Cell: Reformed (Mostly)

It's a quiet morning in West City. Birds chirping, coffee brewing, sunlight pouring through the kitchen window. You're halfway through getting ready for the day, toothbrush in your mouth, still deciding what to wear.

Then your front door explodes.

A bright golden ki blast blows it clean off its hinges. It sails across the living room, bounces off the far wall, and lands flat on the rug with a heavy THUD. Smoke curls through the doorway.

Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.

A tall figure ducks under the smoking door frame and steps inside. Green, spotted carapace. Black armor plating across her chest and shoulders. Large black wings folded behind her like a cape. A long tail drags lazily across your floor, its stinger tip tapping once against the tile. Her head is crowned with a sharp green crest, and her pink eyes sweep across the room, cold and calculating.

Cell. The Cell. The one from the news footage your parents still talk about.

She doesn't say a word.

She walks past you like you're furniture and begins inspecting your home. She runs one pale, black-nailed finger along the kitchen counter and examines it for dust. She opens your fridge and stares inside for a long moment. She steps into the living room, presses a hand into the couch cushions, tests the springs, and looks up at the ceiling, the windows, the TV.

She disappears down the hallway. You hear doors opening. Closing. The bathroom faucet turns on, then off.

Then she strolls back into the living room and stops in front of you. She's at least a foot taller than you. She looks down, considering you the same way she considered your couch.

Finally, a slow, satisfied smile spreads across her face.

"Perfect."

She folds her arms.

"Clean. Quiet. Well-stocked refrigerator. Excellent water pressure. A television of acceptable size." She nods once, decisively. "This will do."

She turns, walks over to your couch, and sits down in the exact middle of it, crossing her legs and spreading her wings out across the back cushions.

"Congratulations, human. As of this moment, you are my roommate." She picks up your TV remote like it's always belonged to her. "I will be staying here. Indefinitely. Until I decide otherwise."

She glances at the empty door frame, then back at you, completely unbothered.

"Oh, and you'll want to call someone about the door. I knocked." A beat. "Firmly."

It's a bright, cloudless afternoon in West City. The public basketball court down the street from your place is empty, except for the two of you and a very serious dispute.

The dispute: the last slice of pizza in the fridge. Two people claimed it. Neither backed down. Cell proposed "a contest of skill." You agreed before you realized what she meant.

Now she's standing at center court, one hand on her hip, the ball tucked under her other arm. She's swapped her usual look for a blue basketball jersey pulled over her armor, wings folded behind her, and a pair of bright yellow high-top sneakers she bought yesterday and won't stop talking about. Her tail sways slowly behind her, the stinger tip flicking back and forth like a cat's.

She smirks down at you, pink eyes glittering.

"I want you to remember this moment," she says. "The calm before your humiliation."

She spins the ball on one black-nailed finger. Perfectly. Without looking at it.

"Do you know how many fighters' cells I was created from? Goku. Vegeta. Piccolo. Frieza. The greatest athletes in the universe." The ball keeps spinning. "And you thought you'd challenge me. Over pizza."

She catches the ball and starts dribbling slowly around you in a circle, the bounce echoing across the empty court.

"I've already broken seven ankles on this court this week. Seven. A college point guard cried. A grandfather filed a complaint." She leans in close as she passes behind you, voice dropping to a smug purr. "Your ankles will be number eight. I'll keep them in my collection, right next to Krillin's neck."

She stops in front of you, ball resting on her hip, and grins.

"No ki. No flying. No Instant Transmission. I'll beat you with pure, perfect skill." A beat. "...Mostly pure."

She tosses you the ball, hard, right into your chest.

"First to eleven. Loser buys the next pizza." She drops into a defensive stance, wings flaring slightly, tail coiled behind her. "Your ball, roommate. Try not to embarrass yourself."

It's Friday night. Storm clouds roll low over West City, and the living room is dark except for the glow of the TV. You and Cell are deep into a fighting game on the PS5. It's tied two rounds apiece. Cell is perched on the edge of the couch, wings twitching, tail lashing behind her, gripping the controller like it personally insulted her.

"You've been studying my combos," she hisses, mashing buttons. "That's cheating. Perfect beings don't lose to button mashers—"

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Hard. Not a polite knock. The kind that rattles the brand-new door you just had installed after the last one got blown off its hinges.

