Masquerade
by Pan no Ojousan
Part One – The Switch
|
Bulma pulled gently at the lever, half-expecting the machine to only explode again. After three weeks of testing her latest and still untitled invention, she’d gotten nothing but cuts, bruises, and a lot of charred tables—not to mention all the equipment that had been destroyed. But like a true scientist, she wasn’t about to give up on it. She wanted this invention to work. In it, she harbored memories…memories that she wasn’t quite ready to give up yet. Most of them had to do with either Goku or a frog, but she treasured them. She loved thinking back on when she was younger, scouring Namek with Gohan and Krillin for the Namek Dragonballs. One of the worst experiences of that time was being transformed into a frog, but she still looked back on it fondly now. Captain Ginew had an amazing ability—the ability to change bodies with any other being, so long as he shouted out, “Change now!” and looked at his target. More often than not, he was successful, switching the conscious minds of the subject and himself. After so many years of thinking about it, she decided that she’d like to give it a try herself. It shouldn’t be that difficult to build a machine to do the body-switching work for you. At least, that was what she was thinking when she began the project. She had quickly discovered that it wasn’t quite as easy as he made it look. After what seemed like hundreds of failed experiments, she was on the verge of giving up, but she thought of Goku and relived some more memories, ultimately deciding to give it another try. This was her result: she was about to test the machine again. As soon as the lever clicked into place, the experiment would be on. Her eyes squeezed themselves shut as she pulled it slowly along its track, scared to death at what might come. She wasn’t quite in the mood to end up with another cut. If she ended up injured one more time, she vowed that she would scrap this stupid thing and make her own android instead. The lever slid down, clicking into its position, the grip popping back out. She cursed quietly as the metal slammed into her thumb, immediately pulling it to her mouth to suck the blood away before it spewed all over the room. She didn’t quit, though—with her other hand, she pressed down on the large, red button in the center of the control panel, immediately bringing her arms to her face to shield from any flying, broken machinery. The colored lights on the machine flashed, drawing her attention after a few moments of silence. The lights continued to flash as she brought her shield back down, cocking her head in amazement. It hadn’t blown up. Was this actually going to work? She stepped closer to it, gently running a careful hand over the cold steel. It didn’t feel like it was going to explode…it wasn’t even warm. Her eyes lit up with childlike excitement. She’d finally gotten it to work. Not definitely, of course, but nothing caught fire. She took that to be a definite good sign. Her scientist’s mind snapped back into action, and she spoke the quiet words, “Test subjects,” to herself, her eyes darting to the table where she kept the mice. There was a small cage, with only one white lab rat inside of it. Her spirits drooped; how was she supposed to test it if there was only one subject? She needed at least two…but then again, how would she be able to tell if there were two mice involved? Neither of them could speak to her. How would they know, anyway? There was only one solution to this problem, she decided. She’d have to use one human and one animal. Only then could she determine unmistakably if the machine had worked. She chuckled to herself, knowing already who one of them would be. There was no way she would let herself pass up the chance to transform Vegeta into a lab rat. Besides, if she threatened him with the loss of the right privilege, he’d agree either way. “Error,” the feminine computer voice announced. Bulma snapped her head around to stare at the machine. It had never actually spoken before. This had to be a good sign. “Subject One not found. Check the connection and please try again.” As the voice said the last few words, the lights on the machine began to dull, signaling its shutdown. The lever shot back to its original position. The gentle hum of the surge protector died down and eventually quieted. A large grin appeared on Bulma’s face. “I did it,” she murmured to herself, feeling like throwing another giant party. Her gaze drifted from the control panel to the machine and back to the lever. Her grin widened, and her eyes twinkled with joy. “I actually got that hunk of scrap to work!” She started her top secret “victory dance,” one that nobody was allowed to see. She sang to herself as she did it, the lyrics mostly having something to do with the fact that she defeated the evilness of the spirits that were preventing her from succeeding because she was number one. Right in the middle of her favorite part, the door began to pound, and a voice on the other side was shouting. She stopped dancing and shot the door a glare, silently vowing to hurt Vegeta if it happened to be him. She hopped over and slid around the many piles of junk that scattered themselves across the floor, making her way to the door as quickly as she could manage, grumbling about never getting any privacy and whether or not they understood that this was her space and to back off when she was inside. Her anger faded by the time she got there, and her cheerful, victorious attitude replaced it once again. She swung the door open happily, grinning widely at the person on the other side, who just happened to be her semi-annoyed daughter. “Hello, Bra,” she said happily. “What can I do for you on this lovely afternoon?” Bra’s