Bushy mustache

Sister, a dragon ball z fanfic, FanFiction

"Number 17, how are you?" the old man smirked underneath his bushy mustache. He slowly turned his face around the dimly lit chamber, taking in his surroundings. His sensitive eyes had difficulty dealing with the darkness of the stuffy room. A beam of light hit his retina as he fixated upon a ceiling lamp dangling above himself. A program booted over his vision, scanning for damage. He waited until the display gave him the OK to continue. His pupils adjusted according to the quantity of light available. His surroundings became clearer. He was in a room made of rock, it seemed. Limestone, to be exact, as his scanning concluded. Small stalactites hanged above him from place to place, meaning...

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