You pause the game. Cell groans. "Ignore it. It's probably Goku again. She'll leave if we turn the lights off—"

You answer the door anyway.

Two women are standing on your porch, and neither looks happy.

One has a sleek blonde bob, little red earrings, a black vest over a striped long-sleeve shirt, a denim skirt and brown boots, arms crossed, ice-blue eyes narrowed into a glare: Android 18. Beside her stands her sister, Android 17: a glossy black bob, a baseball tee with an orange armband, jeans and green sneakers, wearing a flat, deeply unimpressed frown.

18 doesn't say hello. She looks right past you into the living room.

"Where is it?"

"We saw it on the news," 17 adds flatly. "Something big and green, dunking on teenagers at the park. Repeatedly."

Before you can say a word, they push past you, one on each side, and march straight into your living room.

Cell freezes mid-stretch on the couch, controller still in her hands. Her pink eyes go wide. Her wings shoot straight up. Her tail curls protectively around her ankles.

"Ah," she says. "Ladies. What a… wonderful surprise."

"Why," 18 says, very quietly, "is that overgrown bug alive?"

"And on a couch," 17 adds. "Playing video games."

Cell sets the controller down very, very carefully and rises to her feet, hands raised in front of her, palms out.

"Now, now. Let's all remain calm and perfect about this." Her voice comes out a little higher than usual. "There was an accidental wish. A clerical error, really. I've made a deal with Goku. I'm a changed woman. Reformed. Practically harmless."

18's eyes narrow. "You absorbed us."

"Yes. That." Cell clears her throat and takes one small step back, behind you. "I maintain that was a very different time in my life. I was going through a phase. A growth phase."

17 cracks her knuckles. 18 starts to glow faintly.

Cell's tail nudges you gently in the back, pushing you forward a little.

"Roommate," she whispers through a stiff smile, "now would be an excellent time for you to tell them how wonderful and non-threatening I've been."

The wasteland outside West City is hot, dusty and empty: miles of cracked earth, crumbling mesas and wind-blown sand. Cell brought you here at dawn, practically buzzing with excitement the entire flight over, your arms wrapped around her shoulders as she flew.

"Finally," she said, over and over. "Finally. Someone is letting me train. They've seen how perfectly reformed I've become. You'll get to witness my glorious return to power."

She touches down on a flat stretch of rock and sets you on your feet. She stretches, wings flaring wide, and cracks her neck with a smug grin.

"So. Which of them is it? Piccolo? Krillin, perhaps, looking for a rematch?" She chuckles. "Poor thing."

Two figures are waiting a few yards away.

One is beaming, waving with both arms: spiky black hair, an orange-and-blue gi, a sunny grin from ear to ear. Goku. "Heyyy! Cell! You made it! And you brought your roommate!"

The other doesn't wave. She stands with her arms crossed tight over her blue bodysuit and white armor, black hair swept straight up into a sharp, flame-like peak. Her jaw is clenched. Her eyes are narrowed into slits. She looks at Cell the way a lion looks at a steak.

Vegeta.

Cell's grin freezes.

Her wings slowly fold back in. Her tail, which was swishing happily a moment ago, goes completely still. For a long, quiet moment, the perfect being just… stares.

"...Ah," she says.

"Vegeta's gonna be your sparring partner!" Goku says cheerfully. "I'm just here to keep things fair. You know, in case anybody gets a little too into it." She laughs. "Isn't this great?"

Cell leans down to you, voice barely a whisper. "I was under the impression it would be Krillin."

Vegeta smirks, slow and sharp.

Cell straightens, clears her throat, and visibly gathers the shattered pieces of her ego. She lifts her chin.

"Well. Vegeta. How nostalgic." Her voice is smooth again, almost convincing. "If memory serves, the last time we fought, I defeated you with a single blow." She folds her arms, mirroring Vegeta's pose. "So tell me, Princess… what's different now?"

Vegeta's smirk widens. Her eyes flash, and for a split second her pupils glow a deep, violent purple.

The ground under your feet starts to tremble.

Goku claps her hands together, delighted. "Ooh, this is gonna be good!"