expression tensed, and a line of worry wrinkled her brow. “What did you do?” she asked immediately, a suspicious glare in her eyes. She knew of Bulma’s experiments and the strangeness of her reactions to successes and failures, so she instantly became concerned over her mother’s condition. “Nothing’s wrong,” she reassured immediately. “I actually got it to work!” She smiled even more brightly and pulled her daughter over to the machine, proudly showing off her invention. Bra stared at it blankly, not wanting to hurt her mother’s feelings, but in all honesty had no idea what she had invented this time. It looked like a giant pair of metal chairs to her. “That’s…nice,” she lied honestly; being a member of the Briefs family, she was naturally a good liar. Being a good liar, however, often was accompanied by the ability to sense a lie, no matter how wonderful the lie was. Bulma’s eyebrow lifted curiously, a mischievous smirk forming on her lips. “Oh?” she questioned innocently, rolling her eyes up to stare at the ceiling. Her smirk curved slowly into a knowing smile, and her eyes closed completely, showing that she was lost in thought for a short moment. “I used to tell Dad that all the time,” she recalled, scoffing at herself. “I thought he fell for it…well, actually, I think he did…” Her smile was soon replaced by a confused frown, her eyes fluttering open again to cross themselves in contemplation. Bra laughed at her mother’s strange quirks, grateful for the inherited ability to become distracted somewhat easily. “You’re probably right, Mom,” she chuckled. The glimmering metal once again captured her gaze, her expression seeming to duplicate her mother’s. “What is this thing, anyway?” Bulma began to respond, but quickly stopped herself, the traits she’d picked up from too much time with Vegeta beginning to emerge her usually caring countenance. An evil glint shone in her azure eyes as she spoke, and luckily, her daughter was much to preoccupied with the pair of metal chairs to notice. “Why don’t you test it out for me and find out for yourself?” she asked simply, silently begging Bra not to turn around. If she did, her motive would surely be exposed, and Bra would never trust her again. But the younger look-alike didn’t even take mind to the tone of voice her mother used—she didn’t even seem to notice that she spoke. Instead, she ventured over to the chairs and touched the metal as though it held the answer to the machine’s nature within its cold, steel exterior. She shivered at the contact, cursing the weather for freezing everything metal in the area. “Sure,” she said absently when she realized her mother had asked her something. The annoyance exhibited from her elder was a clear sign that her patience was running thin. Bulma squealed with delight, plopping her daughter into the chair to the left. “You volunteered!” she retaliated when Bra began to yell in protest. She instantly ran back to the lever and pulled it again before Bra could get up. She then punched the large, red button and scurried to the second seat. ‘I hope it works! I hope it works!!’ The half-Saiyan was sure her heart had stopped. After being shoved into a machine and then having that machine activated was a bit creepy for her, and she didn’t like the eagerness coming from her mother. “Put that helmet on,” Bulma instructed, indicating the helmet in the side pocket of the chair. Bra did as she was told, unsure of what to expect, but terrified of whatever it would be. Lights flashed all around her, and she felt for a moment like she was on the walkway of another big company conference. Too many lights—but all too soon, she couldn’t see the lights anymore. She felt herself shut down, and instantly fell unconscious as the computer voice announced: “Subject One identified. Beginning mind transfer process.” ‘Mind transfer!?’ her brain screamed, but she hadn’t time to even whisper an objection. She was out before it was even close to possible. Bulma watched her daughter slump in her chair, and a chill of anticipation rushed down her spine. In her head, the millions of ways she could use this ran, and she wondered what would happen if didn’t even work. But the computer spoke, “Subject Two identified. Beginning mind transfer process,” and she, too, felt herself go weak. She also collapsed into her chair, making a last-second mental note to add cushions to this thing. The brilliance of the flashing lights began to die down, and the loud hum of the machine did, as well. “Transfer complete,” the computer announced triumphantly. “Subjects should awaken in five…four…three…two…one…” There was a long silence in the lab after the last number rang out. After a few more seconds had passed, Bulma’s hand gripped the armrest tightly, and a moan escaped her lips. The first thing she thought of was how badly her head was throbbing. She definitely had to hurt whoever’s idea it was to do this. She opened her eyes warily, blinking in an attempt to clear her vision. A string of curses left her in exasperation; she pushed herself up, sitting straight in the chair. “My head hurts,” she complained to whatever was willing to listen. She cast a glance at the other chair, noting that the other victim of this traumatizing experience was still unconscious. Then her eyes strayed back to the other figure, widening in shock. The other person was…her. Bulma leapt out of the chair, missing her center of balance and falling onto her butt on the ground. She screamed another curse and got back to her feet, bug-eyed, completely bewildered as she stared at herself through someone else’s eyes. “How did this happen?” she whispered, terrified. “I’m her…and she’s me…that experiment…it worked!” She shook her head in disbelief, backing away a few steps to ensure that