraterrestrial? Okay, I believe that - but what is the most powerful race in the universe then? It's all hard to believe, but lady, I believe the hell out of it. Nothing's unbelievable for me today. Just be more specific please."

"The Cell Games were an event in which an alien monstrosity who called himself Cell publicized a tournament. The tournament had an ultimatum attached to it: win, or Cell destroys the planet. It has been lost in the history books exactly what went on, but I know. A boy called Gohan defeated Cell, and the world was saved. Gohan was the son of the legendary hero Son Goku. His statue still stands in West City to this day. My name, once again, is Maylene Gideon Summers. I am the great granddaughter of Summersville's founder, Gideon Summers. He was a man of great knowledge, and shortly before his death, he taught me everything he knew. Including the Saiyan Race."

Her nose twitched, her eyes glowing with a sense of sorrow, wetness visible in the light of the sun.

"What are Saiyans?" Catherine asked.

"Monkey men, in short. They are just like humans, but have tails, at least in birth. They have an innate strength in them, sending them over the edge of human possibility. Son Goku was one. Son Gohan was half human being, half Saiyan." May smiled, expecting the next question.

Jordan glared at May. "And what does this have to do with the situation? We're not interested in history. We're interested in the now."

"This has to do with the fact that your father, Thomas Edgar Durham, was really named Parse. That is a Saiyan name, for your information. I knew him well in life. You, my friends, are the son and daughter of a new generation's hero - and it's time for you to step up to the plate."

D. Scott

Well-Known Member
I have made a decision. It was a hard one. I've been thinking about it for almost a month now; but I've come to the conclusion that it is too much for me to be writing this.

I will continue it. Some day. But as of right now, SUMMERSVILLE IS ON AN INDEFINITE HIATUS. I will continue to work on two of my other three main projects, SINNOH STORIES - THE LEGEND OF VOLKNER, and BEST LAID PLANS (I will also be closing down Alabaster Daze: Unova Chronicle for the moment). Thank you to all those who have read and enjoyed.

Thank you!
- IanDonyer