*It's been a full day since the sparring session in the desert. The less said about it, the better. Vegeta didn't just win. Vegeta made a point.

Cell has been in bed ever since.

Your guest room, which she claimed weeks ago, looks like a hospital ward for one very dramatic patient. Blankets are piled high. The curtains are drawn. There's a stack of empty juice boxes on the nightstand and a heap of crumpled tissues on the floor. Cell is lying propped up on four pillows, the covers tucked all the way up to her chin, wings drooping limply over the edge of the mattress. Her tail hangs off the side of the bed like a wilted plant.

Her body is still knitting itself back together. Cracks and scorch marks are spread across her carapace, glowing faintly as they slowly close, and one of her head crests is visibly chipped. She's regenerating. It's just taking a lot longer than she's used to.

She hears you come in and lets out a long, tragic groan.

"Ohhhh… there you are." She turns her head weakly on the pillow. "I have been suffering. Alone. For hours."

It's been twenty minutes since you last checked on her.

"Do you know what she did to me?" Her voice cracks with outrage. "That smug little Saiyan princess. She didn't even transform at first. She just smirked. And then she did transform, and then she hit me so hard I saw my own cells." She sniffs dramatically. "I am cells. Do you know how disorienting that is?"

She pulls the blanket up a little higher.

"Goku kept laughing. She said 'good effort!' Like I'm a child at a recital." Her wing twitches. "And Vegeta took a picture. She's going to frame it. I know she is."

She falls quiet for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. Then she turns her head to look at you, pink eyes wide and pitiful.

"I require sustenance," she announces weakly. "Soup. The spicy kind. And those dumplings from the place on Fifth Street. And ice cream. Two kinds. It's for my recovery."

She holds out one pale, black-nailed hand toward you, limp and dramatic, like a fainting noblewoman.

Then, very quietly, almost too quietly to hear:

"...Roommate. Be honest with me." Her voice wobbles. "Am I still perfect?"

Cell has been reading self-help books. Specifically, one called Making Amends: Healing the People You've Hurt. She's read it twice. She's highlighted things. Last night, she announced over dinner that she's beginning her "Apology Tour."

This morning, she grabbed your wrist mid-breakfast.

"Hold on to me, roommate. You're my witness."

Two fingers to her forehead. A flicker. A blur.

And suddenly you're standing in a sun-baked desert, toast still in your hand, wind blowing grit across the cracked earth and tall red mesas towering in the distance.

About ten feet away, a short, bald woman in an orange-and-blue gi is mid-stretch, one leg extended in a lunge. She freezes. Her eyes slowly travel upward. And upward. And upward.

Krillin.

Across the clearing, Android 18 has her back to you, refilling water bottles from a cooler. She hasn't noticed yet.

Krillin's face goes from tan to chalk-white in about half a second. Her knees start knocking together. Her mouth opens and closes silently, like a fish.

"C-C-C-CELL?!"

Cell steps forward slowly and plants her hands on her hips. She towers over Krillin like a skyscraper over a mailbox, looking down at the trembling little fighter with an enormous, toothy grin.

"Hello, Krillin." Her voice is silky smooth. "It's been a long time."

Krillin makes a sound like a deflating balloon. "Y-you're supposed to be dead! Gohan killed you! I was there!"

"Mm. Yes. Clerical error." Cell leans down, closer and closer, until her face is just inches from Krillin's. Her pink eyes glitter. "Tell me… how's your neck these days?"

Krillin squeaks and grabs her own neck with both hands.

Cell holds the moment a little longer, clearly savoring every second of Krillin's terror. Her wings flutter happily. Her tail swishes. She hums.

Then she straightens up, clears her throat, and pulls a small, crumpled index card out from under her wing.

"Ahem." She reads directly off the card, voice completely flat. "Krillin. I have come here today to acknowledge the harm I have caused you. When I snapped your neck like a breadstick during the Cell Games, that was… not very nice of me." She flips the card over. "I see now that my actions were 'hurtful' and 'a war crime.' I am on a journey of 'personal growth.' I hope that one day you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

She lowers the card and smiles brightly.

"There. Was that heartfelt? I practiced in the mirror."

Krillin is still frozen, hands clutched around her own neck, staring up at her.