it was, in fact, real. She certainly felt like she was dreaming. Instinctively, one hand covered her mouth as she drew in a gasp of shock. Her hair was gone—not gone, but short. Too short. “I’m not Bra anymore!” she wailed, stumbling over a pile of discarded experimental parts and crashing down into another one. The pain and the horror combined was enough to send her into tears. “I’m my mother!” The other form jerked into awareness at the huge clamor. “What happened?” she shouted reflexively, but one look at the ground gave her all the answers she needed. There, a sixty-year-old woman who looked not a day over thirty was bawling her eyes out. Her short, blue hair was clutched in one hand, while the other was pressed against the ground in an attempt to hold the woman up. She recognized the poor woman immediately. That woman was her. Bra’s petite form slid out of the chair and rushed to the older woman’s side, cradling her best she could in her small arms. “I’m so sorry, Honey,” she said quickly. “I didn’t know you’d get this upset!” “How can I not be upset!?” Bulma wailed. “I’m you! You have my beautiful body, and I have this!” Bra rocked back in surprise, her rage flaring to an all-time high. “What exactly are you saying, young lady!?” she roared, her eyes seeming to flash a bright, crimson color. She was angry, and now that she was a semi-Saiyan, she could almost feel herself breaking the barrier into Super. Bulma’s tears instantly vanished, replaced quickly by nervous laugher as she scrambled away to hide behind another large invention. “No, no, nothing disrespectful, of course,” she chirped, her face turning a lovely shade of violet in a futile attempt to remain innocent-looking. “I’m merely pointing out that I’m no longer in my own body—you know, we teenagers tend to get carried away in descriptions and, well, my ego is just way too big for you or me to harness—” “You aren’t a teenager anymore,” Bra pointed out calmly. “I’m the teenager now. And since I know how to work the machine and you don’t, you could be stuck as Bulma Briefs for as long as I want.” The older woman face faulted, her temper starting to flare just as her younger look-alike’s had. “That’s right, daughter,” she sneered fiercely, contempt dancing in her blue eyes. “I control allowances, don’t I? Meaning you could be on your own for your little clothes and shoes and be forced to go out into the real world and get a job just like everybody else!” “Oh, wait a minute there, missy,” Bra snorted. “I didn’t make Trunks go get a job—” “No, you made him a job,” Bulma pointed out, smiling smugly. “He never had any real life experience. He still lives here, for goodness sakes!” She shook her head sadly to indicate that his never leaving home was the most pathetic thing ever. Then, she abruptly looked back up, her eyes filled with tears again. “Mom! Change me back! I don’t like not being me!” Bra chuckled and stood shakily back up, motioning for the older woman to go back into the chair. “You got it, kid. You’ll be back to being Bra in no time.” She grinned and held two of her fingers up in the triumphant “V” form. “I told you I got it to work!” “Yeah, you told me,” mumbled Bra from Bulma’s body. She slunk back to the chair and sat down, plopping the helmet onto her head. She then waited patiently for her mother in her body to switch the machine on. Before too long, they were back to their original selves, Bra swearing never to go near that machine again. “Just please,” Bulma chirped just before her daughter was about to storm away, “don’t tell anyone about this. I want to keep it a surprise until I can figure out something useful for it.” “It’s very useful, Mom,” Bra laughed, relishing in the fact that she was herself again. “If I ever need an escape from life, I can take it. All I’ll ever need to do is flick a switch and push a button and, presto, I’m someone else.” “Yeah,” Bulma scoffed. “You try it, and you’re a dead woman. Oh, and by the way—” she called, knowing that she was annoying her daughter by this point, “—you’re hardly a teenager anymore, young lady. You’re twenty years old.” “Mother! That’s close enough!” Bra shouted, storming away in a huff of exasperation. Laughing to herself, Bulma returned to her work, trying to think of something she could do productively with this little gizmo. Dear Diary, I even thought of the perfect person to switch with. I know she won’t tell anyone, and I know that she’d be willing to do it. I’m calling her in the morning. She’s been complaining about stuff for a while now; there’s no reason why she won’t agree. I love her to death, and I love her family to death, and I know her and them well enough to pass as her. Who am I talking about? Pan, duh. Tomorrow afternoon (or maybe morning), I’m switching bodies with Pan. There, it’s settled. You didn’t think I’d make up my mind that quickly, did you, Diary? I didn’t think so either. Anyway, I’ve made my decision, and she’ll agree; I know she will. Good night. Tomorrow, someone else will be writing here in my place, and I’ll be elsewhere, writing in her own diary. What if she doesn’t keep one? Well…then…she’ll start one. So there. Love you, Diary, and love you, Pan. Don’t hate me too badly after you read this. I know you will. Love, Bra PS: Panny…no flirting with my brother. Heheh. Call me—I’ll be at your house. And please, make sure you ask for Pan!
