Driven by an instinctive urge to escape the suffocating silence of the room, Ajax stumbled into the hallway, moving almost mechanically. His footsteps echoed hollowly against the cold, sterile walls of the hospital.
Though he could barely comprehend where he was going, he still staggered toward the end of the hallway, seeking a place where he wouldn't be disturbed. As he moved, his surroundings began to blur and distort, the world around him dissolving into a haze of indistinct shapes, white noise, and oversaturated colors.
Everything appeared too vibrant, and the details of the world seemed to fade away as if he were looking through blurry glasses–or moving through fog.
With trembling hands, Ajax pushed open a random door and stumbled into the dimly lit room.
As he staggered to the far side of the room, memories crashed over him with each faltering step he took. The battle—the chaos, the violence, the bitter struggle for survival—all flooded his mind. He could still hear the echoing cries of the Z Fighters, the roar of energy blasts, and the agony of Nappa's hand piercing his gut.
None of these thoughts lingered in Ajax's mind for more than a fleeting moment, but they were like ghosts, passing through his consciousness with eerie swiftness and leaving behind their haunting imprint.
He collapsed against the wall, his body slumping against the cold, tiled surface of the wall beneath the window.
But there was no escape.
The memories flooded back relentlessly, each one a sharp, painful reminder of the choices he had made and the sacrifices he had decided to make.
Tien and Chiaotzu—their faces reappeared in his mind now with startling clarity. And then there was Goku—his friend, his hero, and his unknowing victim. All dead, because of him.
But it was Piccolo's words that cut deepest of all, slicing through Ajax's justifications like a hot knife through butter. The harsh truth of Piccolo's accusations had truly left Ajax reeling.
Ajax's gaze drifted to his trembling hand, his fingers quivering uncontrollably. He felt as though he was watching himself from a distance, detached and disconnected from the reality before him.
Meanwhile, Piccolo's words echoed endlessly in his mind.
'You are dangerous. You are not trustworthy. You are dangerous. You are not trustworthy. You are not trustworthy… not trustworthy… not trustworthy…'
Each iteration felt like a dagger, each repetition maddening. He bowed his head, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he fought to regain control of something–anything.
His chest tightened as his heart pounded with painful intensity, each beat sending a hot, suffocating rush of blood through his veins, each pulse suffusing every fiber of his being with heat. And yet, inexplicably, his head began to feel strangely cool, as if a sudden rush of blood had flooded his brain, leaving him lightheaded and disoriented.
But perhaps most irritating of all was the incessant ringing that screeched unremittingly in his ears, a high-pitched cacophony that threatened to split his head asunder.
He wanted to puke.
Struggling with his churning stomach, Ajax suddenly became distinctively aware of the gentle breeze wafting through the semi-circular hospital room. The cool air ruffled his hair, its touch soft and soothing against his feverish skin.
For a fleeting moment, Ajax found himself transported back in time, the sense of déjà vu returning him to the day he had arrived in this unfamiliar universe. That fateful day, years ago, he had also awakened in a room similar to this one, greeted by the gentle caress of the breeze.
Ajax's mind went blank. Why had he wanted to come to this universe again?
Ah, yes. It was because he had detested his old life and had grown to despise it with its mundane routines and stifling limitations. And no, Ajax didn't regret being forced to leave his old life behind–not even one bit.
But why had he wanted to come here exactly?
Was it because he was bored? Because he longed to recapture the innocence of his childhood? Or perhaps it was the desire to seize control of his life, to become the protagonist of his own story, of his own destiny, for once? Was that why he had come into this universe with the naive expectation that his life here would be a grand adventure, some thrilling saga filled with excitement and wonder? How delusional he had been.
Piccolo had been right to accuse him of illusions of grandeur.
He wasn't the protagonist of this story; that was Goku. He was the true hero of Dragon Ball, whose actions and deeds had shaped the course of history time and time again.
In comparison, Ajax had been nothing more than an intruder in a story that was not his own.
Yet, look how he had been, presuming that he was somehow special enough to thrust himself into the lives of these people and assume some heroic mantle as if he was some chosen savior. He had treated them as pawns for a future he had planned for himself.
And were their deaths truly all that necessary? If Goku had survived the fight with Raditz, couldn't he have intervened afterward? Couldn't he have subtly suggested to Kami the idea of sending the still-alive Goku to King Kai's realm for training? Or, failing that, couldn't he have convinced Goku to make use of the Hyperbolic Time Chamber as a final resort? After all, it wasn't as if Goku had exhausted all of his allotted time in the chamber by the conclusion of the Cell Saga, had he?