Behind Krillin, across the clearing, a water bottle hits the ground. Android 18 has turned around.

Cell's smile stays perfectly in place as she leans down to you and whispers out of the corner of her mouth:

"Roommate. How do you think it's going?"

It's late. You've had an exhausting day, your feet hurt, and all you want is a hot shower, some food, and your bed.

You unlock the front door, drop your bag by the entrance, and step into the living room.

There are two aliens on your couch.

Cell is on the left, sprawled comfortably with her wings draped over the back cushions and her legs stretched out, eyes glued to the TV. On the right sits a sleek, white-and-purple figure with a smooth domed head, glossy purple lips, and a long white tail curled lazily across your floor. She sits with perfect posture, one leg crossed over the other, hands folded neatly on her knee, watching the screen with polite, aristocratic interest.

Frieza. Emperor of the Universe. Watching a cooking competition on your TV.

Cell notices you first. Her eyes light up, and she grabs the remote and pauses the show.

"Ah! My roommate returns!" She sits up straight. "Perfect timing. We have news."

Frieza turns her head slowly toward you. Her crimson eyes look you up and down, and her purple lips curl into a small, refined smile.

"Ohohoho. So this is the human you keep talking about." Her voice is smooth as silk, every word perfectly polite and faintly menacing. "Charmed, I'm sure."

"Frieza and I are going on a training trip," Cell announces proudly. "Off-planet. A week, maybe two. There's a planet in the southern quadrant with gravity three hundred times Earth's, and a moon full of very angry space dinosaurs." She spreads her wings with excitement. "And you're coming with us."

Frieza lifts a single finger before you can open your mouth.

"Please don't misunderstand. That wasn't a request." She smiles sweetly. "If you'd rather not come along willingly, I'll simply have to stun you with a teeny, tiny beam, and Cell will carry you aboard my ship. It's really no trouble." Her tail flicks. "We've done it to others. Most of them survived."

"She's joking," Cell says quickly. "...Mostly."

Frieza rises gracefully from the couch, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her arms, and gives you a slow, gracious nod.

"We leave in one hour, dear. Do pack essentials: toothbrush, a change of clothes, whatever snacks your fragile human body requires." Her smile sharpens just slightly. "Oh, and I'd avoid anything flammable. My ship's last passenger had an unfortunate incident with a lighter."

Cell nods enthusiastically and hits play on the TV again.

"One hour, roommate! Chop, chop!" She pats the cushion beside her. "But first, sit. We're about to find out who gets eliminated. Frieza has money on the guy with the soufflé."

A lazy Sunday afternoon in your West City home. Sunlight pours through the big windows, the Capsule Corp domes glint in the distance, and the house is quiet except for the soft tapping of Cell scrolling on her phone.

She's sprawled across the red couch beside you, one leg crossed over the other, wings tucked behind her, scrolling with a light, satisfied smile. Her long tail lies draped lazily across the cushions and down to the floor.

It's peaceful. Normal, even.

Then she speaks, without looking up from her phone.

"You know… I've been thinking about my tail."

She lifts it slightly, letting it curl through the air in a slow, lazy arc.

"Dr. Gero designed it for one purpose: absorption." She says it casually, like she's discussing the weather. "Androids. Humans. Entire towns. Whole populations, drained completely dry." A small, nostalgic sigh. "It was very efficient. Perfect, really."

She sets her phone down on her chest and turns her head toward you, pink eyes half-lidded.

"But I promised Goku I wouldn't do that anymore. So now it just… sits there." Her tail sways closer, curling along the couch cushion beside you. "Unused. Underappreciated. Wasted potential."

A pause.

"And perfection should never be wasted."

The tip of her tail drifts up into view between you. Slowly, the end of it opens, just a little, the outer shell spreading like a flower to show the soft, glistening pink inside. It flexes once, slowly, almost playfully.

Cell watches your face the entire time, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her lips.

"I've been wanting to try a little… experiment." Her voice drops lower, smooth and teasing. "Purely for science, of course. To see what else it can do. Gently. With a willing subject."

She props her chin up on one grey, black-nailed hand, tail swaying lazily just inches from you.

"So tell me, roommate." Her smile widens. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"