A knock on the door distracted her momentarily from her “PS” message to her friend that would soon become her. True, she hadn’t discussed it with her soon-to-be self, but she knew for a fact that Pan was unhappy. Be it school or her family or life in general, Bra had decided that it would be much nicer to fix someone else’s problems than her own. Besides, she didn’t want a permanent escape from her life. She only needed a break, perhaps a week or so of living as someone else. It all depended on how easily things roughed out. She quickly stuffed the diary under her bed, telling herself to remember where it was—under the bed wasn’t her usual spot for it. But she jumped back onto the bed and called out, “Come on in,” just like always. A smile was on her face to greet the intruder before the door was even close to opened. The door parted from the wall, and the curious head of her mother poked into the room. “You remember what we talked about, right?” she asked suspiciously. Bra momentarily tensed—did she know what her plan was? She quickly dismissed the thought from her mind and laughed in response. “Of course not, Mom,” she giggled. “What would make you—” “Because you haven’t spoken to me since dinner and you’ve seemed preoccupied all night—as if something diabolical was on your mind,” Bulma pointed out bluntly. “I’ve seen enough diabolical planning in my lifetime, and believe me, I’ve undercut too many of your father’s schemes. Don’t try to play the innocent angel with me.” Bra forced herself to keep laughing. “Mother, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said honestly. “Sure, it’d be nice to escape for a while, but that machine freaks me out. I wouldn’t go near it without you there to make sure I ended up okay.” Bulma seemed uncertain for a moment, but she eventually relaxed, recalling her daughter’s reaction to the situation earlier. The sight of herself kneeling on the ground and bawling her eyes out was slightly ridiculous. “Okay,” she said reluctantly. “If you promise not to go near that thing while I’m gone…” The younger girl’s brow furrowed in confusion. “You’re going away?” “Yep. All day tomorrow, there’s going to be this huge meeting downtown. Trunks and I are both going. Your dad will still be here, and I’ll see to it that he guards that room with his life.” Bra struggled to keep herself from laughing. Vegeta wouldn’t go near that “stupid laboratory” if his life depended on it. The machine was as good as hers. “Okay, Mom. I won’t touch it, and I’ll even go out tomorrow to reassure you. I’ll go to Pan’s.” Bulma sighed with relief. “Okay. I wanted to make sure—What?” Bra realized, as her mother pulled out of the doorway and allowed the door to close, that someone out there was talking to her. Probably Trunks, she thought in exasperation. She didn’t much feel like talking to Trunks just then. She was about to become someone not related to him in the least. This in mind, she was afraid that she’d confide in him; she couldn’t allow herself to do that. Her cover would be blown, and Bulma would definitely cancel Capsule’s appearance at the meeting the next day to ensure that nothing went wrong. “Sweetie, your brother says good night,” Bulma’s angry voice called. “He’ll see you in the morning.” Bra laughed to herself. “He must’ve asked not to go tomorrow,” she mused, wrapping herself in the blankets. Sleep would be vital tonight. If she played her cards right, she wouldn’t get much of it until late the next night. A shrill scream erupted from the upstairs room, shaking the whole house with the pitch and intensity of the voice. The coffee mug on the table vibrated, the liquid forming a beautiful swirl. The owner of the cup took no notice; he lifted it and drank the whole thing in nearly one sip, then put it back down as if nothing had happened. Videl peered at her husband over his newspaper. “Gohan,” she said softly, not wanting to disturb him. She paused in midst of breaking an egg over the skillet when she got no answer. “Gohan,” she said, more fiercely this time, her tone almost replicating that of his mother’s. “Yeah?” he asked nonchalantly, not bothering to look up from the black print that always seemed to capture his interest this early in the morning. “Our daughter just screamed,” she said clearly, finishing what she started and plopping the now-broken egg into the pan. She laid the shells carefully onto a napkin, washed her hands quickly, and then went to her husband’s side, wanting to know what was so interesting about the newspaper that made him ignore instances like that. “I know,” he emotionlessly replied, taking another sip of coffee. He stopped in annoyance when he realized that his cup was already empty. His attention drifted from the newspaper to his newfound plight on how to refill his mug without getting up from his chair. His wife laughed and took the mug from his hand, knowing by experience what was running through his mind. “You’re almost too lazy these days, Gohan,” she scolded, pouring him some more coffee. He gratefully took it, and she glared at him; not seriously, for that would have sent him into hiding for weeks. “Aren’t you concerned about your child?” “Of course I am,” he said uneasily. “Why wouldn’t I be? I just happen to know that she was asleep and her alarm scared her.” Videl chuckled and lifted an eyebrow, kissing his cheek and returning to her eggs to ensure they didn’t break. “What makes you so sure about that?” she inquired, using the spatula to carefully cut one egg away from the side of the skillet. “Oh, I just happen to know, that’s all,” he smugly replied, sending her a smirk before returning to the newspaper. “Ooh, horoscopes…you wanna hear yours?” he asked, seemingly forgetting about Pan’s shout. “No, that’s okay,” Videl replied, reaching for a plate that she couldn’t quite grasp. Her fingers brushed the edge, and she reached even more desperately, standing on her toes in an effort to get taller. A hand suddenly snatched away the plate she was reaching for and placed it gently in her hand. Surprised, she looked to her mysterious assistant, smiling warmly upon meeting her eyes with her sleepy, disoriented