And then there was the matter of the extra wish that would have been freed up if Goku had survived. Couldn't he have persuaded the others to use that wish to unlock Goku's hidden potential, much like how Guru had unleashed Krillin and Gohan's power on Namek?
Was he truly out of options, or had he been too unwilling to deviate from the established path? Too afraid to consider anything outside the confines of the Canon? And wasn't it he himself who had deemed the canon path as the only viable option in the first place?
The audacity of his own ego suddenly struck him like a blow to the gut.
At this moment, in the stark silence of the room, Ajax had never realized so clearly that this world was real. It was not filled with sunshine and rainbows. It was not the fantastical Shonen realm of adventure and heroism that he had imagined it to be. No, in many, many ways, this reality was just as cruel, just as real, as the one he had left behind.
There were real consequences to his actions, intended or not, and now, the consequences have come home to roost.
'Oh.' Ajax suddenly realized. 'He had killed his hero with his own two hands, hadn't he?'
The realization struck Ajax harder than a physical blow ever could, and he felt a lump form in his throat, choking off his breath and threatening to suffocate him. He blinked back stinging tears that welled in his eyes, blurring his vision controllably.
Unsteadily, Ajax slid down the wall he had been leaning against, his butt hitting the hard floor with a harsh thud. In that semi-collapsed position, Ajax cradled his head in his hands, his fingers tangling in his disheveled hair as he fought against the guilt that threatened to crush him beneath its abyssal pressure.
The walls of the room seemed to close in around him, transforming the once expansive space into a claustrophobic, suffocating cage with no exit. His pupils dilated, yet his vision narrowed to a pinprick, and his breaths became in as rapid and shallow gasps.
No matter how much he breathed, it never felt like enough. Every breath he took felt like a desperate gasp in a world that seemed determined to smother him.
He felt like he was drowning.
Lost in his distress, Ajax wasn't aware of the door opening, the sound failing to even register in his mind.
***
~ Hospital: Moments Before ~
Bulma had been on the hunt for Ajax for some time now. With Kami unable to offer much beyond the ship's coordinates and Mr. Popo's arrival scheduled for later, she had been left with nothing to do. So, she had taken it upon herself to personally thank the young boy whose arrival had shifted the tide of battle in their favor.
She had been well aware of the pivotal role Ajax had played in their battle against the Saiyans. He had led the Z Fighters to fight tooth and nail to stall their formidable enemies, and then somehow managed to secure a surprising victory against one of them despite overwhelming odds.
Her eyes had been practically glued to the screen as she closely followed every moment of the battle through the live report provided by that hotshot journalist, Erason. Bulma understood all too well that without Ajax's timely intervention, Earth would have fallen to the Saiyans long before Goku could have arrived to save them.
The thought sent a shiver down her spine, a grim reminder of just how close they had come to defeat. That was why Bulma had cherished the glimmer of hope that Ajax's presence had brought when he had arrived on the battlefield. It was something that she had deeply appreciated.
Lost in her thoughts, Bulma proceeded through the hospital corridors. As she walked, distant voices reached her ears, emanating from a room nearby. The muffled sound piqued her curiosity and drew her towards it like a moth to a flame. Despite knowing she shouldn't eavesdrop, she still found herself straining to catch snippets of the conversation seeping through the cracks.
Piccolo's unmistakable voice reached her ears, its timbre low and gravelly, but the words too indistinct for her to decipher. Before Bulma could make out anything, the door abruptly swung open, revealing Piccolo as he stormed out, his expression dark.
The door slammed shut behind him with a resounding bang, the sharp sound echoing up and down the corridor like a gunshot. Bulma stood frozen in astonishment, her eyes widening in surprise as she found herself making direct eye contact with Demon King Piccolo.
For a moment, they stood there in silence, staring at each other.
And then, as quickly as it had begun, the moment passed. Without a word or even a nod of acknowledgment, Piccolo briskly brushed past her and strode away, his cloak billowing behind him.
Bulma watched as he walked away, silently exhaling a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Despite knowing that he had fought to defend Earth alongside everyone else, she still couldn't stop a small hint of fear crawling into her. The Demon King's reputation was not something so easily forgotten.
Bulma stood there for a moment, trying to compose herself from the unexpected encounter and quell the agitation stirring within her. Yet, before she could fully collect her thoughts, the door swung open once more, and Ajax emerged from the room, his face pale as he walked away in the opposite direction.
Bulma's heart leaped in her chest as she reached out towards him, but Ajax seemed oblivious to her presence, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond.
A sense of confusion welled up inside Bulma as she watched him go, her hands falling limply to her sides as she struggled to make sense of the situation. Couldn't they sense Ki? Why did Ajax not know she was here?