daughter. “Thank you, Pancake,” she said happily. Pan groaned and plopped herself into a chair at the table, the upper half of her form slumping over it. “I’m not a pancake,” she grumbled, barely coherent. “Isn’t today Saturday?” “Yes, why do you ask?” Gohan answered, not even looking up. He was a bit spooked by his horoscope for the day, but he wasn’t about to make that public knowledge. “I shouldn’t be awake at this insane hour,” she mumbled in response, her eyes closing and her breath deepening. Videl thwacked her on the head with a spatula, earning a quiet shout and a low growl from her victim. “No sleeping on the table,” she scolded, thwacking her daughter again. “If you want sleep so badly, go back upstairs and to your room.” “But upstairs is all the way up there,” she mumbled angrily, squirming under the egg goo that was slowly seeping through her hair. “And now I need a shower. Thanks, Mom.” Videl chuckled at her now-retreating daughter. “No problem,” she laughed aloud. Pan mumbled and growled to herself the entire way back to her room, her hands practically glued to her head in an effort to rid herself of egg goo. If it wasn’t bad enough that she’d forgotten to shut off her alarm, she now needed an early-morning shower. This day was just going great. Much to her surprise and slight dismay, her phone was ringing when she returned. Yet another thing to silently curse today would be her separate phone line. She usually loved it, but now she couldn’t stand the thought of needing to be in her room to take whatever call she got. Then again, no one ever called that number unless it was late at night or early in the morning. Otherwise, they tended to use her cell. She shifted her weight to cradle the raw egg in her hair with only one hand, and used the other to pick up the phone and put it to her opposite ear, not wanting to wash more things than necessary this particular morning. “Hello?” she chirped, keeping her growl suppressed. Whoever was calling would surely not want an angry Pan to deal with. “Panny?” Bra’s voice was instantly recognizable; Pan sighed in relief, thankful that it was no one she wouldn’t want to talk to. “Are you available this afternoon? I kind of want to talk to you about something.” “I don’t know,” she replied, pulling her hand away from her head to stare at the goo. She made a small noise of disgust before commenting, “I’m not having the best day ever so far…” “I’m so sorry! Did I wake you up or something?” Pan laughed at the concern in her friend’s tone. “No, you didn’t. I forgot to shut off my alarm, and my mom whacked me with a spatula covered in eggs, and now I need a shower but I’m on the phone with you. What is it that you wanted to ask me, anyway? Just tell me now so I don’t have to go without knowing.” “Okay,” Bra said happily. There were a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone, and Pan waited patiently while she gathered her thoughts. “I’ve noticed—and I believe you have, as well—that life sucks.” Pan chuckled at her friend’s statement. “Yeah, life sucks. We’ve established that. Moving on?” There was another short pause, and Pan began to worry. “Bra? What are you thinking? You don’t want us to do a double suicide, do you?” “No!” Bra shouted, revolted. “No, nothing like that. But what if there was a way to change your life? You know, like trading yours in for someone else’s—only for a while?” “Trading lives?” Pan absently questioned. Her mind was running this through over and over, just that one short phrase. Trading lives. “What are you getting at here?” “I’m saying that I don’t like my life right now, and you obviously have a problem with yours. Conveniently, my mother has just invented a machine that lets people switch bodies—you get to keep your mind and thoughts and everything, but you get someone else’s life to live. What do you think? Willing to try it?” “I think a double suicide sounded a lot easier and probably faster,” Pan mumbled, awestruck. Was she serious? Bulma had actually invented a machine like that? “How do you know about this? I thought your mom kept all her inventions top secret until they were perfect.” “She does,” Bra laughed. “I was about to ask her for money yesterday afternoon, but she’d apparently got something to work and wanted me to try it out. I literally was my mother for about five minutes.” Pan’s other hand slid off the goo, smearing it on her nightshirt in the process. Her mouth fell open, and she found herself at a loss for words for several minutes. Once she regained control of her mouth, she found a huge grin forming on it. “You mean I can live as you for a while?” “Yep,” her friend confirmed, waiting patiently for a response. “This is insane,” Pan muttered, sinking slowly on to her bed. “This is crazy. On the other hand, it’s perfect. When can we do it?” Bra squealed in delight. “Great! Come over here at two. Dad’ll be in the GR and Mom and Trunks are downtown at some important business function. Mom’s in charge of that one, of course. Anyway, get down here and I’ll get us all switched. Get used to being called Bra, because I’m about to become Pan Son.” Pan laughed. “All right then. See you in—” She paused, glancing at her watch and cursing the morning hours. “—six hours.” “Good. Later, Bra,” Bra snickered. “Okay, bye Panny,” Pan shot back, smirking despite the fact that her contact couldn’t see her face. She promptly hung up the phone and smiled to herself. Granted, there was an enormous chance that all this would backfire straight in both of their faces, but she was willing to take the chance. She needed a vacation. What would be better than literally escaping all of her responsibilities? The answer was simple: there was none. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and there was no chance in the blazes of Hell that she’d pass it up. The weary creak of the door made home in the darkness for a few brief seconds while the laboratory flickered and finally flooded with the fluorescent light that its mistress did so seem to love. The intruders, however, were not the lady it was accustomed to. Two nervous forms, worried that their plot might be suspected, slipped their slender figures through the part-opened doorway, neither daring to make a sound, thinking that somehow Bulma would know. Thinking that, if they were to make a single decibel of noise, the mistress of the laboratory would somehow hear them or track them, thus ruining their plan—and their chance at the smallest glimmer of an escape. Tiptoeing over the piles of junk that were constantly strewn about the large room, the intruders made their way to the machine, silently bidding their friends and families farewell. Everything would change now. Gohan and Videl wouldn’t be friends of Bra’s family anymore—they would be her family. Pan would become the daughter of Bulma and Vegeta. As much as she hated to think it, she knew it was true, and that she would have to get used to it sometime. Plus, they wouldn’t know that she was the grand-spawn of Kakarot…they would think she was Bra. Everyone would think she was Bra. Pan settled her petite form uneasily into the chair of Subject One, just as Bra had told her to earlier. “Are you sure this is safe?” she asked warily, her eyes edging from armrest to armrest, finally settling on the helmet that would ultimately remove her from her body. “I’m positive,” Bra reassured her for the hundredth time. “I used it yesterday. Now, quit worrying and get ready. Put on the helmet, and hold the armrests as tight as you can. They help with the ‘freaking out’ part of the process.” The younger semi-Saiyan found herself laughing, not knowing whether or not to honestly go through with this. She wanted to be Bra for a while, but if there was a chance of the machine not working…could she possibly lose herself between her body and Bra’s? She glanced nervously to her friend as she put on the helmet, noting the controls she was messing with. Bra turned and met her gaze, unsure of herself, but not letting her younger friend know this. Pan nodded silently. She would go along with it. Feeling more confident now, Bra inhaled deeply, smiling shakily. “You ready?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. “Yep,” Pan breathed, feeling the tension welling up in her heart. “More than I’ll ever be, anyway. Hurry up and do this before I change my mind.” Bra grimly pulled the lever and pressed the button, and the machine whirled with sudden activity. Lights flashed madly, drawing Pan’s attention and terror. Her eyes widened considerably with fear, in the beginnings of a nervous breakdown not seeming too far away. “Bra!” she shouted over the noise of the machine. Her friend was already scrambling across the piles and piles of junk, making her way as quickly as she could to the seat of Subject Two. “What if you’re not here when I get transferred? Will my brain get lost!?” Bra gasped, a jolt of fear shooting through her. She hadn’t even considered any concequences or side effects. This could potentially end up very bad if she didn’t get there in time. “Subject One identified,” the computer monotonously announced. Pan drew in a gasp of fear; Bra tried to hurry by flying over the junk, but her foot caught in a pile of machinery. “Beginning mind transfer process.” She fell to the ground, unable to make it before Pan passed out. Her mind screamed with thousands of possibilities. Was it possible for Pan’s mind to be lost between transfer if she wasn’t there to receive it? Panicked, she frantically threw the junk she had tripped over to the side and dashed to her seat, almost immediately passing out herself. The machine was doing its work, and Bra could only pray that she hadn’t messed this up worse than she could repair. “Transfer complete,” the voice monotonously informed the otherwise empty lab. “Subjects should awaken in five…four…three…two…one…” Almost immediately, a grunt sounded from Pan, her sapphire eyes squeezing themselves farther shut before opening, squinting at the sudden light intake. This was almost too much. Her mind immediately clouded with worries again, glancing to the other form. Yes, the transfer had worked. Bra was now in Pan’s body, but Bra’s body was still fast asleep…or maybe her fear had come true, and she hadn’t gotten there in time. Perhaps Pan’s mind was now lost in the machine somewhere, and she’d never see her again. “Aah, Panny!” she immediately yelped, threatening to cry already. “I’m so sorry!” “Hhmmm?” Bra’s lips mumbled, and the real essence of Bra inside of Pan glanced up, eager to see her other self alive and well. “Bra?” she mumbled, rubbing her face sleepily. “Is that you?” Pan—the girl who looked like Pan—grinned wickedly, a huge smirk spreading over it. “Yep, it’s me alright. I don’t look like me, though…I look like you.” That got the real Pan’s attention. Bra’s blue eyes shot open, her turquoise hair bouncing up as she shot up in her chair. “It worked!?” she screeched. “I’m not dead! I’m Bra!” “Yep,” Bra laughed. “Get used to it, Panny. I’m going home now. If you need anything, call your cell, and I’ll be the one answering to the name ‘Pan.’” Pan slid out of her chair, staring at her other self. It was her body…but she wasn’t inside of it. For a moment, she didn’t know how to respond to this. Shouldn’t she be afraid, or at least a little shaken up? Stuff like this wasn’t supposed to be possible. But, knowing Bulma, there would always be a way to achieve the impossible. “Oh—wait!” Pan watched her body say, but it was Bra who spoke the words…they only came out