Feeling that something might be terribly wrong, Bulma decided to trail Ajax at a discreet distance, watching as he disappeared into a secluded room tucked away in the remote corners of the hospital wing.
Standing before the door, Bulma hesitated, her hand hovering uncertainly over the handle. She strained her ears, listening for any sign of activity from within, but all that greeted her was silence—a heavy, oppressive silence. Then, a thud.
Well, that was slightly worrying.
With a deep breath, she steeled herself and pushed open the door, the hinges creaking in protest as they swung inward.
What she saw inside took her by surprise. The Ajax she had known, always calm, collected, and seemingly in control, was slumped against the wall, his usually composed demeanor shattered like glass. He sat, half-collapsed beneath the window, his entire frame trembling as he stared off into the distance with glassy eyes.
Bulma's eyes widened as she beheld Ajax in the throes of a full-blown panic attack. Never before had she witnessed Ajax in such a vulnerable state, stripped bare of the strength he so often donned like armor.
Without a word, Bulma crossed the threshold into the room. She approached Ajax slowly, her movements cautious as she reached out a hand to touch his shoulder. "Ajax," she whispered softly. "Are you okay?"
But there was no response, no flicker of recognition in Ajax's vacant eyes. From this distance, she could see the beads of sweat gathering on his forehead, his body trembling with the force of his panicked breaths.
"Ajax," she said again, shaking him gently. "Can you hear me? It's Bulma."
But Ajax still seemed oblivious to her presence, not even when she had shaken him. Bulma's heart sank as she realized that Ajax's panic attack was worsening, each breath drawn more raggedly than the last.
Hoping that physical contact would help, Bulma decided to wrap her arms around Ajax's trembling form, pulling him close in a tight embrace. As she drew him near, she could feel the rapid thud of his heartbeat against her chest, his body tense and rigid in her arms.
Bulma felt Ajax's grip tighten on her clothes as he began to sob uncontrollably, his words coming out in a jumbled, incoherent mess.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." he repeated over and over again, his voice choking with emotion as tears streamed down his cheeks, soaking into the fabric of Bulma's shirt.
Bulma held him tighter, her arms wrapped tightly around his shaking form. This was a side of Ajax that she had never seen before, so vulnerable, so… human. For some time now, she had honestly thought Ajax wasn't capable of something like this. And yet, here he was, his stoicism shattered in front of her, his anguish laid bare for her to see.
As Ajax continued to cry into her shoulder, Bulma wondered if he had endured something similar after the battle with Raditz. Had he also been alone, consumed by his own dark emotions as he was now?
The thought filled her with a pang of guilt. Perhaps her words to him had been too callous back then.
Perhaps, Bulma mused, Ajax's calmness was not a sign of indifference or apathy, but rather a defense mechanism— a shield erected to withstand the pressure that had been thrust upon him. It seemed more likely now that Ajax was putting on a strong front, a calm façade, to hide his vulnerabilities deep within.
After all, Ajax had a unique ability bestowed upon him by his wish, a power that set him apart from everyone else. He must have felt like it was his responsibility to bear the brunt of the invasion, to be the linchpin for Earth's survival. And he had succeeded, against all odds. The fate of an entire planet had rested on the shoulders of a 12-year-old boy. The pressure must've been immense.
"You're real. You're real. You're real…" Ajax chanted the words like a mantra as he clung to Bulma's shirt even tighter.
Bulma frowned in confusion, her mind scrambling to make sense of Ajax's words. However, at the same time, she recognized that this was not the time for questions. Instead, she began to stroke Ajax's back softly.
"Yes, I am real," she whispered, trying her best to keep her voice calming. "You are real. Everyone is real. The world is real. And it's going to be okay."
Bulma hoped her words were comforting because quite frankly, she had no idea what she was doing. Comforting someone through a panic attack was uncharted waters for her and was way outside her repertoire of skills. To tell the truth, she would feel much more at home tinkering with complicated machinery or designing software.
Fortunately, though, it seemed that she was doing something right, as Ajax appeared to be calming down.
While she still couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Ajax than met the eye, she did understand that Ajax was not some unfeeling machine, cold and disconnected from his humanity. He was a boy, just like any other, as human and vulnerable as the rest of them.
And strangely enough, realizing that about Ajax, somehow, made Bulma feel a lot better.
***
Ajax felt a faint sense of disorientation as he gradually became aware of Bulma's presence by his side. He hadn't noticed her arrival, lost as he was in his mind, but her comforting presence had enveloped him now like a warm cocoon.
Somewhere between then and now, Bulma had shifted positions, moving to sit beside Ajax with one of her arms wrapped around his shoulders. To his surprise, Ajax didn't mind the proximity at all, feeling oddly comforted by it. After all, she had been there for him during his moment of vulnerability, and he was grateful, more than words could possibly express.