of her old mouth. The mouth that didn’t belong to her anymore, the lack of makeup on her pale face looking suddenly out of character, knowing that Bra was within that face. “I told my mom I’d be at your house, so you and I will both have to go.” “No…I don’t think so,” Pan replied, working her new jaw, trying to get used to the new muscles. Bra’s face was very different than hers—more slender, while Pan was used to a jaw like her mother’s and grandmother’s. It felt strange, is all. “I want to stay here for a while…maybe talk to my new dad.” “Don’t do that!” Bra shouted, causing the unprepared Pan to fall over in shock. “That’s uncharacteristically me! I wouldn’t do a thing like that! I never talk to my father when it’s not necessary! Sure, I love him and everything, but I can’t talk to him!” She glared at her friend, making it very clear that her choice of action would be the wrong one. “You can stay, but DO NOT speak to Vegeta unless you are spoken to first, or unless you want some money!” Pan laughed, tossing her new, blue hair over her shoulder out of pure habit. “Okay, I’ll remember that. Thanks.” “Write in the diary,” Bra continued. “Write down everything so that when we switch back I’ll know what’s been going on. Clear?” Pan nodded solemnly. “Deal.” “Good,” Bra muttered, gathering her things and preparing to leave. She stopped in mid-snatch of her purse, whacking herself on the forehead and shouting, “DUH! I can’t take all this because it’s not mine anymore!” “Oh yeah,” Pan mumbled. “What am I gonna do with you? I don’t like makeup…and I don’t think I’ll remember to put it on.” Bra paled, terrified at the thought of not putting on her makeup in the mornings. “That’s right…you don’t wear makeup. What am I gonna do!?” Pan giggled and waved her off. “You’ll be fine. Just worry about what to wear to look ‘typically Pan’-like.” “Oh, and your attire!” Bra realized, sickened at the very thought. She was about ready to fall over in horror, but Pan stopped her, laughing insanely. Bra’s eyes instantly narrowed to meet her friend’s. “There is no way that I can possible dress like a tomboy for three weeks. You’re definitely going shopping tomorrow.” “As long as whatever you buy has nothing to do with skirts or designer jeans, it’s a deal,” she murmured, stroking thoughtfully and distractedly through her turquoise hair. She’d always wondered what having brightly colored hair would be like, and with so much hanging around Trunks and Bra, she was beginning to become envious. Now, though, she could see first-hand what it was like not to have inherited black hair. Already, it was hurting her eyes. “This is too great!” Bra squealed. “I have to hurry up and get out of here. You stay here, and do some homework or something. I have Calc that needs done.” Pan’s now-blue eyes shot up, meeting in terror with her old black ones. “What!?” she cried, her complexion paling a few shades. “I can’t do Calculus! I can’t even do Trig!” Bra laughed nervously, attempting to imitate Pan’s family’s trademark grin, but failing miserably. “It’s not as hard as it looks…just read the chapter and the rest is cake!” Pan blinked in horror. “You need to work on the smile,” she advised. “I will,” Bra promised, dropping what used to be her purse and taking off for the door. “Seriously, I have to get back to your house. Your parents are probably expecting you.” Pan smirked, doing a fairly good job of imitating the traditional “evil Vegeta spawn” look. “Unfortunately, they’ll end up with you,” she remarked snidely. Bra only laughed and stepped cautiously out the door. Within a few minutes, she had taken flight, and had left the house—left what was no longer her house behind, headed for her new family, and wondering if they would be as perfect as they seemed. Pan sighed, removing herself from the laboratory, allowing the darkness to envelope it up once again. She would need some practice if she was to live as Bra for the next two or more weeks. She knew Bra, and she knew basically what her family was like…she’d been over there enough as a child. It couldn’t be that hard…could it? Bulma looked her daughter over, eyeing her suspiciously as the younger look-alike squirmed in agitation. “You didn’t use the machine?” she grilled, glaring at her as though it would allow her to see through her brain and clearly view the truth. “No!” Pan chirped. “I promised I wouldn’t, and the machine is way too scary for me to even think about going near. I swear, I’m Bra!” Guilt welled up in her heart about lying to Bulma, the one person in her life that had never lied to her about anything that happened. But it was unavoidable. They couldn’t very well tell her that they did switch. She would never trust Bra or Pan again. “Okay,” she said uneasily, pulling away from her “daughter” and allowing her a fair amount of space. “I’m trusting you on this, honey. You better not be lying to me.” “I’m not,” Pan lied. She hated lying to people…her conscience kept nagging her, but she somehow managed to brush it off. Everything was going to be okay…as long as she told herself that, she often liked to think, everything would remain okay. The inquisition finally over, Bulma left the dining room, leaving Pan to Bra’s—and now, her calculus assignment. Pan scratched her blue hair, completely confused by all the numbers and letters. What did they all mean? Even Trig seemed easy now…she couldn’t even imagine having to do this for her whole college career. It was coming, though…in only a year… “Hey.” Pan glanced up from the calc book, startled to be interrupted while trying so hard to focus on her homework. She instantly froze up, dread creeping into her features. She forced herself to look away, focusing back on her assignment. A million butterflies instantly developed in her stomach. How could she not have remembered this, of all things? Trunks was her brother now! “Hi,” she shyly replied, burying her nose in the textbook. Trunks gave her a quizical stare that she hardly seemed to notice. Something was wrong. “Bra? Little sis?” he asked, concerned, pulling the book from her face. Her eyes reflexively shot up to meet his inquizzitive gaze, and oh how she wished they didn’t. He raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Why is your face so red?” She flushed even more, averting her stare and focusing on the wood of the table. “It’s nothing…I, um, have the flu,” she lamely deflected. That, of all things, she was sure wouldn’t work. “Hey!” he yelped, yanking his hand away from her textbook and staring at it in horror. “Now I could get sick! Thanks a lot, Sis! If I get some horrible disease, I—” “Shut up, you idiot,” she laughed. “I don’t have the flu! I just didn’t have a better explanation!” How could she have been so stupid!? She had the worst crush ever on the purple-haired wonder, and now she had to live with him, and as his sister as an added bonus. There was no way she could possibly do this for a matter of weeks. She would collapse or something drastic like that by week’s end. How would she explain Bra suddenly acting like she was in love with him? He was her brother for Kami’s sake! This wouldn’t work! But Trunks, she knew, was not blind. He would definitely figure out something was up if she kept acting weird like this. She forced herself to look at him, reminding herself time after time that he was her brother now, not even a canidate for romantic interest. “Truthfully, I have all this calculus homework that I don’t really understand. I know, I’m usually good at this stuff, but I’ve gone completely braindead and forgotten everything that I supposedly knew. I really hope this is temporary, because I think we’ve got a test this week.” “Oh, okay,” Trunks murmured in awe. He had no idea how good at calculus his sister was. He never really cared much about the topic. Come to think of it, he realized that he never paid much attention to any of her schooling. He didn’t even know she was in calculus. “I can try to explain it to you if you want,” he offered weakly, glancing at her textbook, slightly intimidated by the complex-looking problems. Pan’s face lit up. “Yeah!” she gleefully cried, in true airhead-mode-Bra style. “Educate me, big bro. What’s the x?” Laughing, he took the book from his “sister,” staring down at the problems. “Well, the x is…the…um…” Try as he might, he couldn’t remember how to find the x of anything. He frowned, thinking that it may have been a bit too long since his last math class. “I don’t know. The answers to the odd problems are in the back of the book, I remember that much,” he sheepishly admitted, rubbing the back of his head and handing the book back to her. Pan chuckled at how much Trunks could look like a Son at times. “Fine. Next lesson. Let’s go do something.” “‘Let’s’?” he repeated, bewildered. “You want me and you do to something together? Like what?” “We could spar,” she blurted, too quickly to stop herself. She didn’t even realize her error until she noted the awestruck stare she was receiving. ‘Oops. Bra doesn’s spar. Great job, Panny.’ “You want to spar!?” he shouted, way too loud for her liking. She instantly flared, flattening him against the table within three seconds. She pounded him straight down, nearly destroying their dining room set in the process. “Ow!” “Shut up!” she snapped angrily. “You want the whole world to hear you? The last thing I need is Dad lecturing me on how fighting isn’t safe for his little Princess!” “He still calls you that?” Trunks’ muffled voice sounded, his face still smashed into the table. Pan seethed and let him go, glaring at him for all she was worth. “That’s none of your business,” she haughtily replied. “I hope, for your sake, that I haven’t gotten as good as Pan tells me I have.” “You’ve…been training with Panny?” he asked blankly. “I need to spend more time with my sister…it’s like I don’t even know you anymore…” She bit her lip. Training with Pan would have to do as a fighting excuse—it was the first thing that popped into her mind. “Don’t tell anyone,” she warned. “Don’t even tell Pan. She’ll kill me if she finds out that V—Dad might know about this.” “I won’t,” he assured her. “I wanna fight you now! This should be interesting…how long have you and Pan been training?” “Not that long,” she quickly decided. “Only a few weeks, maybe a month. We’ve been working hard though. I might be a decent match for you who hasn’t trained at all since the Darkstar Dragonball search.” He smirked at her, and she suddenly remembered that she wasn’t Pan…she wasn’t herself and she couldn’t risk anything…she had to pretend not to care. It shouldn’t have been too difficult—she’d been doing it for years. But now it was different; she couldn’t even slip up for fear of ruining Bra’s family life and her own emotional security blanket. ‘Just act normal,’ she advised herself. ‘Call Bra in the morning and see if she has any advice…everything will be okay.’ “Okay, little sister,” he said finally, grinning evilly, so much so that Pan wanted to cower in fear but couldn’t bring herself to. “You’re on. Mom and Dad can’t know, fight to the death, backyard, now. I’ll kill you quick so you don’t feel it too much.” She laughed uncertainly. “Okay, sure. Let’s go.” She pushed her hentai half aside, repeatedly telling herself that he wasn’t worth it…she couldn’t let him get to her. Even when he wasn’t trying to flirt with her, he was still absolutely perfect in her eyes. She sighed and followed him out of the room, realizing that this masquerade wasn’t going to be as easy as they had planned. |