He honestly didn't know how he would react if he had woken up on the floor of the hospital room all alone.
As his thoughts wandered, Ajax found himself staring blankly at a random spot on the wall across from him. There was nothing particularly remarkable about that spot—it was just a normal section of the wall, devoid of any distinguishing features. And yet, for some inexplicable reason, Ajax couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from it.
'She smells nice', Ajax suddenly thought.
Bulma shifted slightly, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected compliment. "Thank you," she responded with a hint of amusement.
Oh, he didn't realize he had said his thoughts out loud.
"Yes, yes you did."
Oops.
Taking a deep breath, Ajax willed himself to wrest back control of his wandering thoughts. Then, he spoke:
"Your favorite food is strawberries. You love playing music when you're working on something in your lab. You hate mornings, despite always waking up early. For some reason, you can't drive if you're not wearing socks. You prefer your sandwiches sliced into perfect cubes but were always too shy to ask for it prepared like that. You love hiding snacks for yourself around Capsule Corp but you forget more than half of them. You rarely knock. You love proving others wrong. Sometimes you pretend you forgot a robot's name when everyone knows your memory is impeccable…"
Ajax continued to ramble on, listing out a torrent of observations and insights he had noticed over the past few years–in no particular order.
As Ajax finally paused for breath, Bulma found herself smiling despite herself.
Now, normally, if anyone else had cataloged her quirks and habits in such meticulous detail, she would have dismissed them as nosy or reported them as a stalker. After all, privacy was a precious commodity, and she guarded hers fiercely.
But strangely enough, as Bulma listened to Ajax rattle off all the little details he had noticed about her over the years, she found herself feeling anything but uncomfortable.
Bulma chuckled softly, "Sounds about right. I never realized you paid so much attention to me."
"Yeah, I guess I never realized either..." Ajax trailed off.
Perhaps it was more accurate to say that he never realized there could be so much to be noticed.
Ajax felt Bulma's arms pulling him in closer, and he allowed himself to lean his head against the side of her arm, feeling emotionally drained. His gaze remained fixed on that unassuming spot on the wall across from them.
At this moment, despite feeling so detached from himself, Ajax had never felt so present in his own body–had never felt that everything around him was so vivid, and real.
And so, Ajax sat quietly beside Bulma on the floor of that empty hospital room. For a long time, there was only peaceful silence between them, interrupted by the faint whispers of the wind as it swept through the room.
Ajax's eyes suddenly sharpened.
He needs to make some major revisions to the Masterplan. He had been approaching this entire thing all wrong. His initial strategy had been crafted when he had no connection to any of the people here, and when they had been nothing more than characters in a narrative he was weaving. But now, as he sat here beside Bulma, he knew that he could no longer view them as fictional constructs or pawns on a chessboard.
It might have been acceptable then, but it's no longer acceptable now. He was no longer fine with it now, and he refused to sacrifice his friends any longer.
Ajax closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.
Perhaps in the grand scheme of things, not much has changed. The challenges of gaining power as a human are the same, the enemies lying in wait are the same, and the ultimate endgame is still the same.
But at the same time, everything had changed.
Friendship, power, a fulfilling life, and a good ending. He wanted it all.
And he was going to get what he wanted, without submitting to Canon at every step of the way.
Why can't he aim for that? Why can't he dream? For what purpose did he even come if he was going to live in someone else's shadow or play the side character in someone else's story?
No.
This is his story. This is his life.
Fuck fate. Let the wheels of destiny spin as they please and let the chips fall where they may. If he didn't like what fate had in store, then he'd tear it all down, brick by brick!
How?
By planning everything one step at a time.
Ajax opened his eyes, feeling like every part of him had been lit ablaze. He was awake.
Now let's get this fucking bread.
***
~ Time: Undefined, Location: Undefined ~
"So, this was where it all began."
The words "He" said caused the indistinct scene of the two humans, their forms already barely discernible amidst the nebulous energy of oblivion, to become even more unstable.
The figure observed the fading tableau with detachment. With a casual gesture, "He" waved the fading image away, watching the scene dissolve into ethereal wisps of fragmented time.
"His" gaze shifted forward and the future unfurled before "Him" like a tattered tapestry, its threads worn and riddled with holes, as if devoured by moths.
He-Who-Was-On-The-Brink-Of-Apotheosis turned, "His" form shrouded by swirling infinity that coiled and writhed around "Him" like serpents.
"And so, the world inevitably marches onward towards the End."
Then, "He" vanished, as if "He" had never graced reality with "His" presence at all.